#pissing singles Liverpool

[swayziiwriter]

Party Monster | Trent Alexander-Arnold

summary: you and Trent don’t get along, not a single bit.

WARNING: 18+, sexual content

You were here to celebrate Englands very own Jesse Lingard's birthday. The club was filled with people here to celebrate the football stars birthday, you had been good friends with Jesse for years becoming quite close with the England team. Well, at least with most.

"Happy birthday Jesse" I shouted over the loud music while giving my good friend a hug handing his gift over to him. "Ah y/n thank you" he responded grinning back, "y/n" a mocking voice called out. I was called back by the sound of Trent's voice, "Trent, I didn't realize you acknowledged anyone but your self these days" I called back. Trent smirked, as if he couldn't piss me off any further.

"Settle down you two I m not paying for any damages inside the club, you get me" Jesse said in an attempt to suffocate the tension that had now come up. "Wouldn't think of it" I respond with a smile, walking away from Trent's view I headed over to greet Marcus and his fiancée.

Damn I need a drink, I thought to myself. Something to calm my nerves. Trent was good at pissing me off, his constant remarks towards me, his mocking smirk, his annoyingly sexy smile that could make you feel things you didn't want. You would never want him, you couldn't. There has been a mutual dislike between you and Trent since you two has the great displeasure of meeting each other.

It was a petty fight that could have been easily forgotten about if Trent wasn't such a stubborn ass. He was cocky beyond belief, always a new girl tied around his finger anytime he attended a get together. You loathed the girls that he was always parading around with, they were all more obnoxious then the last one.

Trent had made a comment about how you were jealous that those girls weren't you, that really set you off. Since then you and Trent haven't gotten along, the sight of him enough to make you want to leave the country. Though, you couldn't let him ruin tonight. Tonight was about celebrating one of your best friends birthday, and you were not about to spoil a perfect night of dancing and drinking.

"A round of shots and some limes please" you ordered at the bar on a drink run for the rest of the team ready to crack down on some bets. "Lemme help you with those" Trent spoke over the blasting music. I looked over my shoulder to see Trent standing dangerously close to me, hand placed on my waist as if he was trying to claim it. I moved his hand off my waist, pushing him back with a finger.

"Leave me alone Trent, I don't know why you've suddenly become fascinated with talking to me, but i'm not having it" I replied, my voice laced with curiosity to why he was suddenly trying to make nice with me. "Can I not want to turn over a new leaf?" "Leave what happened in the past?" Trent quickly replied back.

The scent of his cologne clouding your thoughts, you needed to get away from him as fast as possible. I fully turned around, now facing him completely. "I tried that Trent and you didn't want any part of it" "well, new year new me" Trent smiled back still clung to your side, you laughed in response. "Liverpool has a better chance of winning the league this season then you "turning over a new leaf" I swiftly replied back, grabbing my tray of shots back to the group leaving Trent dumbfounded at the bar.

•

"Party monster" now blasted through the club, prompting everyone to get on the dance floor. I took a last shot of tequila before heading to the dance floor ready for a night spent with my friends partying and forgetting all about how Trent had made me feel earlier in the night.

I was between Lucia and Tolami, swaying my body to the music focusing on the lyrics. My thoughts were suddenly taken over by Trent. I couldn't stop wondering about where he was, what he was doing, or more who he was doing. I looked over to where most of the team sat, as if he had heard my thoughts, there was Trent. He was watching me, a smirk playing evidently on his face. As if his thoughts were the same as mine.

I suddenly felt insecure. Wondering how I looked right now, was my hair still in place, was my makeup still showing? I tore my eyes away from Trent, telling the girls I was getting another drink shouting over the song still playing. I felt hazy as the clicking of my heels followed my fast pace towards the bar in desperate need of something to calm my nerves.

"Can I get a cosmopolitan please" I ordered, once again faced with the bartender that had also been eyeing me the entire night. He handed me my drink grabbing my other hand as I went to tip, "I haven't seen you here before" he spoke.

Surprised by his actions, I didn't reply back right away. I laughed awkwardly, "I'm here for a friends-" before I could finish Trent ripped my hand away from the bartenders grip grabbing my waist bringing it into his. "She's here with me, you get it" he said, his hand never leaving my side.

"Low it man, I didn't know she was taken" the bartender gulped. "Yea I'm sure that was it, well now you know" "so don't ever put your hands on her again, you understand" Trent harshly said walking me away from the bar down the hallway where I was quickly pushed up against a wall.

"Trent you have no right-" I was again cut off, "I have every right when my girl is being gripped by another guy" he responded. Sliding his hand up my body, toying with the strap of my dress. I scoffed, "your girl?, when have I ever been your girl Trent" I replied, his name rolling off my mouth with a distaste.

"Don't play stupid with me y/n" "I know you saw me staring at you, I know what you felt" he whispered the last part into my ear, chills ran up my exposed back, the air suddenly becoming hot and the tension hotter. Our faces were inches apart my breathing now steady, Trent brought his hand up to my face before smashing his lips onto mine closing the gap between Us.

The kiss was demanding, hot and passionate. Trent grabbed my ass as Ilet out a gasp giving him an opportunity to put his tongue into my mouth. I barley had time for air as he recovered much faster then I did. Football gives you good stamina, "Trent" I breathed out. "Y/n" he responded back.

"I want more, I want you." I said, my voice trembling as he left open mouth kisses down my neck, moaning at the contact. His tongue worked so good against my neck, I wondered what it would be like where I needed him most. He pulled back looking into my eyes before grabbing my ass again, "get your things" he responded with a sexy smile, his eyes dark with lust.

Trent's apartment was quickly turned into a mess, our clothes scattered all over the floor as we made our way to the bedroom. Eager to feel relief and finally give into our sexual desires.

Trent was now under me, breathing heavily as our naked bodies clashed between our kisses. I made my way down his neck, leaving marks for a reminder of tonight. I then reached his abs leaving a trail of kisses down his toned chest, my nipples becoming hard as he gripped them. I placed a kiss on his hard cock, licking the pre cum that dripped down.

Trent moaned softly before swiftly flipping us over, his tall figure now looming over me. He left kisses all over my breasts before taking my left one into his mouth while massaging the right. "So good Trent" I moaned out, Trent slowly leaving my breasts.

