piastrixpole

[piastrixpole]

two

march 2025

dublin, ireland

Fiadh Kinsella was not a morning person. Despite her best efforts, especially on travel days for the band she couldn't function normally before noon usually. The weight of exhaustion often hung heavy on her eyelids, dragging her back into the warm pull of sleep. Alarms be damned - she would sleep through every last one most days.

The only exception to this was when she woke up at ridiculous hours during the night to catch F1 races when the time zones didn't align. Fiadh found herself wide awake in the pitch dark at ridiculous hours, with her laptop balanced on her knees and her duvet pulled up to her chin, eyes wide and glowing in the screen light. She may have been half asleep but she was devoted.

Last year had arguably been Fiadh at her most unhinged. Not only was she following the F1 season religiously, but she'd committed to the entire F2 calendar too - even if it clashed with studio time, she found a way to multitask. Much to the amusement of her bandmates it was all because of one driver too.

It hadn't taken the group that long to catch on. In Fiadh's defence it was impossible to keep secrets when Rowan was literally family and Cian a notorious gossip. Wren had once barged into their hotel room while on tour in the States and found Fiadh curled up at 3am whispering "let's go Isack" to her screen like a prayer.

Rowan made it a running joke, claiming every love song Fiadh wrote was just about a "French boy in a helmet." And Cian, ever the menace, had changed her contact name in the band group chat to Mrs. Hadjar for an entire month.

She took it in stride. Mostly.

Today, though, she wasn't waking for a race. There were no time zone gymnastics or overtired replays to chase. No, today Fiadh Kinsella woke up because her phone was buzzing nonstop and that kind of chaos could only mean something big had happened.

She groaned, rolled over, and fumbled blindly for her phone on the nightstand. The screen lit up in her hand, far too bright for her still-adjusting eyes.

37 notifications

12 tags

49 messages in the band groupchat - most in all caps

Her pulse kicked up before she even unlocked her phone.

Please don't let it be a scandal, she thought, already imagining the worst.

Instead, at the top of her feed, bold and unmissable, sat the latest post from Silverstone's and F1’s official accounts.

☆

FRIDAY NIGHT HEADLINERS: HAZE

The graphic was sleek and dramatic — their band name dead centre in glowing white text, set against a backdrop of the main stage under stadium lights. The same stage she'd watched interviews filmed on. The same one her favourite artists had stood on. The same one that had never even been on her radar as a possibility.

Fiadh blinked. Twice. It didn't go away.

Of course she knew they'd make an announcement eventually but she hadn't expected it so soon.

✨ FRIDAY NIGHT HEADLINERS ✨

We're thrilled to welcome Haze to the Main Stage at this year's British Grand Prix!

Catch them live at 7:30pm — you won't want to miss this.

#SilverstoneGP #HazeLive #BritishGPWeekend

@F1girliesunite:

why is this band... hot. who's the drummer. i'm scared

@slowburnplaylists:

Haze??? At SILVERSTONE??? they're finally getting the recognition they deserve i'm sobbing

@formuluhhhh:

if i see Isack Hadjar in the crowd during haze's set i will combust

@cianupdates:

they let the chaos band play in front of influencers, royalty and george russell. this is so unserious

@formulahaze:

I saw Haze in a tent with 200 people last summer and now they're playing Silverstone?? crying. sobbing. throwing guitars.

@guitarsnacks

Rowan O'Sullivan is the coolest drummer alive i'm not even into f1 and now i wanna go

@wrenhollowayfanpage

wren better wear that little black tank top again or i'm rioting

@gridgossipdaily

can we talk about how the lead singer of haze is a known isack hadjar fan??? silverstone romance incoming

@hazefan6

screaming. shaking. sobbing. main stage at silverstone. our little band is all grown up 🥹

@mclarenandchaos

if cian stage dives at a motorsport event i will lose it

@flannelandfastlaps

manifesting fiadh singing a love song with isack in the crowd. i'm just saying. i'm manifesting.

@oversteeranonymous

why is everyone thirsting over the band. like yes they're talented but also why are they all so hot

☆

Her stomach dropped and soared all at once.

She barely registered the comments, though they flickered past with dizzying speed — excitement, disbelief, fangirl chaos. Someone had already clipped a video of their last festival performance and edited it with footage from past Silverstone concerts.

