#paint and sip melbourne

[boxfuleventsau]

On A Friday Night, There Are a Ton of Fun Things to Do In Melbourne Like Paint And Sip

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We are the best paint and sip Melbourne Company that offers its sip events to people of all skill levels. Unleash your inner artist during a fun-filled evening of alone time with friends at Melbourne. Our programs are created to provide in-depth painting training to students of all skill levels. In our workshops, novices are welcome to bring any kind of adult beverage to sip while they paint. Come create art with us at one of our studios.

The Most Entertaining Art Classes in Melbourne

Our studios are located all throughout Melbourne and our creative hosts guide each session, offering clear directions and just enough room for your inner art to show through. To completely release your inner creative, we supply all the art equipment you'll need, but we strongly suggest bringing your own drinks. Our primary goal is enjoyment and fun, therefore no prior artistic expertise is required! Take advantage of our paint-and-sip sessions to rejuvenate as a family or as a group of friends! With the help of passionate painters, you'll feel completely at home in our studios as you create a masterpiece while enjoying a glass of wine.

[arianamortenson]

6 Great Date Night Ideas

Date nights should become a part of your life. Whether you are married or unmarried, spending time with your romantic partner will help you strengthen the bond. It gives you time to understand each other and will make you stand strong against the difficulties that you face in your life. Luckily, Melbourne has many date night spots so that you can plan differently each time you want to go on a…

[akawifeyy]

LEMONADE | fic (DR3)

description: as much as he would miss the high-stakes lifestyle of formula 1, daniel ricciardo is ready to start fresh. and the perfect start seems to be in his hometown, where a little girl is running a lemonade stand.

tropes: meet-cute, happy ending, lemonade stand au!, single mum!reader

face claim: none

trigger warnings: mature content (!!), swearing

| note: i love dr3 soooo much y'all, i hope i did him justice 🫶

It all started with the lemonade stand.

A young girl, probably five or six years old, with curly brown braids tied up in pink ribbons, was standing by its side. She stood at attention like a miniature soldier, her eyes watching the street for potential customers.

The hand-painted sign swinging from the top read "Leia's Lemonade Stand" in blocky yellow writing, and a giant beaker of the refreshment was perched on the counter.

Daniel was intrigued. He patted his pockets, looking for any spare change, and found a wad of bills. "Hey," he greeted the little girl, who looked up at him with owlishly large eyes. "I'd like to buy some lemonade? One glass, please."

She beamed, dashing behind the counter to hand him a cool glass filled with sugary yellow liquid. "That'll be two dollars!"

"Here you go," Daniel said, counting out the money and leaving her some extra change, handing it to her. "Thank you for your service."

As Daniel was turning to leave, you walked up to the girl, who was your carbon copy, just a decade or two younger. You were her mother, Daniel assumed. "What do we say, Leia?" you asked, a proud smile evident on your face.

"Thank you and you're welcome!" Leia chirped.

Daniel took a sip of the cool refreshment, sighing in contentment. "This is delicious stuff. Did she make it herself?" he asked you.

"I helped out a bit, but most of this was done herself."

He outstretched his hand. "I'm Daniel."

"Y/N," you replied, taking it. "I haven't seen you around before. Did you just move here?"

Daniel shook his head, trying to formulate an answer. "I just moved back from, uh...out of the country."

"Oh?" you inquired. "I'm jealous, I've never lived outside of Perth. My parents were born here, I was born here, and now Leia was born here. It's tradition, I guess."

He laughed. "Perth is a nice place. The rest of the world is overrated."

"At least you've experienced it," you griped.

Daniel huffed out a breath, reminiscing on his years of fast-paced travel. City after city, country after country. He never stayed in one place for long. "Yeah, I suppose so. Have you really never been outside of Perth?"

You lowered your head, self-conscious. "I mean, I've visited Melbourne for a weekend girl's trip, but my life has been pretty busy ever since I had Leia. And her father...doesn't help out."

Daniel's attention sparked at the mention of Leia's father. "Is he around?"

You twisted your lips in consternation. "He's alive, but he skipped town shortly after Leia was born. Said he was destined for greater things, or some shitty statement like that. I don't remember, and frankly, I do not care. Leia and I get on just fine."

Daniel grinned. "I can tell." He set the glass back down on the counter, and Leia picked it up, putting it under the stand to be washed and cleaned later. "Thanks for the lemonade. Keep up the good work, hm?" he said to her, and she gave him two enthusiastic thumbs-up.

"I'll see you around?" you asked, hopefully in a casual tone.

Daniel nodded, giving you a cheesy wink. "Of course."

Two days later

The doorbell rung half past noon, and you checked the peephole to see who was there. Daniel. He was shifting nervously, wringing his hands out. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" you greeted him, stepping aside so he could enter the house.

"I was wondering if I could get another glass of the lemonade? Leia's done an amazing job with it."

You sighed sorrowfully. "We're all out, sorry. Leia has just started school again, so we haven't continued the business. Maybe we'll make some more during the weekend?"

Daniel pouted. "That blows. I've been looking for a way to talk to you again."

"Sorry." You shrugged one shoulder, and then you realized what Daniel had said. "Pardon me, what did you say?"

Daniel's eyes widened, his face reddening with embarrassment. "Uh, I was hoping to chat with you a bit? If that's alright? I don't want to intrude."

You shook your head, leading him into the living room. A variety of Leia's toys were scattered about, and you bent down to pick them up and move them out of the way. "It's OK, don't worry. My job's remote, so I don't have to leave or anything. Not until two, when Leia comes home from school."

"Great," Daniel said, sitting down on the couch beside you. "I've been bored out of my mind since I've come back to Perth."

You swallowed, not exactly sure of how to respond. "Yeah? Is your past haunting you or something?"

Daniel chuckled. "Not exactly. I'm just used to a lot of hustle-and-bustle, and Perth...isn't really delivering on that."

"Where did you work?" you asked.

He fidgeted with his hands. "Er...I used to be a Formula One driver. I know, wild, but yeah. DR3." He laughed again, but this time it was dry and full of resentment.

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Formula One? My sister's obsessed with it. Wow, that's really cool."

"Yeah, it is. But they moved on to better talent, and now I'm back here." He slouched down, avoiding your gaze.

You gently nudged his shoulder. "Well, I'm glad you've returned and that we've met."

He gave you a wan half-smile.

For another hour, you two chatted away, talking about your past, about Leia, and about your hobbies. You told him about your Star Wars obsession (aka the reason why you'd chosen the name Leia for your daughter), showing him the vintage R2D2 toy you kept on your bookshelf. In return, he told you about how he used to go fishing with his parents in Lake Monger and about some of his F1 exploits.

Eventually, the alarm you set to keep track of when to pick Leia up went off, marking the end of your conversation. "I've got to go," you apologized.

"It's no problem." Daniel waved a hand, brushing you off. "Here's my number in case you want to keep in touch?" He wrote it down on a piece of paper and handed it to you.

"Thanks," you said, flustered.

"See you around, Y/N," he said as he stepped out the front door.

Text messages between Daniel and Y/N (Takes place a week to two months after their first meeting)

Sydney, Australia (Two months later)

"Come on, Leia," you urged your daughter as you led her through a thick crowd of people in the airport. "Don't let go of my hand."

Daniel was in front, leading you towards the exit, where a glossy crimson Ferrari was parked. "Here we go." He opened the door for you, sliding beside you and helping to buckle Leia in.

You smiled at him. "Thanks so much for inviting us."

"No problem, darling."

The pet name sent a curl of heat through your core, and you looked out the window so you wouldn't have to respond. The view was stunning: metallic skyscrapers, a bustling city center. You couldn't believe that this was what you were missing out on your whole life.

About twenty minutes later, the car stopped in front of a sleek modern hotel. You saw Daniel's mum wave at you, and swallowed roughly. You prayed that she would like you.

"Leia, be nice," you chastised her before you disembarked from the car. "Use your manners."

Leia bobbed her head up and down. "I know, Mum."

When you walked over, Daniel's mum immediately struck up a conversation with you, pulling you into a tight embrace. "I'm Grace!" she introduced herself. "And this must be little Leia." She bent down to shake Leia's hand. "You look just like her."

"Thanks," you replied. "It's nice to meet you."

Grace put her hand on her heart. "Danny's told me all about you. I'm happy to see that you're exactly as I hoped."

Your gaze whipped to Daniel, who turned even redder. One more shade, and he could pass for a bearded tomato. "Really?"

"Yep!" Grace clapped Daniel on the back. "He loves you."

You blinked, but didn't blurt anything out. "We should probably head inside."

Daniel nodded fervently. "I agree."

That night

"You want to explain to me what your mum told me?" you probed Daniel, crossing your arms over your chest.

Daniel covered his face with his hands. "Fuck, Y/N, I'm sorry. She's not a good secret keeper."

"Are you saying that she was lying?"

His eyes peeked out from behind his palms. "Do you want me to say no?"

"Tell me the truth," you scolded.

Daniel sighed and took a step closer to you. "She wasn't. Ever since I saw you at that lemonade stand, I thought you were the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen. You're funny, and strong, and independent. I want to prove to you that I won't be like the other one. I'm here to stay."

Without a second's worth of hesitation, you tugged on his shirt collar, pulling him down to your height, and kissed him. He moaned softly, his arms snaking around your waist and caging you against the wall. "Fuck, Y/N."

The kiss became more passionate as you tangled your fingers in Daniel's brown curls, and his own found the swell of your breasts underneath your shirt. "You're so perfect," he murmured softly. "Can I?"

You nodded, at a loss for words. Daniel lifted your shirt over your head, revealing the lacy pink bra you were wearing. "Fuck, I'm going to come in my pants like a schoolboy right now. My God, you're a fucking work of art."

You unbuttoned his shirt and loosened the waistband of his pants, letting them fall to the floor. Daniel picked you up, placing you on the bed. "The door's locked," he assured you when you opened your mouth. "If we're quiet, Leia won't know anything."

"Good," you whispered. "I don't want to traumatize her."

He laughed, and kissed you again on the collarbone. Carefully, he placed your hands above your head and said, "I want to have sex with you. Is that OK?"

"You don't have to ask, Daniel," you rasped.

Daniel shook his head. "Yes, I do. Consent is not a laughing matter, darling."

You expelled a breath in faux-annoyance, and he continued his mission. One slow thrust, and he was in you, filling your pussy and making you groan with pleasure. "Daniel..."

"Does it hurt?" he asked worriedly. "I'll go slower."

You twisted your head to look at him. "No, it's fine. Just...not used to this. It's been a while."

He pecked you on the forehead, his arms caressing the curves of your skin. "I won't hurt you, I promise."

He drove into you, the movements firm and sure. Soon, you felt the tidal wave of pleasure build up in you like an insistent hum. "Daniel, I'm going to..." you trailed off, the sentence ending with another moan.

