#burnage

[savageandwise]

Burnage

[sandqvvist]

[belovedmemoryblvd]

One of my last months in manny :'( will miss my flat, Manchester & the people who made it worthwhile <3

Taken with Fujifilm FinePix S800FD

[k-i-l-l-e-r-b-e-e-6-9]

Oasis - Wonderwall

[liccy]

When I say I peaked in 2004, this is what I meant. So many Naruto Draws. Majority of them Crack.

Good times, good times. Dang, I wish i was just as active as I was back then.

[loveoaths]

the desire to write din/a’sharad and din/cassian grows stronger with every passing day.

a father from a diasporic culture, a bastard with indigenous roots fucking up the empire, and a kick ass jedi from a villainized race with a lot to prove. like. this is the dream team. do you even understand.

[egoschwank]

al things considered — when i post my masterpiece #1166

first posted in facebook march 10, 2023

william etty -- "musidora: the bather 'at the doubtful breeze alarmed'" (1844) [also known as "the bather"]

"the painting depicts a scene from [james thomson's 1727 poem] 'summer' in which the young damon sits thinking by a stream on a hot summer's day. the beautiful musidora strips naked to cool down by bathing in the stream, not knowing that damon can see her. damon is torn between his desire to watch her and the 'delicate refinement' of knowing he should avert his gaze. damon decides to respect her modesty and leaves a note on the riverbank reading 'bathe on, my fair, / yet unbeheld save by the sacred eye / of faithful love: i go to guard thy haunt; / to keep from thy recess each vagrant foot / and each licentious eye'. musidora sees the paper and panics, but on reading it and realising that it has been written by damon, feels admiration for his behaviour as well as a surge of pride that her own beauty can provoke such a reaction. she leaves him a note in turn, reading 'dear youth! sole judge of what these verses mean, / by fortune too much favoured, but by love, / alas! not favoured less, be still as now / discreet: the time may come you need not fly'" ... wikipedia

"how durst thou risk the soul-distracting view as from her naked limbs of glowing white, harmonious swelled by nature's finest hand, in folds loose-floating fell the fainter lawn, and fair exposed she stood, shrunk from herself, with fancy blushing, at the doubtful breeze alarmed, and starting like the fearful fawn? then to the flood she rushed" ... james thomson

"etty illustrates the scene from damon's viewpoint. by placing the audience in damon's position, etty aimed to induce the same reactions in the viewer as damon's dilemma as described by thomson; that of whether to enjoy the spectacle despite knowing it to be inappropriate, or to follow the accepted morality of the time and look away, in what art historian sarah burnage has described as 'a titillating moral test for spectators to both enjoy and overcome'" ... wikipedia

"you're a better man than i gunga damon ... yet may the time come i need not fly" ... al janik

[starssaroundmyscarssblog]

𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄

pairing: 90s!liam gallagher x fem!tennis player!oc

summary: in which they probably shouldn't have ever been a thing, but liam and lottie don't really care that much

word count: 2.19k

warnings: swearing, allusions to sexual content, fade to black smut bc it makes me uncomfy sorryy ++ links to the 'fern and noel' saga

he didn't know how it ended up the way it did, but fuck was he happy about it.

when they were younger he would stand on the side of the court behind a net at the tennis centre twenty minutes away from burnage on the train for her county matches. now he sat in guest boxes and spent time not rehearsing and recording plane hopping from open to open, tournament to tournament watching the way her agile feet jumped along the clay staining the soles of her white tennis shoes red.

she acted in turn thought and for that liam was thankful. watching her launch the ball from serve to return over the net was exhausting, but he knew the training and flying to catch the occasional gig was worse and he didn't know how she did it: give a blinder of a performance at the wimbledon grand slam finals and then land in lisbon to see him perform after her hours of press campaigns.

in liam's eyes, lottie could do no wrong; she was perfect in every sense of the word back when they'd started dating in secondary school. she'd offered to help him to pass his ppe's at the pleasure of his mam, she didn't smoke or do drugs at house parties, wouldn't touch a drop of alcohol until she was of legal age and even still it was rare enough to see her do it.

training took up every week night as well as all day saturday, she worked at the bar at the boardwalk in the evening (ironically she was a dab hand at making a blinder of a cocktail) and dedicated sunday to her homework followed by perfecting her serve stance and follow through.

lottie had everything going for her, something that she made clear she wished he had too. many a time she'd be sat with liam late at night, after her shift at the boardwalk, in the middle of the grassy patch in the children's play ground. "someone'll notice you eventually, i know they will. everyone who's seen you loves you."