As the stream of notifications continued to blow up her phone, Fiadh put a stop to the incessant dinging and finally checked their band group chat.

☆

get the brits out (sorry wren!!)

Wren:

wake up silverstone sluts

Rowan:

good morning to everyone except

the person who's now the main

character on motorsport twitter

Cian:

guys. i went to check our tag and

someone said "this is isack hadjar's fault"

LMAOOOO

Fiadh:

what the fuck what the fuck

what the fuck

Wren:

ur trending babe

right under "charles leclerc shirtless"

and just above "lando norris girlfriend

soft launch"

Rowan:

our vocalist? famous

our guitarist? terrified

our drummer? deeply unwell

our bassist? screenshotting thirst tweets

Cian:

"if fiadh sings 'slowburn' and isack's in

the crowd i'll need CPR" ← that one

made me wheeze

Fiadh:

i hate all of you. i'm leaving the band

Wren:

can u leave after silverstone?

i already picked your outfit x

Rowan:

also. question. are you gonna make eye

contact with him during the bridge or—

Fiadh:

ROWAN NO

Cian:

new lyric idea:

"you were f2, i was stage two"

Fiadh:

i'm going to walk into the sea

Wren:

not before the livestream. i want them

to pan to isack's reaction when you hit

the high note

Fiadh:

this is bullying

Rowan:

this is marketing

Cian:

this is art actually. indie romance.

soft launch via main stage.

Wren:

i'm pitching "haze ft. hadjar" to the

label as we speak

Fiadh:

if i throw my phone out the window will

that cancel the performance

Rowan:

no but if u faint on stage i am taking

your mic and saying "she wrote that one

about a french driver in red bull overalls"

Cian:

the poetry of it all

Wren:

should we choreograph it? like if he's there,

we all take one step back and leave fiadh at the

front of the stage. spotlight. soul-bearing bridge.

you cry. he cries. crowd cries.

boom. sold out world tour.

Fiadh:

you're actually all unwell

Rowan:

and yet. we're still your band

Cian:

and your biggest fans.

and your biggest problems

Wren:

and your stylists. don't forget i already have a pinterest board called "race weekend witch"

Fiadh:

...okay that's actually kind of a serve

Rowan:

she's breaking. we're wearing her down

Wren:

see u on the main stage, princess

Lizzie (Label)

hi. just popping in to say i'm deeply concerned

by everything i've just read

Lizzie (Label):

also: DO NOT flirt with F1 drivers onstage.

i'm begging. you're not insured for that.

Cian:

too late

Rowan:

define "flirt"

Fiadh:

i haven't even agreed to look at him

Wren:

girl you look at him all the time

but also...her voice is the flirt, technically

Lizzie (Label);

jesus christ

Lizzie (Label):

okay. more goes live in 3 hours. please

behave until then. also please eat something.

especially you, Fiadh. i know you forget.

Fiadh:

i'm literally having toast rn

Cian:

what she's not saying is that it's burnt

Wren:

emotionally appropriate tbh

Fiadh set her phone facedown on the windowsill, like if she gave herself even one more minute looking at it, her head might combust. The group chat was still going off — memes now, mostly. Edits. Rowan had just sent a cursed collage of her face photoshopped onto a podium next to Max Verstappen. Cian was adding dramatic Lana lyrics beneath every fan comment.

But the rush was starting to thin now, the laughter fading under the weight of what it actually meant.

Silverstone was in theory just a gig. The biggest headline of their career so far but a gig none the less - but it didn't feel like something so trivial. Not to her.

She pressed her forehead to the cool glass, watching condensation from her tea mug trail against the surface. The buzz of it all hummed under her skin like static electricity, prickling and fidgeting. Too many thoughts, too many eyes, too many expectations.

This was the kind of thing she used to dream about when she was sixteen and bored in Irish class, scribbling band name ideas into the margins of her copybook. The version of her that used to sit cross-legged in front of her mam's old telly, watching Grand Prix interviews on YouTube like they were gospel, would've lost her mind at the idea of this — performing there. With them. On a stage that big, at an event that loud, in front of an audience that massive.