Trent moaned softly before swiftly flipping us over, his tall figure now looming over me. He left kisses all over my breasts before taking my left one into his mouth while massaging the right. "So good Trent' I moaned out, Trent left my breast to catch my lips into another passionate kiss. "I want you y/n" Trent whispered into my chest, "then take me" I responded.

Trent lined up with my dripping pussy before thrusting harshly into me, leaving me a moaning mess at how much he filled me up. "So full Trent" I moaned out as his pace sped up hitting all the right places.

Trent continued to pound into me as he leaned down to leave kisses all down my neck as I pulled at his hair earning a low grunt that turned me on even more. I was wrapped around his dick as his hands roamed all around my body unsure of where to place them, the pleasure was too good.

"So close" I moaned out to Trent. "I know, me too" he said before grunting as we both hit a new angle making my legs shake at the feeling.

"Fuck, me Trent" I shouted praising him as I climaxed, my eyes rolling to the back of my head. My nails leaving marks down his back as he continued to chase his high.

Trent came with a loud grunt, my name falling from his mouth as he coated my walls with his thick load. He leaned down towards me before pulling out and flipping me over so that I was on top of him once again. "y/n, would you like to join me in the shower?" Trent playfully asked. "Of course" I softly replied back as I gave him a long soft kiss.

[jungleindierock]

Time Machine

Happy Mondays - Kinky Afro

On the 8th October 1990, Happy Mondays released, Kinky Afro, the second single to be taken from their forthcoming third album Pills 'n' Thrills and Bellyaches which they shared on the 5th November 1990. The lead single being Step On which came out in March 1990, they released a further two sinlges from the album in 1991, Loose Fit and Bob's Yer Uncle as a promo disc but only in American. The Happy Monday were part of the Madchester Baggy scene. At the time their line up was Shaun Ryder on vocals, brother Paul Ryder on the bass guitar, Mark Day on the guitar, Paul Davis on keyboards, Gary Whelan on the drums and the wonderful Bez on dancing!!

Kinky Afro was released as a 7" single (two tracks), 12" single (two tracks both extended versions) and as a three track CD single. It peaked on the UK charts at number 3, it was the band's biggest hit in the United States, reaching number one on the US Billboard Modern Rock Tracks chart.

This music video was produced and directed by Keith Jobling of the Bailey Brothers. The song was originally going to be called Groovy Afro, but was changed to Kinky Afro after Liverpool band The Farm released a similarly named song titled Groovy Train earlier in 1990.

Son, I'm 30 I only went with your mother 'cause she's dirty And I don't have a decent bone in me What you get is just what you see, yeah I see it so, I take it greedy

And all the bad piss ugly things I feed me I never help or give to the needy Come on and see me Yippee-ippee-ay-ay-ay-yey-yey

I had to crucify some brother today And I don't dig what you gotta say So come on and say it Come on and tell me twice I said, "Dad, you're a shabby

You run around and groove like a baggy You're only here just out of habit Oh, it's mine, you might as well have it You take ten feet back and then stab it Spray it on and tag it" So sack on me I can't stand the needy

Get around here when you're put off your feeding Yippee-ippee-ay-ay-ay-yey-yey I had to crucify somebody today And I don't dig what you gotta say So come on and say it Come on and tell me twice So sack all the needy I can't stand to leave it

You come around here, and you puff up your feeding Yippee-ippee-ay-ay-ay-yey-yey I had to crucify somebody today And I don't dig what you gotta say So go on and say it Yippee-ippee-ay-ay-ay-yey-yey I had to crucify some brother today And I don't hear what you gotta say So come on and say it And come on and tell me twice

[theageoftheunderstatement]

NME: Miles Kane tells us about introspective new album ‘One Man Band’ and shares single ‘Troubled Son’

By Liberty Dunworth, 18/04/2023

The announcement of ‘One Man Band’ – which will be Kane’s fifth solo album – comes hot on the heels of his 2022 LP, ‘Change The Show’.  As the guitarist and singer-songwriter told NME, however, the new release couldn’t come at a better time – aiming to reflect his current frame of mind in the most raw and authentic way possible.

“I feel like that was like the most fitting song to come back with,” Kane said of ‘Troubled Son’ representing the album as a whole. “It’s a song [about how] we all have struggles in our lives, and sometimes we have shit together, sometimes we don’t. It’s like looking at myself in the mirror and acknowledging my faults, my fears, and sort of showing my journey.”

He continued: “I’m trying to figure it out. Sometimes you feel insecure. Sometimes you feel like the king of the world. It’s battling those sorts of [emotions]…‘Shit, am I good enough? Is this good enough?’”

Written at the tail-end of 2022, the 11-track album is balanced on contrast, he explained. It ventures back to the sound of his some of his earlier music – notably ‘Don’t Forget Who You Are’ and ‘Inhaler’ – as a way to create something new. It takes an isolated, emotional theme, and conveys it in a “super upbeat” way, designed for festival stages.

“The whole album is pretty pumping,” Kane told NME. “There was a conscious effort that I wanted to make it super upbeat. I didn’t want any strings. No brass. No piano. I just wanted it to be like what got me into playing guitar. A bit like a song like ‘Inhaler’ on the first album [2011’s ‘Colour Of The Trap’] – I wanted that energy again. That was the objective that we had.”

Set for release on August 4 via Modern Sky and produced by The Coral’s James Skelly, ‘One Man Band’ – as Kane explained – doesn’t simply make false promises of authenticity, it tries to convey it in everything from the album cover and music videos, to the names who collaborated on it.

Kane returned to his roots in the north of England to write the LP, and enlisted help from close friends and family to ensure the most “stripped back and real” result possible.

“Most of it was written up north,” said Kane. “I went to Stockport, wrote there with Tom [Ogden, Blossoms frontman]. Then James [Skelly], who was the singer from The Coral, he produced it. Last year we were having a back-and-forth of sending demos, and we recorded it in December and January in Liverpool.