Daniel kissed you on the temple, the touch exactly what you needed to tumble over the edge. "Let go for me, darling."

And so you did, the orgasm rippling over you and making you shudder with satisfaction.

He pulled out a moment later, his own orgasm succeeding yours, and he flopped down beside you, one arm wresting you closer to him. "You're stunning."

"When I'm all fucked out?" you teased.

Daniel played with a loose strand of your hair, his eyes bright with happiness. "Yep."

"You're so silly, Daniel," you poked fun at him, tapping his nose twice.

He flicked your nose, and stated the very obvious fact, "But you adore me."

Three weeks later

Daniel clutched the bouquet of tulips in his hand, suddenly nervous. It wasn't the first time he had taken you out on a date. Hell, it wasn't even the second time. Yet each and every time, he was terrified.

You were perfect.

And he was...he was Daniel, the former F1 driver for four teams.

"Thanks for picking me up," you told him as he ushered you to his car. "I really appreciate it."

He gave you a quick kiss on the forehead. "No problem, darling."

You sat down, and then readjusted your position, feeling something poking your back. It was a box.

"Not a ring," he promised when he saw your expression. "I wouldn't have you accidentally sit on your engagement ring, darling."

You scowled at him, but popped open the top. A beautiful ruby necklace gleamed up at you, and you let out a gasp.

"It's my mother's. She wanted you to have it," Daniel told you.

"Wow, Daniel. This is...breath-taking." You hugged him.

"Just like you," he flirted, and you rolled your eyes. "It's the truth."

You extricated the necklace from the box and clipped it around your neck. "How does it look?"

"Perfect." He kissed you on the lips, one hand nestled on the crook of your jaw. "And all mine."

─── ୨୧ ─── THE END ─── ୨୧ ───

[lokideservesahug]

A Taste Of Victory

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Pairing: Jenson Button x reader (implied), Mark Webber x reader (implied).

Warnings: Jenson is a bit of a dick to reporters, sexism,

Notes: This isn't even the big peice of writing that started all of this but that is coming soon... And the photos may not be aesthetic but they sure as anything are time accurate (even using photos from the specific days). I tried to make sure of it (as well as the dates) to give you good visuals so I hope at least someone appreciates it. Also I tried a new header format. Please tell me your thoughts

Summary: Y/N Y/L/N, the newest 2009 rookie who's also...a woman? The media are desperate to pick her apart and see how well she'll do so let's have a look:

Series Masterlist

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Y/L/N residence, 7th September 2008

You sit back and sip happily on your coke bottle. Any minute now. Any minute and your phone will be blowing up. Or at least that's what Frank had told you (you still can't get over the fact that THE Frank Williams insists that you call him that, or that you'll be working for him next year). You focus back on the image on your screen,

Lewis Hamilton in his McLaren. Of course a favourite to win this season especially after his incredible performances even from his rookie season. And despite trying to clear your mind of all bias for next year, you can't help but wish that he might win. He seems like a nice guy and it's a better him than some of the others. As Hamilton reaches the ever famous, ever gorgeous Eau Rouge, the image changes, the camera focuses on the white, green and red Honda of Jenson Button. He swerves slightly, performing a certainly showy move especially for just FP2.

Despite the numbers not being as much as Hamilton supporters, some F1 fans are putting their money on Button winning the championship instead. You scoff at the thought alone. Goodness knows Formula 1 doesn't need another cocky playboy as the world champion and goodness knows Jenson Button appears to be exactly that. Gosh why couldn't a more sensible seeming driver win say Mark webber or even Fernando Alonso again. You internally scold yourself, these men will be your co workers in only a matter of months. Just the thought makes you feel a matter of emotions; which you are quickly pulled out of as the commentators voice grows louder. You watch as Fernando Alonso puts in a particularly fast lap and the more you think, you can't help but feel almost a bit...nervous.

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

Albert Park paddock, 27th March 2009

You hold your head up high as you enter the paddock. Bright flashes of cameras shine in your peripheral but you try your hardest to just keep your head down and focus on getting to the Williams hospitality. You glance up, taking in the sights surrounding you. The bright Australian sun paints the paddock? that you've been so long awaiting, in such a light, that you finally feel a sense if fulfilment- and you're not even in the car yet.

Too entranced by the sights around you, you fail to notice the person just in front of you. You're met with the sight of a crisp yet untucked shirt. You panick, instantly going to apologise when you meet the eyes of the person you bumped into. "Woah, careful there." Jenson Button. Oh gosh. "Someone needs to slow down." He laughs and you assume his enjoyment is coming from your misfortune. Now you'd never thought you were the type to become speechless but as you're finally met with the first driver on your official Formula 1 debut, you can't help but panick even more, squeak out an apology and speed walk towards Williams.

Gosh, you wanted today to be perfect and here you are crashing into people already. What a clumsy fool you must look like. You groan as you realise what you've done.

Now, like any unfamiliar place, you find that it was pretty easy to get yourself lost, even in place with such an easy concept (curse Melbourne event planners for trying to make too much go on at once and make it confusing). Most people also don't expect to get recognised in an unfamiliar place even if it's where you work (and your hiring was widely broadcast).

"Hey, are you alright?" You turn to look at the Autralian man whose voice, up until now, you'd only heard through a screen. You meet the eyes of Mark Webber and smile shyly. "Hi, sorry to be a bother but do you know how to get to the Williams hospitality." He just gives you a small grin, clearly not seeing your lack of knowledge as incompetence or anything like that "Of course, follow me and welcome to the paddock by the way." And as Mark leads you away, you can't help hut feel glad you'll be seeing more of him (and not just for how polite and kind he is).

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

Post race interviews, 29th March 2009

After you step down from the podium, and your team has dispersed (after all congratulating you, some even with tears in their eyes). You walk away to a quieter part of the paddock to gather your thoughts. You go behind the tows of hospitalities only to find Mark Webber hunched over. You aobseve him, he's sporting a serious, disappointed and almost worried looking expression as he looks out into the distance. You walk up to him and place a soft hand on his shoulder in an attempt to gently coax him out of his thoughts and to try and offer some comfort

Without a word, he turns to look at you and his shoulders raise slightly. You give him a small smile and sit down next to him. You both sit next to each other in silence, sharing a comforting moment, silently offering support and understanding to one and other.

The air shifts (and you try to not get to excited at the prospect that your presence alone may have somewhat comforted him). The air shifts, this time it isn't tainted by negative emotions but rather fatigue and acoplmisent on your part. The both of you probably look like a true sight, disheveled, tired and sweaty, however there's a warmth between you both as you share a brief moment of tranquility amongst the chaos.

Someone calls your name and the moment is broken. You nod to Mark who gives you a small smile back and a short "Well done for today." As you smile at him and walk off to go to interviews.

You pass some fans, signing their Williams caps and exchanging excited "Well done!" And "Thank you." Pleasantries. You revel in the post win glow. It's one thing to win in your rookie season, but to win your first race? Now that's just unheard of. You hurriedly sit down in the assigned seat for you and wait for the other few straglers to arrive. You look down, placing your hands on your lap in an attempt to thwart the nerves threatening to bubble.

Brawn driver, Rubens Barrichello is the second to arrive followed not long after by Jenson Button. Rubens gives you an easy smile and yet another congratulations. You feel incredibly fortunate to have you welcomed so quickly and easily by him over the past few days of testing. You return his smile with one of your own and a small wave.

When Jenson finally sits down, an FiA representative gives the 3 of you a short introduction and then begins. Quite a few people had warned you before you entered this room that many people would want to speak to you, but you didn't expect such an onslaught.

A short, bald man stands up and adresses you. "So Miss Y/L/N, you just managed to win your debut race, which is an incredible feat but how much of it do you think is down to the car." You try not to take offence to the question, it was a pretty basic question afterall (even if it was worded a bit harshly.) You let out a small laugh. "I think it's a joint effort really. The car was looking really good this weekend but I also have a history of running fairly well at this track." The reporter nods his head and continues. "So do you think this victory will encourage other women to become involved in F1?" You nod excitedly at him. "Oh I hope so. I hope it's encouragement to all women out there that weren't sure if they could." The reported thanks you and sits down.

A few more reporters ask questions. 90% of which are adressesdfor you and a few others adresses to the men beside you (mainly to Rubens and Jenson about Braen and its last minute establishment).

This time, a slightly more lean, dark haired reporter speaks up, once again directing his questions towards you. "Y/N, how did your fellow drivers perceive your and your entrance into F1?" You nearly furrow your brows at the biazzre question (Well it's possibly bizzare that it's adressed to you). "I uh don't know. Why don't you ask them." You gesture to the drivers either side of you as the reporter repeats his question to the other pilots. "Gentlemen, your thoughts on the newest addition to the paddock?" Rubens gives you an encouraging pat on the shoulder mid sentence "She's obviously fast and I think she's managed to impress us all." The reporter nods to Jenson; and despite your belief that he's he's too cocky for his own good, you can't help but feel a bit excited and a bit anxious to hear his repsonse. "Her lap times were phenomenal during the race." You smile at his words, maybe he wasn't as bad as you thought. However, he continues "I think my only criticism I have of her is that she seems to smile less than Kimi." The reporter smirks as you lower your eyeline slighty. "Yeah and she's much easier on the eyes than Kimi." The room erupts into low laughs as you feel shame and embarrassment pool in your gut.

The reporters continue to ask a few questions that you don't pay too much attention to as you nearly get complety lost in your thoughts. One asks Jenson if he thinks you have the potential for the championship. He laughs as he awnsers "There's no denying that she's fast. But she's in a Williams, she's not going to win the championship." You bite your tongue at Jenson's words and what you think is a jab at you (not realising the true intention if insulting his old team).

Yet another reporter asks you a familiar question along the lines if how exactly you think you managed to win. Fed up being in a room with a bunch of old men, trying to pick you apart and insult you with the same few questions just worded differently, your resolve finally snaps.

"Well not that anyone is caring to ask, but I've done this track a million times over. I've practised again and again and again to get my performance perfect yet no one is congratulating me on how well I went around that track. Brawn were amazing today and I'm sure they will be in the future as well but please dont let that take away from what I've done today." You shuffle back in your chair slightly, feeling a bit uncomfortable under the stares but stay strong, unbreaking (and not noticing the stare of admiration coming from the British driver to your left and never knowing the love filled look of another Australian pilot, watching on a screen not far away).

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

Top Gear Studio, May 2009

You listen anxiously as Jeremy Clarkson introduces you. Yes, Jeremy Clarkson. As he shouts your name, the camera pans to you and you walk forward, shaking Jeremy's hand and sitting down in the green, faux leather sofa.

"Now obviously I want to ask the obvious..." He speaks over the crowd's quietening bustle and you expect the next question to be one you've hears bwfore. About your gender, you- "What on Earth have you done to that Williams to make it so good?" You laugh, the familiar humour of the Top Gear host you've only ever seen on a screen putting you at ease.