And yet here she was, with burnt toast in one hand and half a song stuck in her head, about to become part of something way, way bigger than she thought they were ready for.

Fiadh let out a slow breath.

She wasn't sure if she was terrified or thrilled.

Maybe both.

She pulled her notebook closer, thumbed to the page with the new lyrics she'd jotted down at 3am the week before, and scribbled one more line beneath it:

looks like you've gone and made it

[piastrixpole]

one

march 2025 dublin, ireland

From: bookings@silverstone.com

To: novatalentagency@gmail.ie

Re: Talent Booking Enquiry - British Grand Prix

Hi Lizzie,

We're prepared to offer Haze the Friday evening entertainment slot at Silverstone after our prior negotiations. The team here are excited to book such a promising young talent for this opportunity.

We hope to hear back from you with confirmation from the band soon so the socials team can get started with the promo.

Kind Regards,

Blake Lee

Head of Bookings

From: novatalentagency@gmail.ie To: bookings@silverstone.com Subject: Re: Talent Booking Enquiry - British Grand Prix

Hi Blake,

Thanks so much for getting back to us — we're thrilled to confirm that Haze will take the Friday evening entertainment slot at Silverstone. The band are buzzing about the opportunity (and already arguing over what to wear).

Please let us know what assets you need for promo: press shots, bios, setlist teasers and we'll get them over ASAP.

Looking forward to working together on this. Best, Lizzie Devlin Nova Talent Agency

☆

Wednesday mornings were dedicated to finishing the writing and production of their sophomore record. Fresh off a headline European tour for their debut album, the band hadn't wanted to lose any momentum. Instead of taking time to breathe, they threw themselves into the deep end, working night and day to capitalise on their current relevance and popularity in an effort to gain more traction.

Fiadh Kinsella sat cross-legged on the studio floor, cradling a lavender matcha latte in the mug Wren had given her last Christmas like it might reveal lyrics if she stared into it long enough. The room around her buzzed with quiet noise: of Cian messing around with a riff on his guitar, the scratch of Wren tuning her bass, the low hum of Rowan lightly hitting the drums. It was familiar, almost a replica of how they recorded the first album but comfort wasn't what Fiadh was chasing, success was.

The prospect of a second album was daunting. She hated the weight of it, the unspoken pressure to prove that they were here to stay and that it wasn't a fluke the first time. They weren't just a momentary Indie darling on some Spotify curated rise and fall trajectory. Sure, they hadn't exactly made this rollout easy for themselves with jumping straight into the next album when other artists might have taken a break, but they still had plenty of material left to wring out.

She tapped her pen against the side of her mug, staring down the half full notebook beside her. Lines scratched out. Lyrics circled, reworded, abandoned. The verses she'd written at 3am two nights ago suddenly reading like the angsty poetry she posted on her tumblr when she was twelve and not those of a serious musician.

Fiadh sighed, flopping backwards onto the floor. The ceiling not proving inspiring either.

"Lying on the ground dramatically isn't writing Fi..." Rowan called from across the room, not looking up from her drum kit.

Fiadh gave a groan of protest. "It is if you commit to the bit."

Rowan snorted but didn't push further. She rarely did — Rowan had long since mastered the art of letting Fiadh spiral in peace. Maybe it came with the territory of being family. Or maybe it was just that Rowan understood the way pressure could wrap itself around your ribs and squeeze.

Out of all the band members, Fiadh and Rowan had known each other the longest. Then Rowan and Cian came a close second, although he liked to argue that Fiadh had an unfair advantage since the two girls were cousins. As a trio they had all attended the same primary school and been inseparable before they met Wren Holloway at secondary.

They'd met her in first year, lugging a beat-up bass case through the hall like it weighed nothing and talking about Arctic Monkeys with such confidence it bordered on delusion. She was born in Ireland but raised in Brighton, and her accent, a chaotic blend of Dublin vowels and English cadence had earned her endless slagging in school. It didn't help that she gave as good as she got, cocky grin and eyeliner always a little smudged. But it was unique. Memorable. Like everything about Wren.

The first time she played with them, Cian called her "weirdly impressive." Fiadh had just nodded, trying not to look too thrilled.

Now, the four of them felt more like limbs of the same body than anything else. Dysfunctional, a little unpredictable, but still in sync — most of the time.