He continued: “My cousin Ian played drums [so] it is a family affair. It’s the first time we’ve ever all worked together. It’s weird how it just fell into place and it feels right. It probably wouldn’t have worked if we’d tried it when we were younger, [but] it was a really nice experience to feel that support and enthusiasm. It sounds like the fucking Indie Mafia!”

Alongside the long list of musicians who collaborated on the album, Kane also recruited a familiar face for the pub-centred music video of ‘Troubled Son’: YouTuber, streamer and The Inbetweeners actor, James Buckley.

Discussing how the idea for the guest cameo came about, Kane said it stemmed from a want to have the music video be as true to his everyday life as possible.

“He’s my mate. I’ve known him probably since my first album and we had just been out a couple of weeks before. Then he just came down for that video! They’re all my mates, all in the pub – we went for a day and just got pissed,” he said.

“Again, I just wanted something just super real and not too posed. Just showing what I do with mates. Even the artwork, a friend took that and it’s of me, not too posed. I wanted it all to be sort of stripped back and as real as can be, to be honest.”

Looking at the release of ‘One Man Band’ and beyond, Kane insisted that, above all else, he is eager to hit the stage again. “I am itching. I just need to get out there. I’m dying. I’m chomping at the bit, really,” he said, also hinting that he is wanting to rekindle his long-time collaboration with Arctic Monkeys’ frontman, Alex Turner.

Although nothing has been announced as of yet – Kane did confirm that an upcoming appearance with the iconic Sheffield band later this year is “very possible” and something the two “have spoken about” recently.

As for fans Kane and Turner’s own band, The Last Shadow Puppets, the songwriter added that while they will “definitely” revive the project at some point, there are no official plans for a reunion happening “any time soon”.

“We always speak about it,” he added. “It’ll always come up. But now we’re both doing our things, you know? I think when it just falls back into place naturally in terms of being creative, writing songs or whatever together, then that will be the day.”

As for Kane’s other supergroup, The Jaded Hearts Club – which also featured Jet’s Nic Cester, Muse frontman Matt Bellamy, Blur’s Graham Coxon, Jamie Davis and Zuton’s drummer Sean Payne – the promise of new music seems increasingly more hopeful.

According to Kane, the band are considering reforming and turning their focus away from covers and towards writing their batch of original material. However, again to the dismay of hopeful fans, this isn’t due anytime soon. “Probably at some point, we’ll do a little record of some original songs,” he said.

“It is a plan. So I think we’ll have a little dive over there at some point. At the minute, I’ve just gotta keep my head balanced on [though]. But one day I think we’ll do some originals and see if they sound any good.”

[daeluin]

can i ask how you got into british football/liverpool in particular? just curious

ohhhh that's one of my favorite stories!

it all starts with one of the most traumatic moments of the last thirty years for Argentina: the match against England during the 2002 world cup. like i don't know how to properly describe what that loss meant. the country had just gone up in flames six months ago, the only good thing we had was the National Team who had qualified to the world cup without losing a single match. which is insane bc we were against the last prime Brasil NT with Ronaldo and Ronaldinho. so everyone was excited for the WC. moreso because we had an 'easy' group stage. and then we got absolutely humiliated. like downright piss poor nothing football. the worst Bielsa ball the world has ever seen.

so we get to the England game, we needed a win to qualify for next stage. the match is so important my school actually suspended the clases and pulled a CTR on the school yard so everyone could see the match. I was 9 years old and I sat on the school yard in the middle of winter with all the other kids from my primary school and we watched the NT lose and be eliminated for the World Cup.

and that was the day I swear off the Argentina NT. like I had already gotten my dreams crushed during the '98 WC & now this??? nah I wasn't getting my hopes up ever again.

anyways, after we were out I kept watching other teams and found two passions in my life: my love for Oliver Kahn (and the reason I followed Bayern Munich until he retired) and my love for hatewatching England. and it must've been around '03/'04 idk which game were I saw Steven Gerrard play and idk man I just felt in love.

there was something about watching Stevie G play ball that was so unique. he's truly my favorite player ever. the last true N° 10 the world saw.

around that time we got cable & they started putting premier league matches and I knew I wasn't going to support fucking Manchester United because that's were that rat Veron was in. so I was like 'where does that kid Gerrard plays? i wanna watch him' and that's how I got into Liverpool. I remember telling my dad about my choice of team and he went on to tell me that was good because I should always support working class clubs lol.

so I started watching english football and Liverpool because I felt in love with Stevie and I wanted to see him play and through him I felt in love with the club. and the rest is history.

[useless-englandfacts]

never understood the hate for black country accents in general tbh. same for liverpool unless they're intentionally doing a squeaky voice to take the piss in which case it's torture. the worst accent in the country is north london because it makes you sound like a cbbc presenter

one of the most annoying things in the world is when people* constantly make jokes on videos of scousers like “i’m glad there are subtitles LOL 🤣🤣🤣”

and i cannot recall a single cbbc presenter aside from… hacker the dog (who was… northern?) because i was watching it in like 2009 but i’ll take your word for it anyway

(*obvs doesn’t apply to non-native english speakers i’m talking about people who can clearly understand people like john bishop or whoever they just think they’re being funny)

[larry-the-demon]

whats a clipper ship and why is it better (i assume) than other ships and why is it important to the story. they never made me read moby dick in school so I'm genuinely interested

HELLO HELLO imback on my PUTER so i can type so so fast SO FIRST OF ALL genuinely clipper ships are not important to moby dick at all lmao 💀i just like them cos theyre the fastest sailing ships ever so uhh quick breakdown

clippers are the product of american shipbuilders putting a packet ship-esque build on a larger merchant ship

a packet ship is a sort of ship that was small and fast, used specifically for trips from america's east coast to england, usually liverpool. these fuckers were the fastest ships when they were built, and many many sailors died on their voyages bc the captains tried to make em fast as possible

so. we've got tiny fast ship. we've also got large slow merchant ships used in britian for the china and india trade. we've got a man (donald mckay) who rlly likes building ships and is good at his job. puts a packet-esque build on a large-scale ship

for context: the british ships were referred to as 'kettle-bottoms' cos they had flat bottoms that were built mostly to avoid stupid tonnage laws (that the british put in place) (everybody fuckin hated the tonnage laws) and the clippers had a much more streamlined bottom & a differently shaped rudder. they also carried a fuckton of sail, had 3 mainmasts and around 4 sails on each of those