"Well I don't know but maybe its because I'm far more polite to the car than other drivers." Jeremy smiles at your words and invites you into light conversation about you finally being viewed as a serious title contender. The two of you continue until you hit more general off-track talk "So, how much do you train and have you managed to find enough time to see your friends and family. Because some people have such an odd view on things like that." You let out a dramatic sigh. "Gosh they're making me train so much. More than just once a day and there are so many regimes that I can't keep track of anymore. But family wise, well I spend far less time with them than I do do training, I can tell you that much." The audience laughs which encourages you to continue. "I see my friends and family in-between weekends when I can and sometimes they'll even come to races. But gosh. I feel awful saying this." Jeremy leans forward slightly "No, go on..." Your smile becomes a bit embarrassed as your cheeks warm. "Well even on free weekends, with how crowded the paddock can be, I'll come home and just want to be alone." Jetemy shakes his head. "Well that makes sense. But you're in a very crowded space all weekend, does that mean that you've you've asked out by a lot of guys throughout the season so far?" Your eyes widen widen the insinuation. At your lack of instant response, Jeremy clarifies, "Come on! Gorgeous girl such as yourself in such a male dominated sport, I bet loads of men and probably even some drivers too have asked you out." You quickly deny the claims and the two of you move on to your lap times in their old car but you don't miss the way your mind flashed with the image of a certain dark haired Red Bull driver as Jeremy asked his previous question.

>To be aired 28 June<

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

You huff out a low sigh. If you overthink today anymore, you think you might be sick. Your phone pings. You know you shouldn't have it on you but it has helped to keep you entertained as you wait. You look down and see a text from Mark. His text, wishing you good luck makes you smile and you shoot him a small thanks and silence your phone as you hear footsteps behind you.

"Are you ready?" You turn you head and nod to your future teammate as Michael Schumacher steps forward. "Question is, are you old man?" Your words make him smile and your nerves ease slightly. "I don't think I can ever be ready for something like this. But the more important thing is you." He places a caring hand on your shoulder.

If you told your child self, or heck even yourself a year ago that you're friends and future teammates with 7-time world Champion Michael Schumacher, you think you'd have laughed at yourself until tears streamed down your face. But in recent months and more specifically recent weeks, the two of you have been getting much closer. Michael offering you advice, you offering great support on current drivers habits firsthand as a warning for next season. And you even met Michael's family a month or so ago; them nearly adopting you into their clan.

A woman with headset approaches you both and taps you on the shoulder, "A minute to go." She gives you a small thumbs up and walks away, mumbling into her headset. You give her an uncertain nod as Michael pats your shoulder again. "Go out and show them what you've got kid and I'll see you out there." You give him a nervous smile and as you hear a distant shout of your name, you pull yourself together and pull your face into an excited expression, ready for the reaction to your announcement and overjoyed to have a front row seat to people's reactions to your teammate.

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

You sit alone in a booth of a bustling club. Loud music nearly deafening but you'd take it any day over the continuous commentary you heard at track. You don't know how many time you can hear "It looks like the title fight is over. Y/L/N's engine is overheating and she's slowing down. It looks like Jenson Button may be champion." Without feeling sick especially when it's directly followed by your voice on the team radio, voice cracking during an apology as your mechanics tell me to back off to cool the engine.

You think of the image of Jenson's Brawn overtaking you and pulling futher into the distance; the sight of not one but two Red Bulls overtaking to fight a battle that should be yours. A voice cuts through your thoughts. You look up, meeting the eyes of the person speaking. "Are you alright?" You're surprised that Jenson came to speak to you, especially after his victory. Gosh in your vulnerable state, you even think that he might not be too bad. How silly of you. You give him a gentle nod (clearly not enough to convince him). He gestures towards the seat next to you "Is it alright if I sit here?" You nod, not Trusting your voice in this moment. "Well-" "You w-" You finally crack a smile as you speak at the same moment. He gestures to you "Sorry, you go." You smile at him. "Well done Jenson you gave a great drive this season." You expect him to smirk, to revel in your compliments but instead he just gives you a soft smile and a shake of his head. "Don't be silly. That championship would be yours if Williams ever learnt how to build cars properly. But thank you." You look down at his words, all of your emotions finally coming to the forefront. "Hey, you look like you need to be cheered up. You don't need to feel like this going into next season..." He passes and his brows furrow. You look up at Jenson who is now standing and for the first time all year, allow yourself to admire him. The way that his still slightly hair drops as some strands stick to his forehead. "You-" He furrows his brows again and then laughs freely. "Oh yeah, you're taking my job. Well Miss Y/L/N, he grabs your hand and pulls you up from your seat, Elliciting a small noise from you. "Then we need to dance to celebrate and to cheer you up." You just shake your head and follow him, finally smiling as you follow his foolish adrenaline (and probably slightly alcohol-fueled) giggly nature; placing down your phone and missing the texts.

Mark Webber: Hey Well done on today and I'm sorry what happened. Hoping to speak to you at some point later...

M.S: Hey Hase, well done on today, you drove so well I hope you know that. Corinna and I wanted to invite you to our...

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Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it.

As always, likes, reblogs and especially feedback is always welcome!

Taglist: @nikfigueiredo @mysoulispainted @leclercings @d3kstar @hiireadstuff @a-beaverhausen @nichmeddar @lozzamez3 @stinkyjax @marymustdie @littlesatanicassholebitch @mehrmonga @insanedeathwish @ems-alexandra @a-disturbing-self-reflection @cherry-piee @thatgirlmj

[cailinsblog]

A Picnic Under the Stars | Oscar piastri

Oscar piastri x reader

Masterlist

It had been four years since Oscar Piastri first met Y/N. Four years of adventures, laughter, and unforgettable moments—moments that had only deepened their bond. What had begun as a casual encounter, a meeting during an event in Melbourne, had blossomed into something far more beautiful. The young Formula 1 driver had a busy career, and Y/N, with her own flourishing career, had always supported him—through the highs and the lows. But now, with the off-season finally here and the whirlwind of the racing season behind them, Oscar had planned something truly special.

Oscar had always been thoughtful. Whether it was remembering the small details—like the way Y/N liked her coffee or the way she smiled whenever he surprised her with a spontaneous adventure—or the big moments, he was always there, patient and kind. But this moment, tonight, would be the biggest surprise of all.

It was a crisp autumn evening in the countryside of Australia, far away from the noise of the F1 circuit and the busy city life. Oscar had insisted they take a trip to a remote area of the coast, near one of his favorite spots where they could watch the sunset. Y/N had always loved the ocean, and the sight of the vast, rolling waves was one that calmed her, always reminding her of their more peaceful moments together.

The drive was quiet, filled with soft music and the occasional joke or story that kept them both laughing. Y/N couldn’t help but wonder why Oscar had insisted on such a “random” trip, but the thought quickly faded as she saw the spot he had chosen for their evening.

Oscar led her to a secluded clearing by the beach, where a blanket had been spread out on the ground, surrounded by soft fairy lights that twinkled like stars. A wicker basket sat neatly beside it, with bottles of wine and a few candles softly illuminating the area. The waves crashed gently in the distance, the salt air filling her lungs.

“Wow, this looks amazing,” Y/N breathed, a soft smile playing on her lips. ��You did all this?”

Oscar grinned sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I wanted to do something special. Thought we could have a nice, quiet night… just the two of us.”

She laughed, taking a moment to look around at the gorgeous setup. The fairy lights sparkled like tiny diamonds, and the stars above were clearer than she had ever seen them, unimpeded by city lights. Oscar had made sure everything was perfect. From the cozy blanket to the wine glasses and the delicious spread of food in the basket, everything had been thoughtfully planned out.

“Come on, sit down,” Oscar said, holding his hand out to her. She took it with a smile, letting him guide her to the blanket. They settled comfortably, the warmth of the picnic blanket against their legs contrasting with the cool air of the night.

Oscar uncorked the bottle of wine and poured them both a glass before passing one to Y/N. They clinked glasses, a soft “cheers” between them. Y/N took a sip, feeling the smooth, fruity flavor spread over her tongue. Oscar reached for the basket and pulled out a tray filled with her favorite food—charcuterie, cheeses, olives, and a few little sweet treats.

“This is perfect, Oscar,” she said, her heart swelling at the effort he had put into making the night special.

“I’m glad you like it,” he replied with a smile, his hand brushing against hers as he picked up a piece of cheese. "It’s been a long season, and I wanted us to have some time to just relax and enjoy each other’s company.”

The two spent the next hour talking, laughing, and sharing stories, all while enjoying the delicious spread of food and the peaceful serenity of the night. As they ate, the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky with hues of orange, pink, and purple, giving way to a starry night that felt almost magical.

After they had finished eating, Oscar leaned back on his elbows, gazing up at the stars. Y/N followed his gaze, her head resting comfortably on his shoulder. There was a certain calm between them now, a quiet intimacy that made her heart feel full. She wasn’t sure how long they had been sitting there, but time seemed to slow in a way that was only possible when she was with him.

Then, without warning, Oscar shifted slightly, propping himself up on one elbow. Y/N turned to look at him, smiling sleepily.

“Everything okay?” she asked.

Oscar’s eyes were focused on her in a way that made her heart skip a beat. He had a softness in his gaze, a tenderness she knew well but had never seen quite like this before. He took her hand in his, holding it gently as he looked down at it, then back up at her.

“Y/N,” he began, his voice slightly nervous, though his words were steady, “you know I’ve always loved our life together, right? I know I’ve been busy with the racing season, but these four years with you have been... they’ve been everything to me. You’re my best friend, my partner, and the person I want to share everything with.”

Y/N blinked, her heart suddenly beating faster. She was aware of how carefully Oscar was speaking, how serious he was in this moment, but she couldn’t quite piece together why. Her mind raced, thoughts flickering like flashes of light.

“I don’t think I could ever express just how much you mean to me,” Oscar continued, taking a deep breath as he reached into the pocket of his jacket. “But I’ve spent every moment I can with you, and I want to spend the rest of my life doing that.”

Y/N's breath hitched, her mind finally catching up. She watched as Oscar slowly got to his feet, then knelt down on one knee in front of her, his eyes never leaving hers.

The world seemed to pause. The sound of the waves, the rustling of the wind through the trees, all faded as Oscar held her gaze, his hand reaching into the pocket of his jacket to pull out a small, velvet box.

“Y/N, will you marry me?” he asked, his voice filled with hope, love, and sincerity. He opened the box to reveal a simple, elegant diamond ring, glinting in the soft glow of the fairy lights.

Y/N’s eyes filled with tears as her heart swelled with joy and disbelief. She had never expected this—never thought it would come so soon. But the look in Oscar’s eyes, the way he was holding her hand so gently, made her heart explode with a warmth she couldn’t describe.