liam pulled a handful of grass up with his hands out of frustration, a half burnt out cigarette hung between his lips that she couldn't keep her eyes off. "dicks aren't writing about us, though. no-one south of hale or north of oldham knows who we are."

three weeks later, liam had interrupted her training session. he cut off her backhanded serve and pulled her shoulders to him to kiss her soundly as lottie's tennis instructor yelled at him to leave. liam pulled away, grinning brighter than she'd ever seen him, "we've got a record deal, lotts. creation want to work with us, they've signed us!"

a grin split her cheeks right in two. lottie flung her arms around his neck, stood right on the tips of her toes to keep a balance her instructor would have been proud of had he seen it out into action in another other given situation. he blew sharply on the brass whistle hanging on a loop around his neck, hands on his hips as he glared lottie down. she withdrew and whispered a select congratulations in his ear and pushed liam away towards the gate he'd bulldozed through, with a kiss to the pulse point on his neck

lottie was training for the french open when she was called over to the reception desk, hot and sweaty with her hair stuck to the back of her neck, to take a phone call. "hello?" she questioned down the line, rolling her ankles so she could jog back to the clay courts and hit the ground running. she nearly lost her grip on her racquet, slipping through her fingers to collide with her trainers, when liam laughed down the line. "hey lotts, you wouldn't mind paying out my bail would ya love?"

"i thought you were going to belgium," she managed to splutter out, "what did you do to get arrested on a ferry?"

"bit of a long story, babe, but can you pay it?"

she sighed and pinched her nose. "fine, yes. but seriously, liam, this is the last time i'm going to do it. if i find out this has anything to do with you snorting one before boarding you'll be out of my flat and onto your arse faster than you can blink."

on the other end of the line, standing against a pay-phone in a belgian police station, liam adjusted has stance against the pillar. he sat down on one of the wooden slated benches lining the concrete walls and tried to cover his crotch. he chewed his lip in thought, laughing fakely at something bonehead shouted, and his voice turned sombre. "it's not. promise. just had too much to drink an' all that, having a bit of fun before r'kid turns into commander and fuckin' chief."

he heard her heavy sigh and his heart sank. liam had no doubt in his mind that he would be out on the end of astrid's boot in a second if he didn't clean up his act. "i mean it, li. one whiff of cocaine being found in my house and the confederation won't let me compete. i'll phone alan and tell him i'm paying out your bail. you can call me when you get back." lottie hung up on him and handed the receiver back to honey, who was sat behind the desk and messing with the crucifix around her neck pretending like she hadn't overheard any of the conversation.

out on the courts and with little under two months until her first match of the french open, lottie bounced from service to base line, firing fuzzy balls back to over the net while the red clay stained the hem of her whites. she scratched her racquet more times than was necessary to lunge for the ball, while shooting up and zipping around the boxes as she worked harder against the machine.

sometimes during their rigorous training jamie, her coach of seven years, would start loud shouting conversations while lottie was working her arms and thighs. he argued it helped her maintain good breathing regulation and improved concentration, because viewers in the stands could be distracting at the best of times. "so what's new with the rock star, then?"

she grunted as she sent another ball flying over the net and into the wire fence surrounding the court, skidding on her toes in pursuit of the next only an arm's stretch away, "nothing. the twat's only gone and got himself arrested because he got pissed on an over night ferry. 'this is the last time, babe, i promise'", she mimicked in a high pitched voice, "like hell it is."

"ah." jamie ran a finger over the hair he was trying to grow out on top of his lip, "has the brother been in touch yet?" a cold wind shot through the air and he pulled up the zip of his tracksuit closer to his neck. lottie's back flared up in goosebumps but she kept moving, running around the court and rounding up the balls to pour them back into the funnel of the dispensing machine. "no, but i'm expecting a call soon. when one phones the other usually follows suit."

astrid pounded at the treadmill in the gym of her hotel in paris, five minutes away from the large clay court stadium she'd thrashed each of her opponents on. she'd played her way to the final three days and came away relatively unscathed, apart from a strain in her serving wrist that a quick round of physio patched back up. lindsay, an american who was in the running for the doubles championship, was using a bike next to her.

between the two of them they shared an earbud each, stemming from a cassette player settled on the window sill and balancing in the middle of their sponsored water bottles. all of a sudden liam's voice crackled through her ear, and lottie shook her head as she cranked up the incline under foot. lindsay looked at her out of the corner of her eye, cycling as if her life depended on it. "not a fan?" she inquired, bringing down the gears to loosen the tension burning in her calves.

