#places to eat in Milton Keynes

[bad268]

DANNY RIC X READER FLUFFY BEACH TIME

Breaks on the Yacht (Daniel Ricciardo X Reader)

Fandom: RPF/Formula 1

Requested: Clearly (BROS IM DEATHLY AFRAID OF THE OCEAN, SO IM SORRY ITS SHORT)

Warnings: ...Ocean

Pronouns: I/me

W.C. 663

Summary: During the summer break, Danny and the reader go for a much needed relaxation ride on the yacht.

As always, my requests are OPEN

MASTERLIST // HITLIST

~~(^Screenshot from a video idr which)

Summer break was the time to relax. With the craze of the season coming to a pause, we knew that we wanted to spend it at home. We were originally invited to go to Milton Keynes with most of the grid, but with all the hecticness surrounding Danny, we just wanted to stay at our home in Monaco. We just needed to get away from everyone.  

The season has been all over the place. With Danny getting back on the grid two races ago after doing simulator testing constantly, to say that the summer break was welcomed would be an understatement. So we caught the first flight out of Belgium with a group of drivers also heading back to Monaco. 

The first couple of days were spent catching up on sleep. After that, we thought that we would get the relaxation started. Days on the yacht were the best to spend these kinds of days. 

“You’re not gonna leave me to swim by myself are you?” Danny laughed as he came up from the water after jumping off the back of the boat. “The water would feel better with you in it.”

“I think I’m fine up here,” I chuckled, looking up from my book to see him floating on his back. “My book’s just getting good.”

“Just for a little bit?” Danny pleaded, swimming over to the side of the boat. “It’s boring without you.”

“You know I hate the ocean,” I laughed, marking my place and setting my book to the side in case Danny tries to splash me or pull me in. “I am perfectly fine, talking to you from the safety of the yacht.”

“Safety, you say?” He whispered, and before I knew it, I was underwater. When I surfaced, I’m met with Danny’s laugh. He had his arms tightly around my waist, holding me above the water, as he leaned back. It took him a couple of seconds to catch his breath before he moved to be upright and meet my glare. “That wasn’t so hard, now was it?”

“You know I can’t swim, so you better not let go,” I complained, wrapping my arms around his shoulders to help hold myself up. He jokingly started to pull away, pushing me toward the edge of the boat. I started whining, gripping his shoulders tighter, “No, please don’t, Danny. Please don’t. I’m scared.”

“I wouldn’t do that to you,” He pulled me back into his chest with a kiss on my forehead. He was pulling me further out but not letting up on his grip on my sides. “Just relax. I’m not gonna let go.”

“Kinda hard to relax in a giant body of water with things at least twice my size that want to eat me,” I replied sarcastically. “I was perfectly fine, talking to you from the boat.”

“But I got lonely,” he pouted. “You don’t want to let me be lonely on summer break, do you?”

“You say that like I was ignoring you,” I chuckled, pulling back a little to look into his big brown eyes. “I was reading and talking to you. If you felt that lonely, you could've just said so, and I would’ve given you my full attention. You didn’t need to pull me in.”

“Well, maybe I just wanted to hold you,” He countered with a huge smile. “Maybe I just wanted to hold you close because I missed you the past two weeks.”

“And that’s fair,” I validated before jokingly adding, “I am pretty amazing, so it’s understandable that you would miss me.”