Fiadh sat up again, dusting off the back of her hoodie. "Alright. Let's try something new. I'm not getting anywhere with this one right now guys."

So they shifted focus. Turning to a track they had made a ton of progress on the last day. Written by Fiadh as most of them were but this one had come to life with surprisingly a lot of input from Cian. He wasn't usually one to lean into lyrics, preferring to let his guitar speak for him, but he'd shown up to their last studio day with a riff that had changed the whole direction of the song. Grittier, sharper. A little unhinged but in the best way.

The track was guitar-driven, a thumping, snarling thing that reminded them of The Strokes. All urgency and clever restraint but with that unmistakable Haze edge. Emotional twinge included, of course. They couldn't help that. Even their loudest songs bled feeling.

Fiadh picked up from where they left off, the scrawled verses from last time marked with underlines and question marks. The chorus still needed work, still didn't land the way she wanted it to. The bones of the song were good though, strong. She could feel it when Rowan came in with the drums, syncing effortlessly with Cian's lead. She could picture it in the way Wren instinctively dropped into step, grounding everything with that low, reverberating groove she always managed to find.

Fiadh let herself hum the first line again, this time not forcing it. Just feeling it. And somehow, something clicked for her.

Not all at once, not in some divine flash of genius, but in that slow, crawling way a bruise comes up under the skin. Subtle at first, then undeniable. The melody settled into place like it had been waiting for her to stop overthinking it. Like it had existed the whole time, just out of reach. She tightened her grip on the mic, heart flickering in that half-nervous, half-electric way it always did when things worked.

"Play it again," she said, eyes flicking to Cian.

He didn't hesitate. Slid straight into the riff like he'd never stopped playing it. Rowan followed with ease, tight and precise, and Wren, who hadn't said a word since they'd shifted tracks, gave her a quick smirk and fell in step.

Fiadh closed her eyes, let the sound swell around her. The words came easier this time. The second verse slipped out with more grit, the chorus hit harder. Her voice cracked on one of the final lines and she didn't care — it sounded real.

When they stopped, the room was silent for a moment. Not stunned silence. Just the kind where no one wanted to be the first to speak, like talking might break whatever fragile bit of magic they'd just caught.

Then Rowan leaned back with a whistle. "Alright, Fi. That's the one."

Fiadh let out a breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding.

Maybe they could do this again. Maybe it wasn't all downhill from the first album. Maybe this second record wouldn't break them.

She didn't hesitate to scratch the new and improved lyrics into her notebook, committing them to memory while it was fresh. Weirdly, the words felt heavier now, sharper. Like they'd finally earned their place on the page. Her pen moved faster than her thoughts, racing to capture the rawness before it slipped away.

This time, the lines felt less like sounds and individual fragments thrown together but of a fluid idea. They sounded real and raw - her signature sound if she was being honest.

None of them were keen to waste time or momentum when they had it. Fuelled by the excitement and energy of the breakthrough, the band moved with renewed purpose

Fiadh slid the notebook closed, heart thudding in her chest as she stepped toward the microphone. The studio's dim lighting softened the edges of the room, casting long shadows that danced with the flicker of mixing console LEDs. She felt the weight of the moment settle over her like a cloak, fragile but thrilling. This was where the song would either breathe or die.

Rowan tapped the rim of her snare with a stick, counting them in softly—"One, two, three, four" and the world tilted into rhythm.

Cian's guitar started steady and sure, the kick thumping like a heartbeat. Wren's bass joined in, its low hum grounding the song with a warm, steady pulse. Rowan's sticks bounced off the cymbals, adding splashes of crisp sound that shimmered just above the rumble.

Fiadh closed her eyes and let the melody wash over her, the words rising up from the depths of frustration, hope, and restless energy she'd carried for weeks. Her voice cracked slightly on the first line, raw and unpolished, but real. The kind of vulnerability that no studio gloss could replicate. She possessed the authentic vulnerability and pain she was singing about. While the song was about one of her ex flings, it wasn't at the forefront of the song because she felt weird making the whole band turn her personal life into musical catharsis. Rather it focused on her fears of letting herself fall - something that still allowed her to vent but was more universal to their audience.