"it's not that," she panted, pushing through the blister forming on her heel, "i just can't believe you are. they're bastards, all of them."

lindsay gradually brought her legs to a stop, taking a moment to bring down her breathing before swinging over the seat to stand up, "i thought you were going out with one of the brothers."

"oh, i am," the incline increased again, "but it doesn't mean i can't call them that." lottie brought the treadmill down until she was walking on a flat line, and took a large sip of water. she looked at her watch and checked the pedometer hooked over her shorts by her hip and started to gather her things. lindsay moved to grab a skipping rope and stretched out her arms behind her back.

"and speaking of whom, i'm off. they should be here by now, good luck for tomorrow if i don't see you."

"and you, lotts. i've heard martínez is training hard, she won't give you an easy run."

lottie zipped her fitted jacket halfway up and tucked her thumbs into the loops around her wrists. "i know. see you on the podium." she left the gym with the two plaits her hair had been tied in laying over her shoulders. in the lift, lottie brushed her eyebrows back into place and checked her watch again, sidestepping a confederation official on the way out into the lobby.

she rocked back and forth on her heels near enough away from the reception desk so as not to look like she was loitering, but close enough to be saved if there were any photographers crouched in a bush with a long-range lens.

as lottie was attempting to push back a cuticle on her nail, she heard liam first rather than seeing him. his loud voice disrupted the peace of the hotel, earning him a disapproving glance from the bellboys and an even dirtier look from noel who was sulking behind, face like thunder.

liam sauntered into the lobby with his sports bag slung lazily over his shoulder, and his eyes were drawn to the dip of lottie's tits first before her smile. she wrapped her arms around him and sighed heavily in content, taking his congratulations on her progress in the open to heart. then she drew away and went to hug noel, who visibly recoiled.

"what's up with you?"

"nowt." he grumbled, shuffling around with room keys.

liam scoffed. "like fuck it's nowt. you're just in a mard because fern broke up with ye'." noel looked like he was ready to hit his brother square on the nose, but was restraining greatly. lottie tried not to sound too sympathetic when she consoled him.

"look i don' want to fuckin' hear it from you either, lotts, no offence. now is there an offie 'round here, i'm dying for a cig and i haven't got nowt."

lottie furrowed her brow in thought and tried to ignore liam looking at her out of the corner of her eye as if he wanted to jump on her right there and then in the glossy lobby.

she crossed her arms under her chest to push up her tits more, just to wind him up. liam discreetly adjusted the way he was standing. "err, yeah. i think there's one just down the road."

"cheers."

noel had sped away before he could even ask someone to take his bag up to his room. liam grumbled out 'lazy cunt' as he made a show of hauling it over his other shoulder, herding lottie into the lift with a hand over her chest.

as soon as the mirrored doors slid shut and they felt movement, liam was attacking lottie with a kiss so searing she felt breathless within seconds.

"missed you so fuckin' much," he mumbled, moving to ravage her neck.

when the lift doors slid open again she dragged him back to her room with her hands on the back of his neck, pushing noel's bag off is shoulder and leaving it abandoned outside his room. liam's hands were roaming over her arse and he withdrew the room key from her back pocket, scanning it before shoving her inside.

"all that time away from you was fuckin' torture," he groaned as her nails dragged down his stomach and traced the low-hanging waistline of his jeans, "need you now, babe." he sighed against her chest as lottie slowly unbuckled his belt, his hand weakly climbing her torso to palm at her tits through her tight jacket.

lottie smirked, "if being this far away from me turns you into this much of a mess, liam," at this she walked him over to her bed to sink down between his legs, following the seam of his jeans up his thighs and to his exposed boxers, "i'm going to have to get competing more often."

🪩⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊🎤

[abubblingcandle]

Jamie Tartt Accent Analysis

Um so yeah, after an anon ask to @withbadhair talking about how Phil is posh and Jamie is Manc, I relistened to Phil Dunster's episode on No Such Thing As A Fish again today and got sucked back into how much I love thinking about the intricacies of regional accents and how much I love thinking about Phil's accent work and how it is great!