“Don’t stroke your ego too much. I’m just needy,” he joked back. Our laughs fizzled out as we just floated around as silence fell between us. I had my head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat as I closed my eyes to bask in the brief moment. He needed this silence after the hectic month he had with the move to Alpha Tauri. This was needed.

~~~~~

© BAD268 2023. DO NOT REPOST WITHOUT PERMISSION.

[callmewrinkles3]

What about 31 💕

We already answered this one but then Alex had an idea and, well…oops.

April 2023

When Dan came in from some of the farm chores he stretched, muscles glad of the exercise. It’s not that he’d gotten lazy since he’d lost his seat - far from it - but throwing bales of hay around and fixing a fence used different muscles than a workout. Yeah he hired people to do it, but while he and Em were there before they went on their honeymoon and he had to do more sim work in Milton Keynes he wanted to get involved.

Michael was standing by one of the bookshelves, looking at the framed photos Em had put on them. They were from when she’d started travelling with them all, photos of the four of them together. The only McLaren one was after the win in Monza, Em in the champagne soaked first place hat while she held the trophy, Dan’s arms wrapped around her as they grinned. There were newer ones too - Em and Charlie when they had a girls night with Chloe the week before the wedding, Charlie and Blake on a double date with Em and Dan. The one he loved the most of Em with Isaac and Isabella, three bright grins from Christmas. He loved every single one of them.

“Charlie sure fit in neatly with the three of you.” His tone was poison and Dan did a double take at it. “I’m surprised she wasn’t Em’s bridesmaid.”

“Em wanted her to be. But Charlie knew that we were only doing one person each, and Blake didn’t want to be a groomsman as well as walk Emmy down the aisle. It was her family’s farm that we had the wedding on.”

“Oh.” Dan took a slow breath, waiting for the next question. “How well do you know her?”

“Pretty well. She’s a good friend, her and Blake are good together. She makes him happy. Speaking of partners, where’s your girlfriend? Is she back up at the hotel?” It was weird for him that Michael chose to stay in Perth rather than on the farm, but his girlfriend didn’t seem to enjoy how rural it was, so it made sense.

“Yeah, she’s sightseeing. Where’s Em?”

“Charlie’s folks with Charlie and Blake. She needed to pick up the decorations and what’s left of our wedding cake. Apparently we need to freeze it and eat it on our first anniversary.”

“That won’t fit in the race diet plan.”

“I’ll make it fit.”

It never used to be this weird between them. Michael was the one person who he trusted since he was a kid and whispered “I’m gonna drive in Formula One one day.” when they had a sleepover. As soon as he’d finished his personal training course it was a no brainer that he wanted to get Michael to England. It was the four of them. Em had been part of his racing life longer than Michael had, really. But now there was a gap that he didn’t know how to bridge for them.

“I’m just gonna ask this out. Why do you trust Charlie? You never trust anyone, but you just let her into your home? Be your friend? Why?”

“Cause she’s Charlie. It’s like…it’s hard to explain but she and Blake are solid. Her family live another couple of miles up the road and are great. Her little brother is racing mad but he treats me like a normal person. Plus she’s normal. She works with kids in foster care, she makes the world better.”

“She sounds too good to be true.”

“You said that about Em once.” Dan still remembered where they were when he said it. Sitting in this same room at Christmas 2017, he’d just sent Em a photo of the setting sun and she’d replied with a bundled up couch selfie. He’d mentioned how he met Em and Michael had said those exact words.

“I just don’t want Blake being taken advantage of.”

“He lives with his girlfriend who has a PhD and won’t let him pay rent because he’s not there all the time. He’s fine. They’re fine. Why are you like this?” The question hung in the air for a moment.

“I don’t trust her. She looks exactly the same as Em, magically appears in your life the same way Em did, and I’m expected to think it’s an accident? Lightning doesn’t strike twice. You got lucky with Em.”

“Got lucky? How?”

“You don’t want me to answer that. But you just said, Charlie has a PhD. What is she expecting Blake to pay off her student loans? I thought he was smarter than that to fall for a gold digger.”

“So my wife is one?” The mood in the room was venomous. Dan was aware this wasn’t going to end well. It couldn’t end well. But he couldn’t stop.

“We know Em. She’s not.”

“I paid off her student loans in 2019. It was her birthday present. So if I paid off her loans when we hadn’t even said I love you, that means my wife is one. Right?”

“I did-“

“And for the record, Charlie’s the one who offered to sign an NDA. To keep mine and Em’s privacy. The same way Em offered to. But you…answer this, ok? One question.”

They were on opposite sides of the room and Dan wanted to move Michael away from the photos. Away from his family. This wasn’t a feeling he’d ever had about his best friend before. It was wrong.

“What is it?”