“Oh my God,” she whispered, her voice cracking slightly as she wiped her eyes. “Oscar, yes! Yes, I will!”

Oscar’s face lit up instantly, a wide, radiant smile breaking across his features as he slid the ring onto her finger. She gasped as it fit perfectly, the diamond sparkling like a star in the night sky. Without a second thought, she pulled him up and into a tight embrace, kissing him deeply, her heart racing with emotion.

“I can’t believe you did this,” she whispered between kisses. “This is the most beautiful surprise.”

“I just want to spend forever with you,” he murmured back, holding her close, his forehead resting against hers. “You’re everything to me, Y/N. And I can’t wait for the rest of our lives.”

They stayed like that for a moment, just holding each other in the quiet of the night, the sound of the waves and the soft rustle of the leaves creating a symphony of calm around them. The stars shone brightly above, and the world felt as though it had been made just for them.

After a few more moments, they pulled away, still smiling, and Oscar reached for her hand, kissing her ring finger gently.

“Thank you for making me the happiest man in the world,” he said softly.

Y/N smiled, her eyes filled with tears of happiness, knowing that she was about to embark on the most exciting chapter of her life with the man she loved more than anything. They sat back down on the blanket, looking at the stars above, their hands intertwined, knowing that this was only the beginning of forever.

[f1daydreamer]

Golden Luck

The Australian Grand Prix in 2025 was special. The air buzzed with excitement, the scent of burning rubber mixed with the heat of the Melbourne sun. Fans gathered, waving McLaren banners and cheering as their favorite drivers walked past.

You stood near the paddock fence, your hands gripping a handmade bracelet—one you had spent hours making, weaving orange and blue threads together with small charms shaped like stars. It wasn’t much, but you hoped it would reach Oscar Piastri.

And as if the universe had listened, there he was.

Oscar strolled past, his race suit unzipped at the top, revealing his fireproofs underneath. His focus was ahead until his gaze flickered toward you. Something about your bright eyes and hopeful smile made him stop.

“Hey,” he greeted, stepping closer.

Your heart pounded, but you held out the bracelet. “I made this for you. For good luck.”

Oscar took it, inspecting the details. “You made this?” His lips curled into a soft smile. “That’s awesome.” Without hesitation, he slipped it onto his wrist, tightening the knot.

You nodded, barely believing this was happening. “Yeah. I—I hope it helps.”

He glanced at the bracelet, then at you, a playful glint in his eyes. “Guess I have no choice but to win now.”

You laughed. “That’s the spirit.”

And somehow… he did.

Oscar Piastri won his home Grand Prix in stunning fashion. The crowd erupted as he crossed the finish line, and in the middle of all the celebrations, he looked down at his wrist, where your bracelet rested.

Maybe it was lucky.

Even after the race, Oscar stayed in Australia for a few extra days. He told himself it was to relax, enjoy home for a bit before the hectic season continued.

But the truth?

He couldn’t stop thinking about you.

And fate had its way of working.

At a small café tucked in the streets of Melbourne, he saw you again. Sitting at a table, sipping an iced coffee, completely unaware that the person who had been thinking about you since race day was standing just a few feet away.

He didn’t hesitate this time.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Oscar’s voice made you look up, startled.

Your eyes widened. “Oh! Hi! Um—wow, what are the chances?”

He grinned, sitting across from you without asking. “I’d say pretty high. I did win because of you.” He lifted his wrist, showing the bracelet still tied securely around it.

You felt warmth rush to your cheeks. “You’re still wearing it?”

“Of course,” he said easily. “It’s lucky.”

The conversation flowed naturally from there.

You talked about the race, about life, about everything and nothing. And before either of you realized it, the sun had started to set, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink.

That day turned into another. And another.

Time spent together became routine, laughter shared over ice cream runs and late-night drives through the city.

A friendship blossomed—one laced with lingering glances, stolen touches, and a warmth neither of you dared to name.

Both of you had fallen.

Neither had the courage to say it.

To be continued...

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Tag-list

@a-beaverhausen @anamiad00msday @freyathehuntress @f1fantasys

[remapped-soul]

once again with an italian song, this time for charlos

"occhi diversi tutte le sere ma sempre il solito vecchio sorriso" >>> different eyes every single night but always the same old smile

i'm imagining something romantic and cheesy and charles' eyes changing with the light :)

once again, im so sorry how late this is. i had an idea for this ever since you sent me the ask but only now found the energy to write. i hope you like it <3 I tried making it cheesy and romantic. what's for sure, charles' eyes are definitely changing hehe. your prompts have been amazing and I had so much fun writing them

this is a companion piece to my charlos demon au. read it here

tw: mention of the lv incident, and charles is angry about it, but nothing too graphic.

This year was supposed to be different. This year was supposed to be their year. Prayers on his lips, the devil by his side, Carlos was supposed to win this year. Instead, he's barely scrapping in the top 5 as it is. To say he is frustrated is an understatement.

"I thought a deal with the devil meant glory," Carlos says the night after the race in Melbourne. "I thought the car would be strong. I thought--" the voice catches in his throat "--I thought I'd be strong."

Charles is motionless next to him, eyes a blue so dark and deep, no shadow disturbs them. Carlos is a little afraid to look at him.

"It will come." Charles presses his mouth against Carlos' shoulder, heat sipping through the shirt. He inhales, long and deep. He's just like a dog sometimes, Carlos thinks, a little amused, a little fond. Protective and possessive.

"Easy for you to talk." Carlos shakes Charles off. The artificial light of the hotel room slants in his eyes, and for a second, Charles' irises are not deep blue, but milky white. Carlos' heart seizes in his chest. He blinks. Charles' eyes are back to normal. "You were Senna in the past life."

Charles rolls his eyes. "I made a deal with you, not with Ferrari. I can't help them if they're not ready to pay the price."

"And I am? Paying the price?"

Charles smiles, crooked, lopsided, dimples popping, and kisses him into quietness.

*

It gets better until it doesn't and Carlos has to retire his car in Spa halfway in. It's Charles' turn to be on the podium, and Carlos is so angry he can barely stand to look at him.

"It's just a third place, Carlos. Nothing to stress over."

They go back to the hotel right after Charles finished his media duties, and Carlos wants nothing more than to be alone. He thinks slamming the door would have gotten the message across, but when he turns around, Charles is already there, by the bed, waiting, hands in his pockets, eyes a dull grey.

"A third place and three championships," Carlos sneers now, looking over Charles' shoulder. He can't stand the look in his eyes. "Nothing to stress over."

Charles sighs, exasperated. "I existed before you, Carlos. I will exist after you. My life now is nothing but a moment, painted in a different color. I don't choose my lives, the same way you didn't choose to be bound to me. If I could, I'd always be a king, a winner, but my life is defined by the contracts I make the same way yours is defined by things outside of your control." Charles stops, an angry breath hissing through his clenched teeth. He doesn't talk about his life, his existence as a being outside of the human realm, if he can help it. "You know what you got to do if you wish to never see me again."

Carlos finally looks at Charles. His eyes shine like marble in sunlight. Outside is dark, a starless night.

"And if I do? Will the old Charles be back?" Carlos still remembers the days before he made his pact. The sweet Charles, the shy Charles. The one that blushed around Sebastian Vettel.

"You drivers always think you're so different from one another, but you're all the same." The Charles in front of him gives him a sad smile. "There is no old Charles. It's always been me."

Carlos suddenly feels nauseous. He stares at Charles, at his eyes, at the grey melting into blue. "I think…I think I need to be alone." A pause. "Please."

Charles tilts his head to the side, watching Carlos. Carlos blinks. Charles is gone.

Later, they will be fine, as fine as a demon and human can be. They will fall into bed again, and Charles will let Carlos touch him, slide into him raw, make love to him. Charles will let Carlos wrap his hands around his throat, kiss him breathless, mark him. Charles will let Carlos believe he has power, and Carlos will let it happen, accept it. He will accept anything, everything as long as he gets to enjoy this for a little while longer.

*

The win in Singapore comes with a bang, and Carlos doesn't have time to think if Charles gave him this only to appease him. He is yelling over the coms, yelling as he gets out of the car, as he embraces the team. He sings every word of Fratelli d’Italia up on the podium. Fred pours champagne over his head, down his overalls. Carlos accepts everything with the biggest smile on his face. He won. He won for Ferrari. With Ferrari.

A tiny voice in his head tells him, you won before Charles this year, before Il Predestinato. It's delightfully mean. Carlos shoves it back where it came from.

He doesn't spot Charles anywhere until after his press conference, when Carlos is pulled into a desolate room, a hand on his mouth to silence him and a cheeky smile greeting him in the dark.

"Hi, champion."

Carlos grins against the fingers. "Hi back," he mumbles, pulling Charles into him by the waist.

Charles' eyes are a kaleidoscope of red-pink-purple, a sunset trapped in his irises. "My beautiful champion," he says and then he kisses Carlos hard on the mouth. Carlos parts his knees, Charles steps closer, pushes his hands underneath Carlos's shirt, fingers on his stomach, skin against skin. Carlos shudders.

"Bebe," Carlos mutters as Charles kisses down his neck. "Not here. Hgmm." Charles bites at a particular sensitive spot on Carlos' neck. "We don't have time."

Charles' eyes glimmer as he looks up at Carlos. "Is that a challenge?" He asks and drops to his knees before Carlos can get a word in.

Ten minutes later they're sliding into their chairs as the debrief starts, and if Carlos fixes his pants and Charles wipes the corner of his mouth, no one bats an eyelash. After all, they were only a few minutes late. No one scolds a Ferrari champion.

*

The manhole blows up underneath Carlos' car in Las Vegas. It brings the first practice to an end and rules him out of the second one. Because of the damage, he will most likely get a penalty on Sunday. It’s a mess. Charles is fuming.

Carlos watches as Charles paces the length of his hotel room, threat dripping from his tongue like a thunderstorm, and he speaks in French and sometimes in Spanish. Other times in languages that are not familiar at all. Carlos would laugh about it, would pull Charles into his arms, tell him not to worry, kiss the frown off his face. He’d do that and more if it weren’t for the shackles shining bloody red around Charles’ neck, around his wrists, eyes matching as they flare up with every new word.

Charles’ threats are not something to laugh at. They’re real, and if Carlos doesn’t do anything about it, Charles will level the city.

“It’s what they deserve,” Charles spits. “If there is something the humans have been constant about- it's money. It’s always about money. They’d risk everything for it. I should cut their fingers off, one by one. Make them choke on money. Teach them the consequence of greed.”

Carlos sighs. He doesn’t think too much about it and grabs Charles by the arm, pulling him into his lap.