So here you go -

A Yorkshire Lass' with an obsession with regional UK accents' take on Jamie Tartt's accent

Phil's Intentions with the accent

Phil has said that it was really his choice what sort of Manchester accent they went for (as Jamie wasn't written specifically to be Mancunian) but he was aiming for New Moston sort of area which is north eastern Manchester suburb (see yellow highlighted area on the image)

But he started by mimicking his agent who is apparently sassy and from Manchester but then listened to people like Aitch (who is from Moston which is probably where the idea for Jamie being from Moston/New Moston came from), Marcus Rashford (who is from Wythenshawe which is south Manchester out of the Outer Ring Road), Jesse Lingard (who is from Warrington which is a town between Manchester and Liverpool to the west) the Gallaghers (who are from Burnage which is south eastern - near Highfield Country Park on the map) which was more season 1 Jamie.

It was mentioned that Aitch was a bit inspiration with the attitude and the sort of swagger as well as the accent itself.

Features of a Mancunian Accent (some things to listen out for)

Research says that the Manchester accent can be characterised by a few distinct features:

The LettER vowel: if there is an ER at the end of a word it is pronounced more like UH. So for example "letter" becomes "let-uh"

The HappY vowel: what Jamie is known for. If there is a Y at the end of a word it is pronounced more like EH. For example "poopy" being "poopeh" or "city" being "cit-eh

H-dropping: this is typically northern but prevalent in Manchester. It is not pronouncing the H at the start of a word so instead of saying "head" pronouncing it "ed".

T-glotallisation: if there is a T in the middle of a word it is sort of dragged over. Like in "better" it can be "beh-uh".

-NG: typically if a word ends in -NG you do not say the G. For example "waiting" is "waitin"

All of these features are more easily noticed in words where more than one of them happens like "happy" becomes "appeh" with both H-dropping and the Y at the end

Analysis of Jamie Tartt's accent from a professional (not me)

Manchester Met have done a study of the different dialects within Greater Manchester and have split it into four categories. Lancashire, Mancs, Wigan, Posh. If Phil was aiming for Moston that would be more Manc but some Lancashire.

Dr Rob Drummond who was the lead on this research was sent clips of Jamie Tartt (edit - as a few people commented on this but he is a friend of No Such Thing As A Fish so was sent it in preparation for Phil being on the podcast but was apparently very complimentary so definitely a Phil Dunster win!) and managed to locate very precisely to just north of central Manchester in the Smedley sort of area which is the blue area on the map. If you compare that with Phil's aim of the red area ... that's damn impressive

So if you are looking for areas of Manchester to set your fics around or ways to make your dialogue feel more Tartt. Then we are looking for the Mancs accent and living somewhere in just north/north west of central Manchester based on his accent.

So yeah thanks for reading my thesis. I was going to go into words and sayings here too but it's after midnight and I have been talking to myself for the last hour just repeating the same words in Queens English, Leeds, and Manc 😂

Disclaimer - this is more based on S3 Jamie as S1 Jamie had a lot more subdued characteristics as Phil was finding his feet with the accent.

Side Plug as I have preordered it - Dr Rob Drummond's book called You're All Talk is coming out soon and it is all about this stuff and also social perceptions of linguistic diversity (which as someone who's accent massively chances based on the situation I am in I am super interested in)

[charlestrask]

quite genuinely if liam was a girl there would have been a flowers in the attic reenactment in burnage manchester

[nonogalego]

"Secret sister" wants to meet Liam and Noel Gallagher before Oasis Tour '25

Não tem nem um mês que o Oasis anunciou a sua volta com uma turnê no Reino Unido para o próximo ano, e várias histórias e boatos sobre a banda estão surgindo e ressurgindo todos os dias desde então! Uma dessas antigas histórias que voltou a tona foi a de Emma Davies, suposta meia-irmã por parte de pai de Paul, Noel e Liam Gallagher!

Emma Davies em 2006, quando sua história foi publicada pela primeira vez pelos tabloides ingleses.

Emma seria fruto de um caso extraconjugal de Tommy Gallagher com sua mãe June, na época que Tommy ainda era casado com Peggy Gallagher. Emma teria nascido 11 meses depois de Liam!

Embora tenha crescido próximo a residência dos Gallaghers em Burnage, Manchester, Emma só descobriu quem era seu pai e irmãos quando sua mãe June viu que ela havia comprado o álbum (What's The Story) Morning Glory? em 1996 e resolveu lhe contar a verdade!

Emma guardou o segredo até 2006 quando resolveu procurar Tommy e divulgar a sua história na imprensa. Tommy a reconheceu como filha, porém ela nunca teve contato com nenhum dos irmãos Gallagher.

Emma atualmente com 51 anos.

Com a volta do Oasis, sua história veio a tona novamente, e Emma cedeu uma nova entrevista ao Daily Mail. Entre os tópicos da entrevista, Emma afirma que ainda não conheceu Liam e Noel, mesmo tentando entrar em contato por anos e que isso a faz se sentir muito rejeitada pelos irmãos, e também disse que ela e seu filho não comprariam ingressos para a Oasis Tour '25 por conta dos altos preços.