SO the clipper was built. first used for shit like the china trade in the 1840s, then later on until around 1855-56 used as transportation to california for the gold rush. theyre most commonly recognized for the gold rush stuff cos they had to swing round cape horn every single time & that place is fucked UPP for sailing

so these babygirls are the fastest sailing ships ever built (the most notable one technically being the lightning, she was very VERY fast) (my favourite being the sea witch, from when the clippers were still kinda in Prototype Mode)

so yeah these speedy fucks kind of heralded in the end of the age of sail. they were built, had their beautiful and sexy and fleeting run, and then everything turned to motTHER FUCKING STEAM SHIPS FUCK FUCK PISS SHIT

and uhhh that is most of it LMAO but the ships used in the whaling industry were. just called whaling ships 💀💀or smth. ive been trying to find more info on them & on whaling but the most ive found is a 100-pg book of whaling anecdotes which are GOOD but dont tell me anything abt the ships they sailed on other than that the people who hunted whales up north were the ones who invented the crows nest!!!!!!!! auaugh!!!!!

& take all this w a grain of salt bc im fully j dragging it from my memory of arther h clarks book on clippers. im onlhy in the beginning stages of reading clippers: greyhounds of the sea (which has MUCH more information!! very pog) so. that is how it is lmao. unironically thank u so much for asking this im having the timeof my life rn :)

[mountttmase]

I forgot what final heartbreak feels like 😥 Gary Neville has pissed me right of saying we lost to klopps kids when the average age of our squad was YOUNGER than liverpools. Sky sports are so Liverpool coded in every single match im sick of them

LOL I heard that and I told Carlotta like wtf

[castrateurfate]

regardless of all of this, honest to fucking god NEVER say that THE SUN of all things has ever had a "W".

to brainless yanks who don't understand how unbeliavibly horrible that is, that's basically like saying breitbart or the daily stormer has had a "W"

The Sun is by far one of if not the most evil newspapers in the history of the printing press and whatever horrible stuff Johnny Depp has done, I can assure you that The Sun has done far far worse.

You should never EVER be on their side no matter what you idiotic freaks of nature.

Their coverage of the Hillsborough disaster should be one thing, where they litterally falsley claimed Liverpool fans comitted acts of necrophillia on victims of the disaster along with blaming Liverpool fans for the disaster to begin with. And that's not even the start of discussing that hideous events.

Hell, just reading the history section of their Wikipedia page gives you in impression on how barbaric and cruel to people who made this paper are.

I can't believe I have to say this but I'll make it very clear because Americans in their pittiful existance have only shown me their stupidity. So are you ready to listen?

JUST FUCKING BECAUSE A HORRIBLE PERSON/MEDIA COMPANY SAYS SOMETHING YOU AGREE WITH IT DOESN'T FUCKING GIVE YOU AN EXCUSE TO PROMOTE THEM OR GIVE THEM CREDIBILLITY IN ANYWAY SHAPE OR FORM YOU ONE SIDED MYOPIC SINGLE CELLED RED 40 POISONED CUNTS

"Oh, I have to give The Sun a W here".

No you fucking don't. You don't. You're spitting in the face of THEIR victims by doing this. You are an awful terrible horrible person who only cares about the snappy one-liners a gotchas that make you seem so cool and woke miles before actually giving a flying fuck about victims. You are awful. Horrible. You are scum, along with all the editors and journalists who sold their worthless souls for the sake of working for The Sun. You are scum. Don't support the worse of two evils because the worse of two evils hives you the benefit of a doubt.

Want to know more about the horrors of The Sun? Internet Investigator did a video. Hopefully you can understand it, as your ego has blocked your view completely from rational thought and empathy.

Don't pretend you care about victims when you give horrible organisations like The Sun a "W".

Go fuck yourselves, all of you. Rot in piss.

EXTREMELY rare w from the uk media

[ashleighneville]

I think we should bring out a statement on refereeing too, it talks about this match but it also says Newcastle's goal last night shouldn't have stood, Liverpool should have gotten a replay, wolves have been fucked five ways to Sunday, it acknowledges every single refereeing mistake or contentious decision this season. It should United everyone but naturally it pisses off everybody and makes everyone look like a hypocrite. It'd be fucking hilarious

[waglifeornolife]

You have to admit it Jess, you do come across as a bit of a know-it-all countless times and get all defensive when you don’t need to be. I don’t support either team but it’s true, Liverpool has been overlooked on so many occasions when jt in the past resulting them in a win, let spurs have their moment and move on from it

and every single time i give credit to the opponents and say how unlucky they are, i’m not usually biased when it comes to games unless im asked to be because people get pissed off for no reason, like i’m not a liverpool fan or anything. today i had a moment after the game where i literally looked at it from my professional perspective where I’m not allowed to be biased and even then i couldn’t understand some of the officiating decisions 😂

i come across as a know it all because i do countless hours of work and research a day into the sport, i know a lot more than most because i have to, that’s not me being cocky about it, that’s just the way it is, i cant help that as much as you cant. if i knew nothing or didn’t know as much as i do, i wouldn’t be doing the job i do 😂

i’m not letting spurs have their moment because i’m a liverpool fan and liverpool were done dirty, everyone baring spurs fans agree… i have every right to react the way i have because it’s my blog where i can do what i want, if people didn’t like it, they wouldn’t follow me

[yawansomecheekinlad]

Honestly, I'm laughing for nothing at this Jude fandom thinking that we Liverpool fans are pissed that he didn't come, since Klopp and FSG saw a cheaper opportunity in Mac Allister who is simply world champion with Argentina, and that they are not stupid enough to spend everything Real spent on a single playerile Jude lost the semis to France

tbh I was pissed (see: previous posts) but yes, I am the most grateful to klopp for "bottling" the jude signing. I'm gonna be honest and say I was begging, manifesting, praying, DYING for jude to come here but now I'm completely happy because we DID get the better bargain. john henry, fuck you, but you did us a solid here.

[aramblingjay]

A carraville ficlet of sorts, set after last week’s northwest derby

__

Nine. Nil.

Fuck.