“Cariño,” Carlos soothes, pressing a kiss underneath Charles’ right eye. He puts his fingers on Charles’ neck and doesn’t think about how it burns. “You’re older than mankind. Why are you still surprised?”

Charles growls low in his throat. “They messed with what’s mine.” Surprise and pleasure zip up Carlos’ spine. He drops his hands around Charles’ shoulders, pushes and pulls until Charles gives in and melts against his chest. “I am fine, really. I am here, aren’t I?”

Charles huffs. He grips the hem of Carlos’ shirt and presses his cold nose against Carlos’ neck.

“You could’ve lost your legs,” he mumbles.

“Not for long,” Carlos says as he draws lines on Charles’ back. Up and down, left to right, as soothing as he can make them. “I have you.”

“Yes,” Charles relents, finally, fight going out of him all at once, shackles fading until they leave only unmarred skin behind. “Yes, you do.”

He presses a kiss under Carlos’ ear. If Carlos senses a hit of teeth, too sharp to be human, he doesn’t mention it.

“Will you leave the city and its people alone?”

Charles smiles against his neck. “For now. For you. They owe you a life debt.”

“Yes, yes, my fearless demon,” Carlos says and then tightens his hold and flips them on the bed, Carlos on top, Charles splayed underneath him. For the next several hours Carlos makes sure Charles doesn’t have time to think about decimating the world. Charles lets him.

A pact with the devil is not so bad after all.

[scalingsilverlinings]

Go for a fancy dinner

I went on this impulsive trip to Melbourne with Will Zhong and as part of it we went fine dining, which was nice because it’s something he really likes to do/does often. That being said something something about money not buying taste. But it was a very good experience anyway.

We went to Eureka 89, the restaurant at the top of the Eureka building and had the 3 course menu. The food was pretty good but not exceptional but the view was really lovely of Melbourne and it was a really good thing to do to make a memory of the trip. I also got a glass of Prosecco. Will really can’t hold his drinks, he has about 3/4 of a glass of rose with his dinner and was really flushed.

I kept seeing the moons reflection out of the window and getting it confused with the real moon behind me, which was quite funny. Overall it capped off a really good spontaneous trip - I haven’t been to Melbourne for a while but I feel like I have been enough times everything was familiar but not overly. We did all of the major landmarks and saw Yayoi Kusama’s exhibition at the NGV as well as the Van Gogh light show which is currently on at Lume. I like visiting Melbourne a lot and it was very relaxing but I don’t think I prefer it to Sydney still.

My paint and sip is scheduled for Sunday, so I am keen for that.

[hausmeisterwiesbaden]

Transform Your Outdoor Space: Landscaping Melbourne Like a Pro

Landscaping isn’t just about planting a few flowers into the and trimming some bushes. In Melbourne, it’s an art form, a blend of creativity, functionality, and a touch of nature’s magic. Let’s dive into what makes landscaping in Melbourne an experience that’s both thrilling and rewarding.

Why Landscaping Matter vibrant worlds in Melbourne

Have you ever walked through a well-designed garden and felt a sense of peace? That’s the power of landscaping. In Melbourne, where outdoor space can be limited, effective landscaping maximizes your area, making it feel larger of landscaping and more inviting. It’s not just about looks; it enhances property value and provides a personal oasis. Imagine sipping coffee in your beautifully landscaped backyard—it’s like having a mini-retreat in the heart of the city.

The Melbourne Climate: A Gardener's Friend

Melbourne’s weather can be a bit unpredictable, but that’s part of its charm. The mix of temperate oceanic climate and seasonal changes gives you a unique opportunity to grow and discover a variety of plants. Whether it how you’s vibrant spring blooms or lush summer greenery, your landscape can shine year-round. Think of it like dressing up for the seasons—each time, a new outfit that keeps your space fresh and exciting.

Conclusion: Your Dream Garden Awaits

Landscaping in Melbourne is an exciting journey of creativity and personal expression. Whether you’re opting for sustainable practices, innovative designs, or simply a place to relax, your outdoor space is a canvas waiting to be painted. Dive into this adventure, and transform your yard into a stunning sanctuary where memories are made. Isn’t it time to take the plunge and create the outdoor oasis you’ve always dreamed of? Your dream garden is just a few decisions away!

[boxfuleventsau]

At Our Beginner-Friendly Painting Courses, You Can Sip Alcohol While You Paint and Have a Blast

Even if you have never painted before, you can leave with a spectacular work of art that you can be proud of! Pour yourself a drink of wine, grab a paintbrush, dance the night away, and let your neon soul loose at a hyper-fluorescent disco! You can let your inner artist loose with some of your closest friends at this paint and sip session with a twist.

We transform your paint and sip party into a sparkling neon celebration with our paint and sip Melbourne for Fun! Make your canvas pop by using fluoro paints while using UV lighting. Since our paints are non-toxic, give your face a cheeky glow-up as well! No prior expertise is necessary for our step-by-step creative painting workshop.

Our classes are simple to understand, pleasant, socially engaging, and unforgettable. One of our engaging and knowledgeable teachers will walk you through your chosen artwork step by step.

You'll be one step closer to expressing your inner artist with a terrific soundtrack, knowledgeable guidance, and a few encouraging words! Each session lasts for between 3 hours. Each session's duration is listed underneath each entry in our events calendar and on the product page where you can make a reservation for each session.

A few minutes after the session's scheduled start time, we normally start painting. During the craft supplies Brisbane session, there can be a few "drying breaks" where you can stand up and stretch, dance, or look at the artwork of your other friends.

When should I show up?

Five to ten minutes before to the commencement of the session, the studio doors will open. Your session start time is displayed on the session calendar for each studio on our website as well as on the tax invoice you get after making a reservation.

[adrianodiprato]

+ “Grace is but glory begun, and glory is but grace perfected.” ~ Jonathan Edwards

My Word for 2024 | Grace

As we step into a new year, a fresh canvas awaits us, ready to be painted with the vibrant strokes of our intentions. In 2023, the word regenerative guided my journey, fostering a deep connection with nature's cycles. Now, as we embrace 2024, a word resonates in the corridors of my spirit – Grace.

Grace, a concept so profound, transcends mere disposition; it becomes an influential force, an act of divine kindness that works within us, shifting our capacities and guiding us through the ebbs and flows of life.

In the dance of existence, surrendering to the moment becomes a powerful act. Contrary to the belief that surrender is a sign of weakness, it unveils a real and enduring strength. Whether you find yourself immersed in the beauty of nature or sipping a cocktail by the beach, these moments become portals to inner peace, reconnecting you with the grace of the present.

Life unfolds as a series of small, everyday deeds – acts of kindness, love, and openness. The journey is where the true essence lies, and by being present in each moment, you allow yourself to rise not only by lifting others but by speaking your truth.

The call to notice the beauty around us is profound. From the breathtaking orange sunset to the gentle embrace of the wind, grace whispers through these moments, inviting us to be truly alive. Acknowledge the water brushing up against the shore, feel the wind in your heart, and let your inner beauty be captivated by the profound grace that resides within.

Remember, perfection is not the goal; wholeness is. Life is not about meticulously planned steps but about preparation for living. Embrace the opportunities each moment brings, launching yourself upward from every wave encountered.

“Courage is grace under pressure." - Ernest Hemingway

The wisdom of Hemingway echoes through time. Be open to growing in grace, recognising that the divine of courage resides within you, manifested through unconditional kindness and love.

In 2024, let grace be your guiding light. Infuse your life with the abundance of living, open your mind to the opportunities that shape your becoming, and fall in love with the world within and around you. Refuse the ordinary, stand firm in the profoundness of grace, and remember, living is happening now. Embrace the good grace of each other, for it is in this embrace that the extraordinary unfolds.

Adriano Di Prato is a best-selling author, broadcaster and the Academic Operations Manager at LCI Melbourne, a progressive art, design + enterprise private institute of higher education.

[camberwellcommerceassociation]

Top Camberwell Nightclubs That Are a Must-Visit in Camberwell, VIC

Camberwell, a charming suburb nestled in the heart of Melbourne's inner east, has long been known for its vibrant cultural scene and lively nightlife. For those seeking a memorable night out, Camberwell offers an array of top-notch nightclubs that promise an unforgettable experience. Here's a rundown of the must-visit nightclubs in Camberwell, VIC, where you can dance the night away and create lasting memories.

Pulse Night Lounge: Where Energy Meets Elegance

Located in the heart of Camberwell, Pulse Night Lounge stands out as a sophisticated hotspot for partygoers. With its chic décor, pulsating beats, and expertly crafted cocktails, this nightclub offers a blend of energy and elegance that keeps the crowd coming back for more. Whether you're looking to dance with friends or unwind with a drink, Pulse Night Lounge has it all.

Neon Grooves: A Dance Haven with a Neon Twist

Neon Grooves is a vibrant and eclectic nightclub that prides itself on its neon-infused ambiance and eclectic music selection. From neon-lit dance floors to electrifying DJ sets, this nightclub is the ultimate destination for those who love to groove to the beat of unconventional tunes. Step into a world of neon colors and let loose at Neon Grooves.

Fusion Beats: Where Music Diversity Takes Center Stage

Diversity is the name of the game at Fusion Beats. This nightclub offers an unparalleled musical journey with its fusion of genres, from hip-hop and R&B to electronic and world music. The dance floor is a melting pot of cultures and styles, creating an inclusive and electric atmosphere that caters to a wide range of tastes.

Starry Nights: Glamour and Glitter Under the Camberwell Sky

Starry Nights is where glamour meets the night sky. This open-air rooftop nightclub provides breathtaking views of Camberwell's skyline while offering a night of glitz and glamour. Whether you're sipping on champagne or showing off your dance moves, Starry Nights ensures an unforgettable evening under the stars.

Retro Groove Haven: A Nostalgic Trip Down Memory Lane

For those who long for the tunes of yesteryears, Retro Groove Haven is the place to be. With its retro décor, classic hits, and lively atmosphere, this nightclub takes you on a nostalgic journey through the decades. Get ready to twist and shout as you immerse yourself in the golden era of music.

In conclusion, Camberwell, VIC, boasts a diverse array of nightclubs that cater to every party enthusiast's tastes. Whether you're into elegance, neon vibes, musical diversity, glamour, or retro nostalgia, these top nightclubs offer an incredible range of experiences that make a night out in Camberwell truly unforgettable. So, put on your dancing shoes and get ready to paint the town red in this lively Melbourne suburb.

Contact us

Denmark Hill Kafe

689 Burke Rd, Camberwell, VIC 3124

Phone: 0398823232

Map Driving Directions

[paintforfun1]

5 Unique and Memorable Hen Party Ideas in Melbourne

Vintage Glamour Soiree: Transport your hen party back in time with a vintage glamour theme. Explore Melbourne's opulent cocktail bars, donning 1920s attire and sipping on classic cocktails. Attend a burlesque dance class to learn sultry moves, followed by a photoshoot to capture the elegance and fun.