Leia a entrevista completa de Emma aqui!

Me pergunto se ela realmente tentou entrar em contato com Paul, que mora a literalmente poucas quadras da casa de sua mãe em Manchester, ou se seu desespero é apenas para conhecer seus irmãos multimilionários e famosos...

E o hype do Oasis segue firme em nos trazer entretenimento diariamente!

[filled-with-fat]

Ben + Oscar💜💜💜💜

Benedict Lockheart-Smith goes to Burnage Graduate College for boys, an all-boys graduate college in Manchester, England. Ben is 5ft11, stoutly built, blue eyes, light brown/blonde hair and a chubby red face. He’s teased at school for being fat, they say “it’s Ben, he’s fatter than all other men!” …even though he’s only really got a slight overhang and weighs in at an unexciting 170lbs. But he assures me he wants to get fatter. I’m Oscar, I also go to Burnage Academy for boys, in Manchester. I’m fit, well I would say so at least. I’m 6ft1, dark brown hair, brown eyes, an tabletop build. Why hang-out w someone like Ben? He’s fat. And he wants to be fatter. And fat, well it just turns me one, everything about it, I want it, I want to control someone who is overtly obese. Ben could be just that.

Ben lives 5 minutes away from my flat. I walk with him every morning to school. I meet him outside his house; he’s always in that school shirt that’s too tight, each week his belly looks even tighter in it, his parents can’t afford to keep up with his excessive weight gain. We walk to school, I walk, he waddles profusely trying to keep up with me. Schools a 10 minute walk away, we pass the same McDonald’s every morning. I always pay for Ben’s order, he’s already had breakfast, his parents don’t know he’s now having a second. He always gets 2xEgg McMuffins and a pancake stack, a large coke and bacon strips. He’s already eaten it all by the time we get to school. At break, I present to him my backpack , filled with chips, sweets, doughnuts, we spend the 30 minutes in the lockerooms, shoving calorific snacks into his rotund belly. He loves it. We have one lesson together, Geography, we don’t sit next to each other; there’s a seating plan. He sits 2 spaces infront of me, next to a girl called Olivia. Every lesson I love to observe the disgusting looks she gives him as my boy tries to wedge his gut and ass past her into his seat. It excites me. Of course I mess around with my mates all lesson at the back of the class, we do no work.

At lunch, we pile his plate up in the refectory. The food is disgusting and inedible, yet Ben eats it, and goes up for seconds, sometimes even thirds. The kitchen staff love him. He’s starting to take up two seats on the bench, which excites me greatly.

After school, we walk home. A different way, this time past a BurgerKing, he gets his usual, a Bacon Double Cheese XL, a Chicken Royale Cheeseburger and crispy chicken, 2x bbq dips and xl fries. I pay for it of course. His parent don’t know he’s getting all this calorific food. We eat in this time. I sit next to him in the booths, I rub bens belly, I open the middle button on his seriously stretched shirt, there’s a red mark in his flab from the button, I rub his fat belly, hoping it will help the food go down quicker, my favourite is when I kiss him when he’s still eating. Of course we get many stares from the people at Burger King. We then walk home, sometimes he comes over to mins, sometimes I go over to his, I always give the remainder of sweets from my bag, I’ll have restocked them by tomorrow.

At his, we go upstairs, to his rooms. I unbutton the rest of his shirt, the last button pops under the force of his flab. I unzip his trousers, pressing my fingers into his fat pad to stop the zipper getting stuck. I help Ben pull them off. He waddles over to the bed, where all the sweets and snacks are laid out. He’s eating all of them now. I watch as Ben easts his way further into obesity. I want him fatter. I want each one of his gluttonous rolls to fill with lard.