He wants to go into the dressing room and shout at every single one of them until he’s red in the face, as red as his blood that still sings United, United, United no matter how much it hurts. He wants to pull every blade of grass out of the Old Trafford pitch individually and tear the stadium down one bolt at a time with his bare hands. He wants to rip every single player’s contract to shreds and start all over with a blank slate. He wants to be relegated straight down to League One, because maybe at that level, they’d actually win a fucking match.

He wants to rage, or to cry, or maybe some combination of the two. He definitely wants to curse.

Instead, he clears his throat and records the Gary Neville podcast.

Jamie asks him before they start, “Should I go?”, which is how they’ve done it in the past, how they did it for the City-Liverpool game just a few weeks ago, but something about the thought of sitting here on his own talking to Martin about that shitshow posing as a game leaves a lump in his throat, and he shakes his head. Stay.

He won’t be able to talk to Jamie later today, will probably barely be able to look at him. That’s how they’ve always worked after these big defeats—a few days breathing room, at least one night of space. But right now, as he tries to find the right words, tries to make sure his voice won’t wobble and the last thread of professionalism he’s clinging to by the fingernails isn’t going to snap, right now he wants Jamie here.

There’s a general feeling of numbness up and down his body as he watches Martin direct the cameraman to slide down a bit so he and Jamie can both be in frame, as he watches Jamie switch the channel on his headset and tell the producers in flat, immovable terms that he’ll be staying on the gantry to record the podcast and they’ll both be in the studio in thirty. These are things he’d help coordinate, normally, but it feels beyond him right now. He wants to thank them for handling it, but that feels beyond him too.

It’s his job to put words to that performance, and it’s the only thing he can afford to think about until they go off-air. He might lose it, otherwise.

They start recording.

The opening question is his to answer, it’s his podcast after all. It’s easy enough to swallow down the pain and the pride and openly praise how good Liverpool were—he’s had a lot of practice these past few years, has perfected being able to talk about Liverpool and City and Leeds without losing himself in the emotion of being a fan.

He might go home and burn every single one of his United kits, but that’s a separate issue.

It’s Jamie’s first time on the podcast, the first time he’s had any guest actually, which is—something he doesn’t care to investigate right this moment, but it helps to hear that familiar rumble beside him as Jamie picks up the thread on Liverpool’s excellence.

He wouldn’t have lasted this long in the job without being able to compartmentalize, and gets through the rest of the podcast without swearing more than twice. It’s not a bad effort, in the end. They’ll sound measured and insightful and just the right side of passionate, and it’ll probably do well on the socials just like every fucking thing involving him ranting about United seems to.

After that’s done, they go into the studio. Graeme offers a sympathetic smile and Roy looks about as pissed as he feels, but he’s mostly numb to it all. Just needs to get through the next hour, so he can put himself on a train and work out how to digest what’s just happened. Another shit evening in a long line of shit evenings this year.

It’s actually much easier than people might think to keep himself together in the studio—everywhere you turn are reminders that this is being broadcasted to half the UK, cameras and lights and producers and a general level of frantic energy that fuels him for as long as they’re on air.

They’ve sat him directly across from Jamie today, which is actually the hardest part—looking at Jamie is too familiar, makes his mind think it’s okay to let his guard down when it really, really isn’t.

So he mainly looks at Graeme instead, which helps.

It also helps that he’s done this before, said all of the same lines already in some iteration or the other. United are broken. They need a complete overhaul from top to bottom. The players have phoned it in. Slightly new rhythm over the same familiar tune, and it makes it easy, that he doesn’t have to search for the right notes to hit.

Might actually be more effort, at this point, if he was asked to say something positive about United.

Kelly takes them off air, and he feels like a puppet with its strings cut. Hollow inside and a bit lost, left to his own thoughts for the first time since the whistle blew for kickoff.

Jamie is there. “C’mon Gaz,” he says to him quietly, guides him out of the studio with a hand pressed firmly to his back.

Nobody stops them. Nobody would.

They end up in an empty greenroom, makeup brushes scattered across a table next to the mirror. This might even have been the room where he got ready, Gary can’t be bothered to try and remember.

“Do you want a minute?” Jamie asks.

Do you want me to leave?, is what Jamie is really asking, so Gary shakes his head. Some days he would, but not right now.

Jamie locks the door behind them, and Gary takes a deep breath.

Jamie has seen him after all sorts of bad defeats in recent years, so he knows. He doesn’t try to talk to him, doesn’t even get within four feet of him once the door is locked, just leans against the far wall with his eyes on his phone.

Gary breathes, breathes, breathes. It’s just football, he reminds himself, though that never really seems to help.

Nine. Nil.

He remembers seeing Sir Alex in the stands, the embodiment of disappointment, and wants to scream.

“Fucking hell, Jamie,” he says when the quiet is too much. “That was—wow.” There aren’t words really, so he says once more with feeling, “Fuck.”

Jamie puts his phone away. Walks toward him with slow, deliberate steps that Gary knows he could stop with one shake of his head, one look. He doesn’t.

Once Jamie gets close enough that Gary can count every white hair amidst the gray, can even see the few stubborn browns that haven’t yet given way, he stops. “What do you need from me?”

“Two days,” Gary replies immediately. This was a bad one. “Maybe even three, I don’t know.”

“Okay.” Jamie’s voice is soft, but there’s no pity there. It’s the only reason Gary can stand to be in a room with him. Jamie never pulls his punches, wouldn’t even know the meaning of the concept, and he doesn’t do pity. But he’s always kind once the cameras are off, knows better than anyone what it feels like to be carved open from inside-out by this particular fixture. “Anything else?”

“An apology, maybe,” Gary says. The pit in his stomach coils tighter and tighter, ready to explode. Or maybe implode, taking him with it.

“My only regret is that it wasn’t five,” Jamie counters evenly.

And it is kindness, even if nobody else would recognize it as such.

Because Jamie’s only gentle when it’s bad, really, really bad, when even thinking about the game hurts and there’s an ache behind his ribs that won’t go away. Jamie knows when that’s the case, has been around the football block enough times and seen him after enough games to know. The banter is the step before that, a life raft, a chance to pull himself together, a way of saying this doesn’t have to knock you if you don’t let it. Gary knows full well that if he reacts badly, he’ll get gentle Jamie, Jamie who approaches being gentle the same way he does everything else—with his whole mind and body and heart, relentless, no room for failure.