As the chorus hit, she leaned into the mic, her voice soaring, trembling, and fierce. The guitars bit sharply, a jagged edge beneath the emotional weight of the lyrics. She felt every note, every breath, sync with the band, four hearts beating through speakers. When the last chord faded into silence, the studio held its breath for a beat longer. Fiadh opened her eyes, cheeks flushed with adrenaline, and caught Rowan's steady gaze.

It wasn't a look full of fireworks or fanfare, just something quiet, grounding. A shared understanding. Rowan always had that kind of presence, like she could anchor you in a moment without saying much at all. They were more sisters than cousins really.

"That was it," she said softly, almost like she didn't want to disturb the afterglow of it all. "You hit it."

Fiadh exhaled, the kind of breath you only let go when your body realises it's safe. "Yeah?" she asked, voice hoarse from the final chorus.

"Yeah," Wren chimed in, stretching her arms overhead as her bass hung lazily from her shoulder. "That chorus is gonna gut people."

"I think it already gutted me," Cian added, leaning his weight against the back wall with a lazy grin. "Which I guess is fair. I helped write it."

Fiadh gave him a faint smile. There was something healing in hearing them talk about it like it belonged to all of them now. Not just her and her complicated feelings and her stupid ex who would never hear it anyway. She didn't need them to know the whole story. Just enough to make it real.

Rowan stood from the drum kit and crossed the room, pausing beside her. She didn't reach out, Rowan rarely did but she offered something steadier than a hand on the shoulder.

"You wanna hear it back?"

Fiadh nodded.

"Alright," Rowan said, turning back toward the console. "Let's run it."

As the first bars played over the speakers, Fiadh sat on the edge of the amp and listened to her voice echo through the studio. Hers, but somehow bigger. Not perfect, but honest. The kind of performance you didn't re-record to polish. The kind you kept because you'd never find that exact spark again.

With a steady amount of work done and the track finally taking shape, the band called it for the morning. Cian was already complaining about being able to hear his stomach over his guitar playing, and Rowan had started hitting her cymbals just to drown him out.

They filed out of the studio and into the usual café down the street. A tiny, too-warm spot with cracked tiles and exactly two vegan options, but it was close, cheap, and tradition. The band squeezed into their usual corner booth, jackets piling beside them on the smooth leather. Wren immediately claimed the window seat and began aggressively stirring the syrup into her iced coffee like it had personally wronged her. Cian in typical Irish lad fashion had got a breakfast roll with extra hashbrowns on the side even though it was nearing 2 in the afternoon. While Rowan struck up a lively debate with Cian over ordering a roll with a full fry in it after noon, Fiadh quietly went up to order her usual - an oat latte with a smoothie bowl.

They were halfway through lunch, Rowan wiping butter off her phone screen, Cian dunking rashers from his roll into ketchup with questionable technique — when Fiadh's phone started vibrating on the table. It buzzed twice, paused, and then rang properly.

"Lizzie," Fiadh said, glancing down at the screen.

Rowan raised a brow. "Our Lizzie?"

Wren peered around her coffee cup. "Better not be bad news. I haven't even finished my hash brown."

Fiadh swiped to answer and pressed the phone to her ear. "Hey, what's up?"

Lizzie didn't waste time. "How do you feel about playing Silverstone?"

Fiadh blinked. "Like... the racetrack?"

Her heart jumped - as if it had been possessed to leap out of her chest and pierce through the skin, her excitement bare for the world to see.

She sat up straighter, the background noise of the cafe fading into static. Silverstone...it wasn't just any race track. It was the race track. She'd watched every British Grand Prix since she was twelve, eyes glued to a laggy stream on her old laptop, volume turned low so her mam wouldn't yell at her to go outside.  It was holy ground.

"A headline slot?" Fiadh swallowed in pure disbelief.

The band had cultivated a steady following and were definitely on their way to more mainstream success but never in her wildest dreams would she anticipate a massive headline slot like this so early in their journey.

"Main stage," Lizzie confirmed. "Friday evening. They bumped the cover band after seeing your headline set in Paris. Apparently, someone on the Silverstone team's a fan."

Fiadh's mouth opened, but her brain short-circuited before anything useful came out. She could feel the others watching her now — Wren's eyes narrowed suspiciously over her coffee cup, Cian already halfway leaning across the table like a kid trying to see the homework answers, Rowan frozen with a triangle of toast in her hand.