Artistic Escape: Unleash your creativity with an art-inspired hen party. Melbourne's thriving arts scene offers pottery workshops, paint and sip sessions, and even graffiti art classes. Create lasting memories as you and your friends craft unique masterpieces to cherish.

Culinary Adventure: Hen Party Melbourne is a haven for foodies, making it perfect for a culinary-focused hen party. Embark on a gourmet walking tour, exploring hidden food gems. Attend a cooking class to learn the art of making delicate pastries or mastering the perfect pasta.

Escape Room Extravaganza: Challenge your group's problem-solving skills with an escape room adventure. Melbourne boasts a variety of themed rooms, from haunted mansions to sci-fi scenarios. Collaborate and unravel mysteries while experiencing adrenaline-pumping excitement.

Boho-Chic Picnic: Embrace nature's beauty with a boho-chic picnic in one of Melbourne's picturesque parks. Decorate with dreamcatchers, comfortable cushions, and floral arrangements. Indulge in artisanal treats, sparkling wine, and share heartfelt stories in a relaxed and enchanting setting.

In Melbourne, these unique and memorable hen party ideas offer a diverse range of experiences to cater to different tastes. Whether you're a fan of vintage glamour, artsy endeavors, culinary delights, thrilling puzzles, or outdoor serenity, the city has something extraordinary to make your hen party truly special.

[seas-of-ios]

slut!damen crack ficlet

"Nervous?" Laurent asked as they turned the corner onto the street he grew up on.

"Not really," Damen said. "Your parents sound great. And they raised you." He smiled at Laurent. "There can't be anything that wrong with them."

They pulled up in front of a tidy, suburban house and Laurent turned off the engine. Damen frowned at the neat garden, the blue painted trim and matching curtains in the windows. "What's wrong?" Laurent asked.

Damen shook his head. The house felt familiar, but he couldn't put his finger on why. He and Laurent had both grown up in Melbourne but it was a huge city, and Damen didn't think he had ever been in the neighborhood before. "Nothing. Deja vu I guess."

Laurent reached across and squeezed his hand. Damen could tell Laurent didn't really believe him about not being nervous, but Damen wasn't. He was good at meet-the-parents.

Laurent had a key, so he let them both in. "It's me," he called. The front hall increased the sense of familiarity, and Damen shook his head in confusion. There were flowers on the end table, and pictures on the wall. 

"Laurent!" It was a woman's voice, and there were footsteps on the stairs. Damen looked up at a blonde woman in a sundress. He was sure he had seen her before.

"This must be Damen," she said, coming forward to shake his hand. She was even shorter than Laurent, and there were freckles on her bare shoulders. A slight frown furrowed her brow. "Have we met?"

Damen opened his mouth to agree, when Laurent's father came around the corner from the living room.

He was a tall man with a neat beard, a dark honey color than his hair, with Laurent's sharp features and blue eyes, handsome and familiar. Damen's stomach flipped. Suddenly, he remembered why he knew the house and Laurent's parents. 

He swallowed hard.

Laurent's dad's eyes also widened, clearly having the same memory.

"This is Damen," Laurent said, oblivious. "Damen, this is my mom Hennike, and my dad Aleron." Damen breathed out slowly. He had never exchanged names, or if they had, he had been too drunk to remember.

Aleron coughed awkwardly. Hennike glanced between him and Damen, and then her cheeks flushed suddenly read and she took a half-step back, covering her mouth with one hand.

Damen could feel his shoulders hunching.

"Nice to meet you?" he tried.

"What's wrong?" Laurent asked sharply.

"Um."

"Damen," Laurent said, gripping his arm. "Mom? Dad?"

Aleron coughed again. Hennike was still blushing but she recovered with startling grace. "Why don't we all sit down." Damen vaguely remembered finding her poise and confidence extremely attractive. His face felt hot.

Hennike led them all into the living room and went to make coffee. Damen sat awkwardly on the couch beside Laurent. He had a sudden, visceral memory of kissing Laurent's mother on that couch, with his father pressed up behind him, hands on Damen's ass.

Damen squirmed.

Aleron looked equally uncomfortable, rubbing his hands nervously, playing with his wedding band.

Hennike came back with a coffee tray.

"What's going on?" Laurent said, narrow eyed.

Nobody poured coffee.

Sitting down opposite them, Hennike pulled her husband down beside her and wrapped his hand in hers.

"We've heard so much about you from Laurent," Hennike said, smile weakly. "We didn't realize..."

"Neither did I," Damen said.

"Realize what?" Laurent snapped. His fingers were digging into Damen's forearm.

"We've met," Hennike said, at the same moment as Damen said, "We've hooked up."

"What?" Laurent sat bolt upright. "You've fucked my mother?"

"Uh." Damen bit his lip, and Aleron shifted.

Laurent looked wildly between the three of them. "You cheated on Dad?" he said, staring at his mother. He wasn't touching Damen anymore, perched on the edge of the couch cushion, coiled with tension.

Hennike coughed. "No. No, of course not. Your dad..." she glanced at her husband. 

He cleared his throat, spots of bright color on his cheeks. "I was there," he said gruffly.

"What the fuck," Laurent whispered. "When - how? What?"

"It was years ago!" Damen said hastily. "It was my first year at uni, I spent a lot of time in bars, went home with people."

"With my parents?" Laurent flicked an icy glance between them again.

Damen shrugged helplessly.

"And what about you?" Laurent said, turning to his parents. "I don't know if it's worse that my boyfriend has slept with both my parents or that my parents are hooking up with barely legal boys. What did you do, send me to a baby sitter so you could go cruising?”

Aleron and Hennike exchanged a glance. "Laurent..." Hennike began, placating.

Laurent stood abruptly. "I need a minute," he said, and stalked out of the room.

Damen, Hennike and Aleron stared at one another in silence.

"Um," Damen said, breaking the silence. "I promise I don't do stuff like that anymore. I love Laurent." He trailed off awkwardly.

Hennike sighed. "Coffee?"

She poured coffee for all three of them, and Damen cradled the cup in both hands, blowing on it. He took a sip too fast and burned his tongue, swallowed anyway.

Damen couldn't help remembering the night he had gone home with the two of them. He had been pretty drunk that night, which is why the house and Hennike's face hadn't immediately triggered his recall. He mostly remembered the elation of kissing them both, the rough burn of Aleron's beard against his face, Hennike's silky hair between his fingers. How he'd felt both proudly grown up and very young going home with them. He'd shown off his already-developed talent for eating pussy with Aleron's hand gentle on his head, and then gotten a chance to practice the relatively new skill of sucking cock. He'd fucked Hennike and come too quickly, and then watched Aleron make her scream. They'd put him in a cab in the dark, both kissed him goodbye, laughing.

"Laurent speaks very highly of you," Hennike said, a little hesitantly.

Damen rubbed the back of his neck. "He's amazing."

“I'm sure you take good care of him,” Aleron said and then looked like he regretted the choice of words.

“I try.” The heavy silence rushed back in. Damen thought he would trade at least a third of all the best sex he’d ever had in his life for this moment to not be happening. Well, at least a quarter. 

Laurent came storming back into the room. “Damen and I are leaving. We’ll come back next weekend and we are all going to pretend that none of this ever happened. Right?” 

Epilogue:

Laurent had been fizzing with excitement all week and it was at least as much about his brother arriving for their wedding as it was about the wedding itself. Auguste worked with Medicins Sans Frontieres and had been abroad for the entire time Damen and Laurent had been dating. Although Damen had heard dozens of stories, they had never met. 

They pulled up to the curb at the airport and Laurent bounced out of the car almost before it had stopped, bounding into the arms of a tall blond man who lifted him almost off his feet in a hug. Grinning, Damen got out of the car, leaning against the door as he waited for the brothers to break apart. When they did, he stepped forward, holding out his hand. “Hey. I’m Damen. Good to meet you.”

“You as well,” Auguste said, flicking his hair out of his eyes and taking Damen’s hand. Their eyes met, and Damen felt a shock of recognition like missing a step on a flight of stairs. Auguste frowned a little, and then his eyes widened. “Er. We - uh. Have we…met?”  

“Um,” Damen said, rubbing the back of his neck. 

Laurent blinked, and then narrowed his eyes. “Oh you’ve got to be kidding me.”

[ultimaa]

OFFSIDE

Two shot

PART I

Summary: "You’re young, attractive and rich, but Martinique stands between you and the love of your life. Damn, I'm happy I'm not you."

Eren had two sacred rules during his holidays: no football, no social media and no England. These purposes involved moving a thousand kilometers from his apartment in Liverpool to enjoy a peaceful summer in his native Shigansina, a small town in southern Germany where everyone knew each other. There he was simply Dr. Grisha's boy. "Really? Come on, man, go to French Polynesia or Dubai," his partner Connie Springer said. "Shigan-what? Okay, don't mind me. I’m sure parties are great in your town..." Honestly, Eren spent his days off sleeping and playing video games. Sometimes he jogged — after all, he earned his salary thanks to his body — and drunk HB beer, but what he liked most was the feeling of making up for lost time. He loved football and played in one of the best clubs in the world, history would seat him at the same table as Ian Rush, Michael Owen or Steven Gerrard. He loved Anfield, but he was too young when he said goodbye to the field of earth soccer and was taken to Melwood, where his parents visited him once a month. At the age of twenty-six, with a brilliant career, Eren Jaeger returned to Germany like an elephant going to die in a cave, with his family, and then repeated the cycle of nostalgia. However, that year would be different.

The Jaeger couple celebrated their 25th anniversary and they organized a small party with relatives and close friends. Only Eren Kruger, best man, who was in a submarine five thousand meters deep, was absent. As for the others, they all attended: Zeke and Pieck, who had come from Berlin, Aunt Faye, Keith Shadis (Eren’s Godfather), Tom Xaver (Zeke’s Godfather), Hannes, Armin and his grandfather, Kuchel Ackerman (bridesmaid), Kenny Ackerman (usher) and Levi Ackerman. Grisha did not like parties, but Carla settled the discussion with a resounding statement: "Silver anniversary aren’t celebrated every day, darling."

While Hannes, old Arlet, Pieck and Kuchel made a beef stew and the couple danced to the sound of Wiener Blut in the sitting room, Eren opened a bottle of beer and toasted with Armin and Zeke.

"You’re the only one, brother," Zeke pointed out. "You’ll retire bachelor. With ten Golden Balls, but a bachelor."

"The golden bachelor," Eren corrected. "Hey, Armin, you're single too."

"Annie and I are taking some time." His best friend shrugged.

Zeke laughed. He was a cardiologist. "I understand the heart much better than you... in all aspects," he used to say. And it was probably true: he was married to Pieck and the ring did not bother him yet.