[viornefni]

You're in my head

I had plans for the weekend

But wound up with you instead

Back here again

Got me deep in my feelings

When i should be in your bed

You and i go back to like '09 it's like forever

And you were there my lonely nights, yeah, keeping me together

So wouldn't it make sense if I was yours and you could call me your baby

But we say we're just, say we're just

Friends

Just for now

Yeah but friends don't say words that

Make friends feel like more than just

Friends

Just for now

Now I'm over pretending

So let's put the "end" in friends

Friends

Just for now

Yeah but friends don't say words that

Make friends feel like more than just

Friends are not supposed to get too close

And feel emotions that we're feeling now, now, now

We ain't slowing down, down, down

But once we cross the line, there's no denying you and I can never turn around, round, round

Know we'll never be the same

You and I go back to like '09 it's like forever

And you were there my lonely nights, yeah, keeping me together

So wouldn't it make sense if I was yours and you could call me your baby

But we say we're just, say we're just

Friends

Just for now

Yeah but friends don't say words that

Make friends feel like more than just

Friends

Just for now

Now I'm over pretending

So let's put the "end" in friends

V 'FRI(END)S' Release

🎧 Listen now: https://ingrv.es/friends​

Credits:

Director: Samuel Bradley

Production Company: Iconoclast TV

EP: Maeva Tenneroni, Jean Mougin, Guy Rolfe

Head of Production: Kate Sharpe

Producer: Martha Mcguirk

Directors Agent: Yoni Yosef

Casting: Road Casting

Casting Director: Coralie Rose

Casting Assist: Luis Torrecilla, Laura Meredith

Love Interest: Ruby Sear

Production Manager: Chanel Parkinson

Production Co-ord: Alice Hayes

Artist Liason: Jo Thompson

Cast Co-ord: Beth Rubery

Production Assistant: Callum Anderson

Production Runner: Mia Tessema

Intimacy Coordinator: Stella Moss

Movement Director: Yagamoto

Location Manager: Ryan Colaco

Location Assistant: Eser Savrin, Lois Constantinou

1st AD: Ben Gill

2nd AD: Gabriel O’Donohoe

3rd AD: Kitty Rajakulasingham, Aloha Kulieshova

Runner: Kai Rajakulasingham, Joe Heap, Danny Zanre, Anna Kovalevska, Grace Goodworth, Kwesi Mcleod, Darren Sintes, Tyson Douglas, Tiger Brewers

DOP: Jake Gabbay

A CAM Focus Puller: Rozemarijn Stokkel

A CAM 2nd AC: Ania Bahadrian

Trainee: Guillem Zamora

B CAM Operator Day 1: Juanjo Salazar

B CAM Operator Day 2: Jomar O’Meally

B CAM 1st AC - Alex Rawson

B CAM Trainee: Ollie Wesley

Camera Car: Davide Viera

Key Grip: Darren Quinn

Crane Tech: Henry Stone

Grip Trainee: James Quinn

Gaffer: Kieran Brown

Electrician: Shuan Clark, Ed Irvine, John Joe Besagni, Akeel Fleary, Cieran Nash, Amarjeet Singh, Laurent Arnaud

Master Rigger: Lee Doran

Rigger: Joe Parrott, Jamie Brindle, Ryan Ross, Alfie Berry, Scott Allen, Joe Knight

Video Playback: Liam Coles

Playback Assistant: Elvis Mcgovern

DIT: Lilly Palmer

Production Designer: Staci Lee Hindley

Art Director: Nia Samuel

Prop Master: Ezra Piers Mantell

Prop Buyer: Jessa Thorpe, Shopie-Mai Wigans

Art Assistant: Harry Beedle, Camilla Byles, Tom Hope, George Mein, Freya Wentworth, Alice Moles

Home Economist: Olivia Somary

Action Vehicle Driver (Car): Dan Chester

Action Vehicle Driver (Bus): Tom Burnage

SFX; Sean Harland

SFX Technician: Danny Matters

Stunt Coordinator: Jim Dowdall

Stylist: Justin Hamilton

Stylist Assistant: Samela Gjozi, Colleen Finnerty, Lorna Lane, Chris Atkins, Vania Monteiro, Katherine Somavia, Anna Menshykova, Mel Lyse

Hair Stylist: Simon Izard

Hair Assistant: Julie West, Aaron Dorn, Natasha Rose, Natasha Lawes

Makeup Assistant: Sophie Gia Moore, Marta Wozniak

Makeup Trainee: Rebecca Robinson

Medic: Alex Gardner, Richard Drakesford

Paramedic: Lynsey Shewring

Mini Winnego Driver: Phil Rainer

Honeywagon Driver: John Suttion

Production Sprinter: Jos Benschop

Minibus Driver: Rob Higgs, Gavin Baker, Granger Goodey, Dean Cumbers

Label Vehicle: Blerim Morina, Othman Abashikh, Peter Tarling, Steven Smith

Artist Trailer: Paul Haddock

Artist Wardrobe: David Czekalski

Honeywagon Driver: Martin Dean

Wardrobe Truck: Warren Smart

Hmu Truck: Wally Smart

Dining Bus: Andy Byrne

Location Security: Randal Berbick, Billy Bridger, Alan Laney, Kerri Mccann, Malakai Mars, Angelo Evangelou, Richard Johnson, Mathew Richards