"It's not just a quick acoustic thing?" Fiadh managed, voice barely above a whisper.

"Nope. Full set. Big crowd. Bigger online stream. Sponsors, influencers, some of the drivers hang around too—"

"Drivers?" Fiadh croaked, nearly knocking over her soup. "Like, actual drivers?!"

Cian straightened up at that. "Drivers? What kind of drivers? Sexy drivers?"

Wren blinked. "Wait, are we performing in front of, like, Lewis Hamilton?"

Rowan leaned back, looking mildly alarmed. "Don't say that while I'm eating. I need a second to emotionally prepare."

"Potentially," Lizzie said breezily on the line. "But don't freak out. It's still a crowd. It's still a gig. Just... televised. With F1. And fireworks."

"We're in," she said, not trusting herself to be any cooler about it than that.

"Brilliant," Lizzie replied. "I'll forward the official offer and social materials. Keep it quiet for now, but the promo starts this weekend. Oh — and think about your setlist. They'll want the big stuff."

She hung up and placed the phone back on the table like it might explode.

There was a beat of silence - and then...

"Okay, what the fuck was that?" Wren demanded, already sliding her sunglasses into her hair like it helped her see the drama more clearly.

Fiadh looked up at the three faces staring back at her, all varying shades of concern and caffeine-fuelled curiosity. Her heart was still hammering. Her fingers still tingled. She wasn't sure if she wanted to scream, laugh, or cry.

She settled on the truth.

"That," she said, voice breathless, "was our biggest gig yet."

And just like that, the table erupted, forks clattering, toast forgotten, coffee abandoned, as Silverstone hurtled toward them at full speed.

[piastrixpole]

Smitten ☆ ih6

starting a band with her cousin and childhood best friends was one thing - their debut album actually gaining recognition was another but what turned fiadh kinsella's life completely upside down came a few months later in the form of a performance. where, you ask? just one of the most iconic venues in motorsport.

OR

in which fiadh kinsella is absolutely smitten for a french driver who manages to curse even more than she does

☆

one

two

[piastrixpole]

another Williams disasterclass sigh

[piastrixpole]

fellas is it gay to get backshots from your arch-nemesis on the podium?

[piastrixpole]

gay sex everywhere for those with eyes to see

[piastrixpole]

kimi podium with his divorced parents

[piastrixpole]

george and max on the front row tomorrow?? war crimes are about to be committed

[piastrixpole]

actually he's NOT allowed to sign the champagne for his sisters again. I'll have a breakdown about it.

[piastrixpole]

oscar p1 first day of pride month!!

[piastrixpole]

catalan grand prix 2025 // post race

[piastrixpole]

not my uni just randomly emailing us saying we were getting our entire degree results in 10 minutes

[piastrixpole]

not to write a big think piece about logan’s website being taken down but if it is the end of his driving career, i hope he’s proud of how much he accomplished while racing. he had made it into one of the most coveted sports, one of twenty drivers that made it and even when it ended the way it did, it was more than anyone could have dreamed of.

his formula one career ended in flames and his name constantly dragged through the media, session after session. he did the best he could with what he had and that’s something to be proud of.

if he truly has retired, i hope he enjoys it and finds something that makes him happy and satisfied on the other hand, the delusion is that he has something and just took down the website to rework/rebrand it

[piastrixpole]

Rotating that fuck ass alpine seat is actually one of the most ridiculous things to come out of this sport and it sucks for both Jack and Franco, hell maybe even Paul at this rate if it’s five race contracts. I’ve been a fan of Jack for a few years now so disappointed but not surprised at all by the situation. Don’t sign a rookie driver if you’re not going to give them the time to learn and develop? And before someone comes alone and says oh but Antonelli/Bearman/Hadjar are doing way better ….of course? Their cars are significantly better than that baguette with wheels hello!! So good luck to Franco because I fear he’s going to need it with that mess of a team

[piastrixpole]

OSCAR PIASTRI | P1 in the Miami Grand Prix

[piastrixpole]

OSCAR PIASTRI Miami Grand Prix 2025

[piastrixpole]

Oscar and Alex stunting on these hoes once again