"Really? She has been in Australia for two months. Do you know how long Australians last in bed, huh? About seventeen minutes, behind only the Americans, the Canadians and the English. As for the Germans, only eight percent have participated in a trio. If I were you, I'd start to worry."

"Did you just tell me I'm a bad lover?"

"No. Statistics, Armin. Information."

"This dude is like that." Eren took a sip. "He throw the stone and hides the hand."

"I have no interest in offending the virility of the Germans. I'm German, in case you haven't noticed. Siegfried is my grandfather and every Friday I go drinking with Wagner, but not all women know how to appreciate the Central European charm. Also, Melbourne is one of the best cities to live."

"Annie is in Sydney."

"See? That's precisely the problem." Zeke finished his beer and put a hand on Arlet's shoulder. "You know exactly where she is, but does she remember you? When a woman puts fifteen thousand kilometers between her and her partner, she only has one goal: to forget. And while she builds her new beginning, you water her plants."

"I still wonder how you seduced Pieck," Eren said. "Did you take her to dinner with Kaiser Wilhelm and Angela Merkel?"

"Actually, she won me. Well, I fell into the trap. I thought I could escape later. I was wrong and I'm not ashamed to admit it. I ain’t immune to women either."

Zeke showed a wide smile. He was blond and had a magnificent bearing. When the waltz was over, he congratulated Grisha and gave him a beer. Then he hugged Carla and cleared his voice. They all looked at him.

"This woman you see here is suicidal: marrying a Jaeger is dangerous, but marrying a divorced Jaeger with a child is deadly. The first time I saw her I was seven years old and I thought: Will she be like Miss Rottenmeier? No, thanks to God. I had always been Ezekiel, but she started calling me Zeke and that's how my friends, my coworkers and my wife call me. In a way, he baptized me. She ain’t my father's wife or my stepmother. Sorry, Eren; Being an only child is wonderful, but she’s also my mother and I would like us to toast her, the woman who brought us together here today. Cheers! Who’s in charge of the music? Auntie, put Spring’s Voices on. Eren and I are gonna dance."

"Wonderful idea." Armin laughed. "Football? As Martha Graham said, dance is the hidden language of the soul."

"You bastards." Eren took his brother's hand.

"Don't step on my shoes."

Among the music and the wild laughter of Kenny and Hannes, Eren did not realize what was about to happen. No clairvoyant would have guessed it. He looked sideways and saw her appear: black hair, aviator sunglasses, and a cigarette between her lips. White rolled-up shirt, capri pants and strappy sandals. He lost concentration and Zeke roared with laughter. He knew, of course. The last time he saw her was on the eve of her trip to Martinique, where she had spent the past year. The waltz ended and they both bowed. Eren did not want to raise the head. Why had no one warned him?

"Levi told me she came back last night," Zeke whispered.

Eren did not even hear the applause. He quickly returned to Armin, who was chatting with Keith Shadis, a retired military man, about the Ardennes Counteroffensive and the Nuremberg Trials. "I am almost sure," said his friend, a historian, "that Franz von Papen died in '69."

"Mikasa is here," Eren hissed.

"I know," he nodded, "and I'm gonna greet her, she's my lifelong friend and I'm glad to see her. You should do the same. Don't think about what happened."

"Did you know? Armin!"

His friend approached her. Great. Eren slipped out into the garden with a couple of beer cans and sat down on a wooden bench. Pretend you don't care, he thought. It belongs to the past, that's it! Fuck! You have to call it by its name: pain. Before she left, they drank like a fish and ended up going to bed. That was last summer. They had not spoken about it since then. He could already hear wise and eminent Zeke Jaeger’s voice: "So you haven’t had a girlfriend since Christ was crucified, but you shag with your best friend. Da ya need to talk, Eren?" Shit! Maybe he needed to tell someone how much her decision to go to Martinique hurt when he declared her love. She had a degree in Arts, so she was offered to do a study about Paul Gauguin, who spent a time on the island. So Zeke would say: "The Caribbean? I'm sorry, brother, I'm so sorry. You and Armin can cry together."

Eren was in love with her. It is one of those truths that one understands with a broken heart. And this led him to reject the insinuations of several, too many women in recent months. There were rumors that he was gay.

"Look who's here: Reds’ Hunter," Mikasa greeted him. "Can I sit?"

"You can do whatever you want." Eren was not angry, but a little drunk. He scratched his right arm; Delacroix's Liberty was tattooed from shoulder to elbow; Lower down, on the forearm, Goya’s Colossus collapses the Berlin Wall. On the inside of the doll, an M. Again, he could hear his brother's voice calling him an idiot.

Mikasa sat next to him. Her skin was not as pale as before: Caribbean tan. The serious mouth was the same and the gray eyes had not changed. She had a fine scar on her right cheek.

"Congratulations on winning the Premier."

"Yeah, well, first in Liverpool's history." Eren groaned. "How did it go with Gauguin?"

"Excellently. Van Gogh said that Gauguin didn’t paint with the brush, but with the phallus. However, mayby he didn’t die of syphilis..."

"Are you kidding me? Do you congratulate me on the championship and talk about Gauguin's cock?" He let out a sardonic laugh. "If that's all you have to tell me after all this time..."

"This is neither the time nor the place".

"I don’t care. We fucked, Mikasa."

"I know. I was there."

"Really? Because sometimes I think about it and it seems a mirage. You've been avoiging the matter a whole year, a fucking year. You show up at my parents' party like nothing's wrong and talking about fucking Gauguin." Eren paused. "Annie is in Australia. Do you know how long Australians last in bed? Seventeen minutes. How long do Martinicans last?"

"I know what you're implying," Mikasa said seriously, "and you're wrong, Eren. You’re very wrong. Do you think I would be able to do that after sleeping with you?"

Carla Jaeger interrupted them; the meal was ready. They were not hungry, but an inexplicable feeling oppressed them: Eren's blood boiled; Mikasa's was frozen.

"When you want us to talk as adults, let me know," she said.

Adults! Eren said nothing. He sat between Zeke and Armin, who gave him a questioning look. Eren sighed and started eating. He remained oblivious to all the conversations, sharing looks with Mikasa, sitting next to her uncle Kenny. One year had passed and perhaps he was angry, but he winked al her. She smiled and caught the kiss Eren discreetly sent her, and showed her thumb.

"Okay," Zeke said, after wiping his mouth with a napkin. "Have I ever told you about friendship between men and women? No, because it’s impossible. Were you and Annie ever friends, Armin?"

"Huh… Yeah?"

"No. You wanted to have sex, but you didn't tell her."

"I know you know," Eren whispered.

"I’ve known for a long time. In fact, I knew it before you did, bro. You were like Heidi and Peter, and now, if you were alone, this would become ​Nine and a half Weeks.

For Zeke it was too obvious, but what about the others? Eren looked at them closely. They talked about politics, football, past... Levi was the only one who remained silent. He was not a very talkative man, unlike his mother and uncle. Kuchel and Kenny talked and laughed like no one else. As for Mikasa, whose premature orphanhood led her to grow up with them, her character was soft; silent, good listener and without his cousin’s curtness. Did she tell someone what happened? Maybe Sasha Braus? After the meal, Eren felt adult enough.

The whole evening passed pleasant between anecdotes and skat hands. Keith Shadis left around six in the afternoon; He had to return to Munich for work. As for the others, Carla insisted that they stay for dinner. While Grisha and Zeke had a scholarly conversation about the latest advances in medicine, Kenny was laughing loudly with Mikasa by his side.

"I never imagined that we would have an artist in the family."

"I'm an art historian," Mikasa pointed out.

"If God doesn’t give you children, Devil gives you nephews." Kenny lit a cigarette. "Ackermans have always been country people. Levi was the first to go to university; He was already a whiz since childhood. Fortunately, Mikasa followed suit.

"What is Martinique like?" Carla asked.

"Quiet. When it rains, goodbye internet and light, and of course I have to mention mosquitoes, humidity, heat and earthquakes," she paused, "but people are lovely and the landscapes are spectacular. They are exactly like on postcards. Oh, and the accra is very good."

"We could go on vacation, honey." Zeke looked at Pieck. "I'm tired of Sardinia."

"But you have to be careful with snakes," Mikasa continued, smiling. "I was bitten by a eyelash viper. Nothing serious, but I wouldn’t repeat the experience."

"One year has been enough, hasn't it?" Eren, who was playing cards with Armin, had his ears set on the conversation.

"Yes. For now I will stay here I’ll go to Munich in September to work at the Alte Pinakothek."

"It's fantastic," said Armin.

"And you’ll be close," added Kuchel.

So Munich. However, Mikasa commented on the possibility of another trip. She specialized in Impressionism and did not rule out settling in France. After dinner, when it was time to say goodbye, Eren pulled out his cell phone and wrote her a message: "Do you wanna talk?" She looked sidelong at him and replied, "Come home tomorrow. We will be alone." Jaeger thought about that last one; He smiled, pleased, and quickly typed, "Good."

They all left except for Zeke and Pieck, who would spend a few days in the village before returning to Berlin. It was like going back fifteen years ago, when they still crowd around under one ceiling. Carla loved having them all there. Her good character led her to have an excellent relationship with her daughter-in-law. Grisha was pleased with the situation; He played chess with Zeke for hours, in total silence. Eren used to watch them, attentive to the gestures, wondering how they could drag on a duel that long. And it all ended with one word: "Checkmate."

Zeke followed him into the garden with a cigarette on the lips. He had tried to stop smoking, but there are things a man can never give up, like mentholated Camel.

"You don't smoke, do you? What a pity. One or two cigarettes once in a while doesn't hurt anyone, Mr. Perfect Abs." Zeke blew out the smoke. "Munich. A wonderful city, especially in October."

"We’re gonna talk tomorrow."

"One day I take a look at the yellow press and I see you with Historia Reiss, and I think you're a lucky bastard. You’re young, attractive and rich, but Martinique stands between you and the love of your life. Damn, I’m happy I’m not you."

"I love you too." Eren frowned.

"I’m trying to help you. Don't screw it up, okay? A bad step now and you will regret it all your life." His brother clapped him on the back. "Now If you can excuse me, I'm going to make love to my wife in my fifteen-year-old room."

"I didn't need to know that."

…

Having the house to herself, Mikasa went down to have black tea. Frugal breakfast, as always. She felt like an intruder in her own town and jet lag was not benevolent. She wanted to stay in bed, she’s just got ants in her pants. She did push-ups and thought about the last exhausting year. Operation Gauguin, as she called it, had been a true odyssey. Fuck the Caribbean. She had missed Europe, her family and friends, but duty is duty. As for Eren, she could not reproach him for anything. He was angry. She should not have slept with him before she left; Mikasa kept thinking about it for a moment. Secrets and sex are a bad combination for consciousness. Besides, she left without saying goodbye. She behaved like a real motherfucker and would do it again: sentimentality is not advisable before a possible trip with no return. No, she couldn't listen to Eren's feelings before getting on the plane. Deep down, she suffered from the greatest weakness: love.