Edit House: Assembly Rooms

Editor: Jack Williams

Edit Producer: Phoebe Armstrong-Beaver

Edit Assist: Bruna Manfredi, Tamara Ishida

Post Production: Cheat

Grade: Toby Tomkins

Post Producer: Joanna Dawson, Jen Saunders

Post Sound House: Soundtree Music

Sound Designer: Jack Patterson

Sound Producer: Neil Athale

BIGHIT MUSIC. Rights are reserved selectively in the video. Unauthorized reproduction is a violation of applicable laws. Manufactured by BIGHIT MUSIC, Seoul, Korea.

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[talkinfanfic]

Hi Storyshark! I'm a big Oasis fan and I think you're such a great writer! Is there any chance you would write more Gallaghercest "origin stories"? I always love to read about how it all started and like stories that are set in the early days of the band and before Liam even joined.

Did you ever entertain the idea about writing something that touches on the topic of why Liam's relationship to big brother Paul is so different to big brother Noel? I think it's quite interesting to think about what could have happened in their childhood and youth that made Liam crave Noel's attention and approval more than Paul's and made Noel more of a father figure to him. And I think anyone who meets Liam would be attracted by his beauty and charisma, so I think it's also interesting to think about how Paul reacts in a different way to it than Noel. And the topic of Noel feeling guilty of what he's doing to and how he's feeling about his baby brother is also always so interesting.

Thanks for reading and have a good day!

Thank you so much for reading and submitting an ask, gosh how flattering! For anyone interested in my writing, you probably already know I've got a blog over here (@storyshark2005) To answer your question-- Yeeeesss actually! I've got a few ideas and WIPs going right now in the "Been and Gone" universe. It's just a matter of time and me focusing long enough to get the next one out!

Paul in particular is the story I'm probably most focused on. I was just working on it last night! I'll stick a teaser below :) But here's kind of a rough checklist of what I'll be trying to accomplish...

Gene POV - done! Summary: “The sins of the father are to be laid upon the children.” Falling down (2005 - 2019).

"A Week in Mustique" - multi POV, some shorter glimpses from multiple characters over the course of a family holiday in Mustique!

Paul POV - Paul trying to be his own man. Some possible romance with Katie. His complicated relationship with his brothers. Feeling outside.

Sara POV. - Set during and after Story IV. Honestly I had a whole thing for this, but story 4 turned out a bit different, so I'll have to mull this one over... but it'll prob flash back to Sara's upbringing, and also go into some of broke down in their marriage, which isn't JUST the Liam factor. (*cough* freaky fridays *cough)

Matt Morgan POV - A night out, late in 2022. Maybe a party to celebrate one of Noel's singles releasing. He finds out about Liam/Noel. Debbie brings him into the circle. We see Debbie stressing being the 'secret keeper'.

Debbie POV - Debbie finding the Liam/Noel thing more intense than maybe she’d thought, navigating where she fits in. The REAL start of the Noel/Debbie bit of the triangle!

Anyway here's a bit from "Paul" below the cut:

Saturday, 19 August 1978. Burnage, Manchester

“Eeyare,” Noel pokes his head in the door. He’s all sweaty, fringe stuck to his forehead. “What’s the score, our kid?” 

“One-nil to Derby. Charlie George, overhead kick.”

Noel’s nose wrinkles. “Gooner cunt. Can I borrow your guitar?” He nods to the corner behind Paul’s bed, where the cheap little Yamaha acoustic lay dusty and neglected.

“No.” 

“Well you’re not fuckin’ playin’ it.” 

“Yeah, and neither are you.” Paul adjusts the dial, swiveling from the commentary on Picadilly Sport, over to the BBC2.

“Whatever. I’ll just play it tonight while you’re out helping the old fella.” 

The dial skitters to a staticky stop. Fuck, but he’d forgotten. 

“It’s your turn,” Noel says flatly. “He’s got 32 Club tonight.”

He’s right, is the thing. Noel hadn’t come home last night till almost 3am. It’s Paul’s turn to haul the boxes of vinyl into the club, and then nurse a coke in the corner for six hours while Tommy DJ spins his tunes and then pisses away the week’s earnings on cards.

A sudden thunder of trainers pounds up the stairs, and Liam comes skidding into frame, crashing up against Noel’s hip. He’s bright-eyed and pink-cheeked, and just as sweaty as Noel, fringe split in half by a violent cowlick. He’s wearing a faded old ringer tee with Ernie from Sesame Street on the front that used to belong to Noel (and possibly Paul before him). 