“Fuck off,” he manages to say instead, and Jamie full-on grins, mad bastard.

“Yeah, exactly. Don’t let them knock you,” Jamie says. He’s still smiling, like he’s never been happier to be cursed at. It’s probably true. “This team don’t deserve your passion when they’ve got barely a quarter of it themselves.”

This is why it works. This is why it fucking works. He doesn’t know how to explain it, but Jamie gets him in a way no one else does.

“Don’t even mind us being shite,” slips out before he can stop himself. Being around Jamie loosens his tongue, leaves his defenses crumbling before he even has time to put them up. “But that was insult to the badge, honestly. Just walking around the pitch, giving nothing, like a bunch of clueless fucking—”

He can’t think of an insult strong enough to complete the sentence to his satisfaction, so just lets it hang there.

Jamie just looks at him steadily. There’s no evidence of Liverpool’s victory on his face, no gloating smirk, no twinkle in his eye, not even the barest hint of glee. And still no pity. Just a sort of calm, even understanding.

Something uncoils, just a little.

“Is it too late to turn traitor and become a Liverpool fan?” Gary asks, with a lightness he couldn’t have produced just three minutes ago. Sometimes he tries to imagine what it would be like, experiencing success as a fan. The only real successes he’s tasted have been the ones he had a hand in forging, the trophies that took his own blood and sweat to win. It’s different to watch as a fan, to win as a fan. “Jump on the quadruple bandwagon and all that.”

“You wouldn’t,” Jamie says assuredly.

He’s right. As much as Gary still might burn all his old kits when he gets home, he can’t burn the crest out of his heart, out of his soul, any more than he could burn away Jamie.

“Yeah, alright.”

They stay in the greenroom for a few more minutes before going their separate ways. Jamie to find every Scouser in the building and have a good chat about how great they are, probably, before taking the train up to Liverpool and going on a two-day celebratory bender. Gary to find his regular clothes and get out of here, take the next train to Manchester and decompress in the privacy of his own home.

There’ll be radio silence for the next two days, and even longer if needed. He knows Jamie will wait for him to break it. For him to say they’re okay to move forward.

But eventually, move forward they will. They always have.

[mothmanofwords]

small bands i would sell my soul to part 2

Thank You, I'm Sorry - Soft indie rock from Minneapolis. They write a lot about anxiety and kinda day to day things. They have two albums on spotify as of now.

Fav track - How Many Slugs Can We Throw At The Wall Until We Question Our Own Morality

Crawlers - Alternative rock band from Liverpool. They give off Mother Mother vibes but with only one vocalist and rougher edges. Their debut ep is coming out soon, and they have released six singles.

Fav Track - Placebo

Dazey and the Scouts - Riot Grrrl band from Boston. These guys are a bit bigger than some of the other folks on here but if you haven't heard them yet, you're missing out. They made one album and then broke up but that one album is fantastic.

Fav Track - Maggot

The Oozes - Punk band from London. Also larger than some of the other artists and you may have heard their song Blah Blah Blah. They have an ep and a single out on spotify and every song is fantastic.

Fav Track - Hungry

Hands Off Gretel - Punk/Riot Grrrl band from England. They also have some grunge influences, and their cover of Territorial Pissings by Nirvana was fantastic.

Fav Track - She Thinks She's Punk Rock 'n Roll

[tommyspeakycap]

Ruined it

pairing - andy robertson x reader

summary - after the england tie, andy’s left sulking while watching the woman he’s fallen in love with apparently cracking on with kt - this request

word count - 2k

"What're you sulking about eh?"

Andy turns his head suddenly at the sound of a voice he’s come to be very fond of. A brotherly voice of consistent reason. Jordan Henderson is always level headed and gives probably the best advice of anyone Andy has ever known, especially off the pitch. It’s why he’s their Liverpool skipper.

Andy shrugs, watching as Jordan takes a seat a little away from him, a row down and three seats over so they’re not too close as they sit in the stadium. The England international has his hands stuffed thoroughly into his pockets for a bit of heat against his rain soaked body, but the Scot doesn’t seem to be bothered by the dark blue strip still rain plastered to his skin. Jordan’s never understood the unbothered nature of many Scottish players and the rain, especially after matches. Tierney could often be spotted kicking about training in shorts and t-shirt even in the snow. But the rain seemed to be the least of Andy Robertson’s worried right now.

His eyes instead are focused down on the side of the pitch, still actually standing in the rain on his fellow left back. Tierney is standing by the goalpost and next to him is someone Jordan has become mildly familiar with through his friendship with Andy, you. Billy and Mason had been standing there a couple minutes ago and since had left to chat elsewhere with Chilwell, but you and Kieran remained talking.

The Liverpool skipper understands immediately why his club mate looks so sour even though they hadn’t conceded a goal. It’s not so much that you’re talking to Kieran, but instead the way that you’re talking to him.

It’s so animated, he’s using his hands to tell a story and you’re mimicking his actions with the same intensity, engaged in somehow simultaneously telling and listening to each other talk. Except Jordan can rationalise. You haven’t seen Kieran in person for ages, this was like two pent up kids seeing their friends for the first time after the summer holidays. So much to tell, so little time to get it across.

“Can’t compete with that, mate.” Andy mumbles, his voice thick with the heavy heartache kind of emotion that chafes a little at the large heart of the mackem man looking at him softly. “Don’t be like that,” Jordan protests with a scoff, “She’s not interested in him.” He insists, but he - again - can understand why Andy might think that. He doesn’t see what you look like when you talk to him. He doesn’t see the way you look at him or how excited you are to speak to him. He can’t watch your conversations from the outside line he’s sitting doing right now with you and the arsenal left-back who you’ve got doubled over in laughter right now. It's very obvious for Jordan to tell that you and Kieran are just friends because he can, and does, get to see what love from you looks like.

It looks like the hearts that basically swirl around in your eyes every single time you look at Andy Robertson.