She lay down on the floor and closed his eyes. God, the cold slabs were nicer than any bed in the Caribbean. The woman forgot the physical and mental exhaustion when Eren touched the knocker. She took a breath and decided to improvise. The first thing Mikasa noticed was Dior's perfume. He was wearing an unbuttoned black polo shirt, gray jeans, and deck shoes. The three-day beard and dapper cut fit him very well. Those tropical eyes ... Shit!

Silence. Glances. It was inevitable. Eren closed the door behind him and received her kiss in a frenzy. Mikasa bit his lips, tugged at his hair. The man held her prisoner in his arms, sliding his hands down her back, her hips and her neck, anxious and needy. Their mouths were lost in each other's. Eren threw his head back and went deeper, searching for lost time. He licked her lips from corner to corner. The touch of tongues was deadly like a sword dance. They parted, face to face, panting, obscene. Mikasa wanted to make love to him in the middle of the hall and tell him how much she had missed him.

"Did you want to talk?" Eren planted another kiss.

"Yes," Mikasa replied. "I’m so sorry. I fucked up. I have a very interesting story to tell you, but I don't know if it will be more exciting than winning the English league."

"Ok, you know I prefer Monet, but..."

"It has nothing to do with Gauguin." Mikasa took his hand and led him into the living room. If she thought about it, it was a concise thing, but difficult to assimilate. Eren sat down on the sofa. She made him coffee and moved to his side, maturing the words in her head. "It's complicated. If you don't believe it, I get it. I’ve spent more time in Cuba than in Martinique. I haven’t done any study about Gauguin."

"What?" Eren looked at her seriously. "What's going on, Mikasa?"

"I've been working for Interpol for a couple of years. No one knows, only you. Crimes against cultural heritage."

"I don’t get it. What does that have to do with Martinique and Cuba?"

"During Nazism many degenerate works were plundered. Gauguin, Chagall, Klee... Some works were located last year. There was a certain black market for art among many American magnates. That is why I went to Cuba together with a team, to find out the whereabouts of some Gauguin works lost since 38."

"It’s definitely more interesting than winning the Premier." Eren drank from his mug thoughtfully, still amazed. "Was it dangerous?"

"Not much. At least not for me. My job is to see, evaluate and give a verdict, not shooting. Do you think I'm out there drinking Martini and driving an Aston Martin?"

"The idea excites me." The man touched the scar on her face. "And this? I don't remember it. It’s not on the maps that I have of your whole body."

"Then you will have to add it." Mikasa took the cup from him, put it on the table and leaned against him, kissing him calmly and sweetly. For a moment she thought she would never see him again, or maybe he would see her repatriated corpse with a bullet in the head. God! She hugged him and rested her head on his heart. Eren stroked her hair and she trembled at the memory. "It was a shot. I don't know how I'm still alive. I was so lucky..."

"My God," Eren whispered. "Why did you not tell me? Don’t trust me?"

"I know you. Worry wouldn't let you focus."

"Of course not. And now that I know why you left, it will take me a few weeks to recover from my fright. Damn, it hurt so much when you answered my messages as if nothing... I wanted to tell you about my feelings, but you always talked about trivial issues and I thought you didn't care what happened between us. Why?"

"I was scared. I didn't want to think about you or our plans. What would have happened to all those words if I had died? Look at this scar. It’s a miracle I’m still alive. It happened a few days after arriving. It shouldn't have happened, but it did. A rich man held a clandestine exhibition, I infiltrated and they discovered me. I didn't want to tell you that I love you and then die. I don't do things that way."

"And how do you do it?"

"Like this." Mikasa kissed him again.

[ebola-kun]

On Volusia: Same Old Story, Same Old Song and Dance

Sometimes, in the quiet of the evening, when I’m sipping aged whiskey and cogitating on the signs and wonders – I question if we’re living in some parallel dimension here on the Fun Coast?

Because, of the hundreds-of-trillions of galaxies out there in the infinite expanse of the universe – you’d be hard pressed to find a more surreal political “reality” than what we experience here on this salty piece of land.

A place where, no matter how utterly dysfunctional things may get, our ‘powers that be’ always muster the hubris to stand before their long-suffering subjects, smile broadly, and paint a rosy picture using a dull palette of half-truths, feint maneuvers and old-fashioned political horseshit.

Once again, when it came time to do the right thing, our doddering fool of a lame duck County Chair, Ed Kelley, couldn’t rise to it.

On Tuesday, Old Ed stood before a fawning coterie of insiders, political benefactors, government contractors, political candidates, a handful of municipal officials (who, given their historic poor treatment by county government, would have preferred to be anywhere else) and a few suspicious citizens – to deliver the annual “State of the County” address.

(I would have been there, but I wash my beard on Tuesdays and can’t do a thing with it. . .)

So, I watched the oddly produced video on the County website afterward – the first ten-minutes of which was a rolling advertisement for the event’s (wink,wink) “sponsors.”

As usual, I was immediately struck by the fact that every elected official and bureaucrat in the room was acknowledged and thanked during the lengthy introduction – not one mention of the hard-working and overtaxed residents of Volusia County who pay the bills and suffer in silence.

After all, it’s not about us.  It never has been.

During the opening segment of the canned video, county employees were shown sampling water quality on the St. John’s River – before a Volusia County environmental specialist took the opportunity to scold residents:

“If people really knew why we did this and rather than just complaining about the water looking so bad or being concerned about whether the fish are edible or not, if they really understood why things get so bad and took more care of what they do we might not have to be out here quite as much.”

So, the fact our water quality is in serious decline – with wild fish showing signs of tumors and lesions – is our fault?

If only we took more care, it would lighten the load on Volusia County Environmental Management and clean-up our increasingly polluted rivers, estuaries and sensitive wetlands. . .

Remember: The state of our environment has nothing to do with the residential and commercial sprawl our elected officials continue to permit – while their political benefactors in the real estate development industry line their groaning pockets – understand?

So, stop your bitching about whether the fish are edible, or why the water looks so bad, and change your heathen ways.  Got it?

That’s when I turned it off.

I don’t know about you, but I’ve grown weary of being blamed and lectured by the very elected officials and entrenched bureaucrats who got us into this damnable condition in the first place. . .

Whatever.

It was an ostentatious affair – political vanity run amok – complete with a “free lunch” provided by several companies that do business with Volusia County (?) – and held at the county owned Ocean Center, which stands at the epicenter of our crumbling core tourist area.

How appropriate.  How completely appropriate. . .

One would have thought that as he sang his swansong before a roomful of like types, Chairman Kelley would have, for once, told the truth – you know, sail off into the sunset with a clear conscience – while challenging the next iteration of our county council to begin the monumental process of rebuilding the public trust.

Nah.

Instead, Chairman Kelley dutifully recognized the assembled nabobs, then flogged some ridiculous narrative to shore up his heir apparent – the always arrogant Councilwoman Deb Denys – clumsily touting her weird obsession with “space jobs” – while their “colleagues” provided video evidence of their own ill-informed perception of the state of things here on the beleaguered Fun Coast.

According to the agitprop that was provided to attendees:

“Government, business and education leaders also are coordinating like never before to ensure that Volusia County – squarely within the so-called Space Triangle – has the regulatory climate and educated workforce necessary to broadcast its message to the aerospace industry: Volusia County is ready, and Volusia County is right!”

Say what?

The fictitious Space Triangle is “so called” because it doesn’t exist.

And the fact of the matter is, we are nowhere near ready. . .

Just for the record – I didn’t say that.  Dr. Kent Sharples, the Enlightened One of the exalted CEO Business Alliance did.

Remember?

During his flashlight-under-the-chin apocalyptic prognostication at the November 2019 meeting of the Knights of the Roundtable, describing our horrific fate if we don’t increase the sales tax, Sharples said of roads, infrastructure and “shovel-ready” sites to attract aerospace companies:

“Until we get that infrastructure in place, we’re not going to be successful.  If we’re not ready in 12 to 18 months to be able to start construction, we’re not even in the competition anymore.”

My ass.

In my view, this shim-sham of aerospace manufacturing in Volusia County continues to serve as a convenient diversion to the fact we don’t have the infrastructure, workforce or ancillary services to support these industries, and, at present, we simply cannot compete with Brevard County – who continues to recover from the economic disaster resulting from the loss of the shuttle program – not to mention that the vacant infrastructure which pockmarks the Titusville, Cocoa, Melbourne metroplex sits literally on the doorstep of the commercial launch complex.

While Volusia County’s potential role in the space industry remains decades away – if ever – those we have elected to meet our current economic and employment needs continue to feed us this pie-in-the-sky pap as though we’re ready to start launching rockets from the old Home Depot parking lot next month.

Bullshit.

The constant drumbeat from Denys and our shameless “economic development” shills is cruel comfort to some 43% of our county’s population who struggle to meet monthly living expenses – and the thousands more living below the poverty line – who are begging for more opportunities than $32,000 a year storehouse jobs.

In my view, Dr. Sharples was right about one thing – if these half-wits who hold high office don’t put a moratorium on this massive sprawl and begin the process of improving our transportation, water quality and utilities infrastructure in the next 12 to 18 months – we’re all screwed. . .

But wait, there was more “good news” from Old Ed and the Funky Bunch on Tuesday.

According to The Daytona Beach News-Journal:

“Among other things, Kelley touted major upgrades to the Ocean Center and Daytona Beach International Airport, new routes for Votran buses, the hiring of a long-awaited internal auditor and giving County Manager George Recktenwald the permanent job as a few of the year’s highlights, adding that the State of the County video may have shown a lot of progress and accomplishments some residents might not know about.”

Tragically, bus routes and new carpet in an airport terminal are what pass for civic “accomplishments” in Volusia County.

I don’t make this shit up, folks. . .

To take this abject absurdity to the ragged edge – let’s look at a few of the “Goals and Objectives” that, according to the soiree’s glossy program, have been proposed by county government – which, by any metric, remain a figment of our county councils very vivid imagination:

“Maintain and foster productive relationships with public and private partners.”

If maintaining “productive relationships” with “private partners” means funneling public funds to underwrite the private, for-profit projects of their political benefactors – mission accomplished!

“Demonstrate leadership in decisions and actions.”

Does anything about this perpetual shitshow in DeLand resemble strong “leadership”?

“Meet community expectations for quality.”

Please.  The community quit expecting anything from Volusia County government years ago – and we collectively spoke volumes about this continuing “trust issue” during last year’s half-cent sales tax referendum.

Now, let’s hope the long-suffering voters of Volusia County continue that positive momentum and demand servant-leadership that will bring true accomplishments we can all be proud of at the ballot box this fall.

This content was originally published here.