“I want a Capri-Sonne,” he curls a fist in Noel’s shirt and tugs. He’s got grass stains on his knees from chasing Noel and his mates around the park. 

Liam’s a horrible little brother. Five-going-on-six, he’s lightning in a bottle, caught only just barely-- crackling and popping with a heaving, restless energy. He’s also a charming little fucker when he needs to be, which he never does around Noel or Paul. The church ladies and the aunties think he’s an angel.

Noel ignores the tugging and whining. Paul can see a fading bruise above his elbow where their Dad had grabbed him last week, screaming about some perceived slight or uppity attitude Noel had apparently been giving off.

“Hewitt nicked the Pistols record from Sifter’s. Youngie and Vince are comin’ over, we’re all goin’ round his in a bit for a listen.”

“Oh yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Noel shrugs. 

Liam butts his face into Noel’s stomach. Noel allows it, resting a hand on top of his bowl cut. Noel casts his gaze somewhere out the window, out to the clouds, barely invested in the conversation, or the little brother buzzing under his hands.

Liam gives another headbutt, drawing a scowl and Noel’s attention back.

“Fucking stop it--” 

“I WANT my FUCKING DRINK!”

Paul looks down at his scorecard. “Maybe after the match.” 

Noel looks up, distracted with Liam wrangled into a one-armed headlock. Liam has his arms wrapped around Noel’s waist like an obnoxious little squid.  

“What?” 

“I said, maybe I’ll come round after the match.” 

Paul’s not really planning to show up. He could go round Hewitt’s any day to listen to the album. And it’d be better without Noel there, anyway, talking all the way through. (Mister fucking McCharmley, was Noel. Hewitt had been Paul’s mate, originally.)

Anyway. Noel’s only asking ‘cos he knows Mam’ll ask him where he’s off to, and why Paul’s not going with. 

“Whatever.” Noel shrugs and turns out of the room, disentangling himself from Liam’s sticky grasp. “Liam, getoff--!” 

“I’m coming, too!”

“No you’re fucking not.”

“Noely!” Liam curls his fingers into the back of Noel’s shirt and tugs again, whining for his Capri-Sonne. 

“Get it yourself!” 

“Mam put ‘em on top of the fridge, I can’t reach--!”  

Noel groans but diverts down the stairs, and Liam gives out a joyous whoop of triumph.

Paul sighs, turning back to the radio. Halftime, still one-nil. He skips back to Radio 2. Which is when he hears it. 

Years and years and years later, Paul will meet this photographer friend who’s into fucking birds, of all things. Like...photographing them, and going on trips to find rare ones. This friend, she tells him about her ‘spark bird’. Apparently, a spark bird is the first bird that lights the match in you, that makes you want to get up at the crack of fucking dawn and go creeping through a marsh for a glimpse of some rare South American ruffle-headed whats-a-ma-doo. 

Paul doesn’t give a fuck about birds. But he knows what she means when she talks about a spark bird. Because Paul’s always liked music, same as he likes talking to pretty girls, and the smell of brand new trainers, and Man City winning a string of matches. 

But something about what he hears crashing through the speakers that Saturday afternoon; that strange, hitching synthesizer bit in the intro; the fast-train staccato of Keith Moon up on the hi-hat, nervous like a racing heart; Entwhistle dancing patiently underneath, holding the rhythm down; Townshend’s carelessly cool, yet exacting and luxuriant guitar work; and above it all, Roger Daltrey’s relentless, fearless growl demanding an answer to the most important question that Paul had never heard asked before, by anyone, including himself:

Who are you? 

Who? 

Who?

Paul listened that day, and then bought and nearly wore out the single over the next few months, totally entranced and unable to answer. Anything he could have mustered seemed superficial, insubstantial: ‘Paul Anthony Gallagher, son of Peggy and Tommy, brother to Noel and Liam.’ 

And what else, the question seemed to beg, what else?! Give me something real-- who the fuck are you??

Make something of yourself, it seemed to say. Find an answer.

Years and years and years later, despite the fire burning in his belly to do something, be someone...he still doesn’t have an answer. 

‘The other brother,’ maybe. 

Anyway. Fuck knows. Maybe he’s nobody. Most people are nobody. They’re born, they live and they have a few dreams, and then they die with most of those dreams unrealised. 

That’s just life, mate. It’s not that tragic a story. ***

[tyresservicinguk]

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