You're standing down there talking to that cheeky Celtic through and through left back with his hair sticking up funny because of the rain and the thing that he's talking about is you and the Scotland captain. He was the real reason you were at the game, Kieran knows this. He knows you’re smitten, have been since he introduced you to him a few years ago. It had only been a waiting game of how long until one of you to crack and admit it.

Kieran was getting awful bored of waiting and nobody was getting any younger. If he had to hear you talking about Andy and this 'potential girlfriend' one more time, he'll lose the fucking rag. Andy doesn’t have a girlfriend. He couldn't fucking get one because everyone that asked him out got turned down for the simple fact that they weren't you enough for him. Nobody ever would be.

Nobody would laugh at his jokes and rip him a new one when he needed to be told that his patter was genuinely shocking. Nobody, literally nobody, appreciated that little thing he does with his shoulder on a run down the side of the pitch when he realises he might lose the ball like you do. He throws his shoulder forward, almost in a way that can be played off as a natural movement but has just enough on it to send the quickly running member of the opposing team into the closest pitch barricade. When he'd spent the length of the Manchester City game doing it to Kyle Walker, it's all you'd talked about for days. You just love him and it's almost painfully obvious to everyone but the one person who should see it the most.

"They're just friends Robbo." Jordan repeats, but Andy squints with an ever so subtle shake of his head. "It's like a fuckin' movie. Met when they were four, still fuckin' best friends at twenty four. Couldn't write it Hendo." Andy explains, hitting the back of his hand against the palm of his other emphatically, almost as if to drive home the idea brewing in his mind that you and Kieran were set to be together. A perfect couple, of sorts.

"You're being ridiculous." Jordan states simply, shaking his head in disagreement and indifference. "Like, do you realise how stupid you sound? She is not... interested... in ...him."

Andy sighs again heavily, finally tearing his eyes away from you to look at his club mate turned close friend sitting there in front of him. Jordan had his serious, almost dad face on. The one he uses if there is a message he needs to get across or a scolding that he needs to give either to a team member acting up or to one of his children.

"That said," he adds, "You need to tell her how you feel mate, before she is interested in someone else. Won't wait around for you forever."

The words actually give Andy a chill through his spine, making him shiver and not from the cold. He spots you, drifting out of a circle containing KT, Ben Chilwell, Billy, Mason and John McGinn, kind of looking as though you were looking around for someone else. Jordan knows that you are looking for the one man you really came here for. You're almost looking for him to save you, searching for him in the sea of football players standing in circles dotted around talking amongst each other about the game, about their lives and all that other rubbish that had missed talking about.

You're not sure what it is, but it feels like someone's arse that bloody bounces you sideways stumbling in straight into the front of Jack Grealish. Kieran smirks from where he stands knowing he hit his intended target when he hears your 'oof' and Jack's signature Brummie accent asking if you were alright. He casts a side eye up to the stands where he's seen his skipper sitting, a small grin ticking over the former Celtic mans lips as he sees Jordan Henderson patting Andy on the back just as he quickly makes for the stairs two at a time on tired legs.

"It that Grealish?" Andy had asked, eyebrows pulled into furrowed confusion. Jordan nods. "Yup."

That raises Andy to his feet immediately. Kieran was one thing, but to see you basically nose to nose with Jack fucking Grealish was another. That Andy could not even begin to handle even as he helped you back to your feet. "Better move fast." Hendo notes.

Andy does just that, except not in the direction that either Kieran or Jordan had anticipated him going in. When Andy got to the bottom of the stairs where Kieran had expected him to barge through the players and make a break for you, he instead took a swift left and marched back through the tunnel to the changing rooms.

Jordan is the first to spot your frown when you see the number 3 walking quickly off towards the changing room. He can physically see from your face the way that your heart sinks, a soft sigh parting your lips as you disjoin from the groups of talking players and mingling family members to find the side of the pitch that he had left from. Whether or not you were supposed to go back there, you didn't know. But you had come here to see him, watch him play and actually get to speak to him face to face for the first time in a while. Your work had kept you busy and he was travelling for the Scotland matches.

"Andy!" You call out after him, picking up your pace when you spot him rounding a corner quickly. "Andy!"

You know he can hear you, but he doesn't slow down. He keep thundering towards the changing room and you're confused. He was never like this. Andy is such a sweetheart to everyone and to you he was even sweeter. He was funny, he was kind and he made you feel like the world was a better place to be in.

This was very out of character, especially after a game that would be considered a success from their perspective.

"Andrew!" You bark, courage bubbling up to the surface when he pushes through the changing room door and lets it shut behind him just before you walk through.

Andy freezes in his spot, guilt immediately causing through his veins at the sound of you attempting to catch the heavy door. That was uncalled for and his mother would slap him silly if she'd ever caught word of him doing something like that to anyone, but especially. His mum really loved you.

"What was that far? Who pissed in your cereal this morning?" You try to joke as you lean against the door, crossing your arms over your chest with a teasing grin, but he just turns his back to you at his number designated changing spot in the room. He shrugs and pulls his shirt over the top of his head roughly, chucking it down on the bench in front of him. "Just didn't know you were behind me." He mumbles, almost so lowly you can't hear him.

"Right." You scoff with a step takin towards him. He still won't turn and look at you. He has so much anger coursing through his veins and he just doesn't even know why. Just seeing you there, hugging all them and speaking to Kieran before him, the way the arsenal man held you with such a tight squeeze and kissed the top of your head was what he was supposed to be doing. It's what he always did and watching Kieran do that to you knowing it was a routine for him too made him feel like an absolute idiot. Everything for Kieran was completely platonic, simply the act of missing you as his best friend.

"Cause you're not really supposed to be back here." He hints, making your heart sink. Your confidence to confront him dissipates right there and then, forcing you to attempt to swallow back a lump in your throat. He had never even used a tone like that with you before, not even in the petty little arguments you've been in in the past.

In fact had anyone else spoke to you anywhere near anything like that, Andy would have laid them out flat. But he was so fuelled by jealousy and the desire to be alone to wallow in his heartache so he doesn't take it out on his teammate later on a ruin morale that he almost doesn't realise how nasty he's being, even if the words themselves aren't that sharp, his cold tone was enough to make any words seem hurtfully intended. He chances a look back at you, a quick turns of his head to see you staring at him before he turned his head back to face his number stuck to the wall in front of him as he pulled the tape from off his wrists.

"I just noticed you walking off and the guys let me through so I-" You attempt to reason, words shaking slightly as you try to string together an excuse for being there when he clearly doesn't want you to be. God that hurt more than it should. "Are you alright?"

"Just surprised you could tear yourself away from trying to shag KT is all. Or maybe you'd prefer Grealish? Not too sure."

Your heart skips a beat at his snap as he pulls his undershirt from his arm and throws it down with his strip shirt. A puff of air is snorted out your noise, the kind of scoff of disbelief that hits his ears just in time to realise the words had actually just left his lips. With his back to you, he's safe to make screw up his face in disbelief at himself.

You scoff full this time, just about sick of the sight of his back and completely over the attitude. He's not sure what you're doing behind him in the seconds after he spits out those words that he knows for a fact will have hit you hard.

"Here." You tug him from his thoughts, turning him around finally to see you standing there with hurt written across your face. He watches you with his own pain filled eyes as you stand there in a long sleeved blue shirt something like the one he had been wearing under his strip. Right when he turns around, you throw something at him. A bundle of blue material that he barely catches against his bare chest. His head turns down towards it to investigate.

"Fuck you, Andrew." You spit, "Fuck you."

His sighs heavily to himself as he watches the door slam behind you, shaking out the fabric in his hands. His heart literally shatters when he realises what it is. The dark blue Scotland shirt with name and number is printed proudly across the back, something he hadn't even noticed you were actually wearing until you had throw it at him.

He drops himself backwards to sit on the bench, the jersey settling over his cold thighs as his head falls into his hands and a loud "Fuck," leaves his mouth into the empty room.

You power past Jordan Henderson walking along the corridor, looking at you expectantly with a smile that falters the second he see's your face, eyes brimming with unshed tears as you basically run past him. You're heading in the opposite direction of the pitch too, clearly on your way to leaving.

"Don't, Jordan. Just don't." You cut him off, holding up a hand to silence him before he even had the chance to do more than open his mouth. "Just leave it alone."

He reaches out for you, but you're gone before he gets the chance to catch your arm and his eyebrows are tightly furrowed in confusion. He knows that you and Andy have gotten in something similar to fights before, all friends do but never has the left-back said anything that had ever made you look quite so upset. He was usually the one making sure nobody ever did make you that upset.

While the England international stands there confused, it becomes clear he wasn't the only one to see you so upset when a thundering head of dark hair barrels past him towards the changing room with a definitively angry gusto that has Jordan leaping forward to chase after him.

"Fuck did you do, mate?" Kieran booms the second he throws open that changing room door with Jordan behind him, immediately getting in between the two Scotland players. Kieran has a tendancy to get hot headed. He’s very protective and everybody knows this. Andy’s guilty face wasn’t enough to clarify the idea that it was, in fact, he who had upset you.

“Tierney,” Jordan warns, his eyes serious as he switched from friend to captain mode in a split second, “You’d better go make sure she’s alright.”

Kieran lingers shifting from boot to boot, but ultimately does as he’s told and goes after you at a jog that allows Andy to drop his head back into his hands. Jordan turns back to Andy, hands on his hips with a very unhappy look written into his features.

"Now what the fuck did you do?"

“Just fucking ruined everything, mate.”

[randomguyonline71]

Klopp honestly deserves better

I know this is very different from my usual posts. But as a diehard Liverpool fan in pain, I need to get this out there.

Jurgen Klopp deserves better. He deserves owners that are backing him financially. We are talking about a man who has managed to compete with Manchester City's brilliance and unlimited funds, on a shoestring budget(compared to our rivals). Our city rivals have spent more than us since Klopp arrived, and they haven't won a trophy in 28 years. And haven't finished in top 4 since 05.

We NEED a midfielder. Watching us against Brighton was like watching 8 vs 11. The midfield was gone. It has been known for over a year that we need reinforcements in the middle of the pitch. But the owners are refusing to pay anything, despite last year Klopp getting Liverpool two wins away from the best possible season, ever. The financial backing is gone.

We aren't going to get Jude Bellingham, when we are playing like this. Nor Enzo Fernandes. The same can be said for every other transfer target we have. We are below a team that was playing in the second division of English football last year. And we keep playing like this, because the owners are more focused on splashing $331 million on a single MLB contract. Rather than buy a capable midfielder. To put it into perspective that is only $58 million more than FSG has spent on transfers for Liverpool since 2016!

We have only bought one midfielder since 2019. In the same timespan we have sold three , all of whom were essential to our game. That leaves Klopp in the unfortunate situation of only having six midfielders who are old enough to buy a beer in the US. Ox and Keita have missed a combined 36 games due to injury's this season out of a possible 54. And in the games that they were available, their minutes were limited since they were coming back from injury. That leaves four midfielders that he can rely on. One of them is Milner who is 37... And that isn't even mentioning how piss-poor Thiago, Fabinho and Hendo has been basically all season. If it wasn't for the team sheet, I would have guessed we didn't have any midfielders playing.

Klopp deserves a owner who is willing to give him the players he asks for. Under his reign, the club has 3x in value according to Forbes. And still, no backing

Thank you all for reading my rant. I will go and drown my sorrows in chocolate until the game on Tueday against Wolves. Where we will no doubt play like garbage, and then I will be forced to drown my sorrows in ice cream until the Chelsea game. Where it will be the same story.

[lisaquestions]

I feel like a lot of cis allies of trans people take a lot of liberties with regards to responding to transphobia, transmisogyny, and esp. taking stands about stuff happening in the trans community.

And while I do appreciate a lot of what they do (hey check out this reflexive apology for what I say next) I really need they need to learn when to sit stuff out, when to not inflame a situation, why it doesn’t help us to simply spend all day bearbaiting terfs and fascists (other terfs) into increasingly long and pointless debates.

A lot of really awful stuff is going on in the US, UK, Canada, Australia, Brazil, and other parts of the world that could probably use a lot more of that energy than an alleged single mom allegedly from Liverpool or wherever who is allegedly very alarmed about where trans women piss.