“When did you start having feelings for my wife?” It was like Michael had been physically hit, stepping back at Dan’s words. “I had an idea from your reaction in China but I ignored it. Because god she picked me. We were together. But the way you’re ignoring the double standards? How you acted after you found her? Even your reaction when we told you we were engaged. When did you fall in love with her?”

“Nothing happened, mate. Nothing. It doesn’t matter.”

“But it does! You’re her brother. She loves you so much as a brother. You’re my brother and I ignored how you acted cause I didn’t want to admit it. And then you point out how Blake and Charlie are moving quickly and say this shit about Charlie and you don’t even recognise that it was exactly the same for me and Em. After my birthday I spent every night I was in London with her unless there was a really good reason. It’s two faced and for once Blake is happy can’t you let him be? Cause right now it’s coming across that you’re jealous and bitter and that’s not you.”

“She’s too good to be true! He doesn’t date and all of a sudden they’re together? He’s gonna get hurt and she’s gonna fleece him and run off. I watched you ignore Em in public and she left. She wasn’t gonna come back until we made her. And now there’s the new woman who looks like Em who claims she’s fallen in love with Blake. You did your fucking wedding at her parents place. She’s using him!”

“Who’s using who?” Dan hadn’t noticed the back door open, Blake walking in. “Em and Charlie are saddling up the horses, Em said they need to be exercised and Charlie hasn’t gone riding in a couple of weeks cause of work. What’s happening?”

“Of course she fucking rides too.”

“Huh?” Blake’s confusion was clear and Dan had to step in.

“Mike was worried, he was saying some stuff. It’s fine.”

“No, I meant what I said. I don’t know what she’s doing but I don’t trust her and I think you’re an idiot if you do. She’s gonna use you and you won’t make it and she’ll break your heart.”

“Get out.” Dan didn’t even realise what he was saying until the words were out. “Get the fuck out of my house. We supported you through everything. All of it. We invited your girlfriend to our wedding. I ignored how you act around Em, how you’ve always acted around her. I put it aside because she adores you. But you met Charlie once. God she…you weren’t here. You didn’t see how Em and I were after Christmas. We were broken. And Charlie was there and she helped us get our shit together. She helped organise our wedding and you called her a gold digger and think she’s gonna hurt Blake? So no. Get out until you can realise how wrong you are.”

“That’s my girlfriend. I’m gonna marry her. It’s ridiculous and insane but how. You didn’t say this to me.” The upset in Blake’s voice was clear.

“You wouldn’t listen. The same way when I was telling Dan he shouldn’t be focusing on Em and should have focused on his career he didn’t.”

“Just go. And for the record, we will make it. I believe in her.”

Dan watched one of his oldest friends leave his home, staring at Michael’s broad back as he walked away. He was gone. And even with the sadness there was still relief.

[formula-fun]

Em, do u happen to have a snippet/deleted scene for us today? 🥺🥺

Hi hi hi!! I do not have any from if i had words! Still working on writing everything I want to get down so that I can start cutting stuff later. I do however have this very long snippet from a fic i will probably never finish wherein Max announces his retirement and Charles goes through the 5 stages of grief.

“So,” Charles says on the phone that night, “when are you back in Monaco?”

“In a few more days,” Max answers, distracted. He has an airpod in one ear, the ancient pair of Beats that Daniel gave him while they were still teammates perched on the top of his head just close enough to the other ear that he can hear the sounds of the engine revs from the sim. It’s a completely convoluted setup, but it at least allows him to talk to Charles as he drives. “How’s Maranello?”

“About the same as always,” Charles replies. He sounds happy, and Max wonders distantly if he means it in a good way or a bad one. His tone sounds almost fond, and Max nearly bins it into a wall as he focuses on the sound of each syllable. “I went to visit the academy drivers, and they are staying in the same house I used to live in. It is strange to go back. Nothing really has changed.”

“Yeah?” Max asks him. “Are they any good?”

He hums. “Maybe in a few years,” he answers.

Not yet, then. Not good enough to replace Charles, should he decide to switch teams next year. Max wonders at that; wonders if that’s what was on Charles’ mind during his visit. Surely it’s early to be thinking about such things. Maybe it’s right on schedule. He doesn’t know.

“The food has not gotten better,” Charles continues. Through the line, water starts running. It sounds like he’s doing dishes. “A new restaurant has opened, but it's very controversial because it is not the regional cuisine. The team are very angry. We are not supposed to go, but the only other restaurant near the factory is a Michelin star…bar thing. I do not know how to call it. It is like a pub, but very fancy and with no beer.”

Max grunts. He doesn’t either.

“I cannot eat foam and cheese crisps all day,” Charles continues, giggling. “Andrea hates it. He says it is all air. I cannot build muscle eating this.”

“The food in Milton Keynes isn’t better. You would be eating Pizza Express up here,” Max replies, perhaps a bit cruelly. This isn’t the time to bring up Charles’ flirting with a Red Bull contract—not flippantly.

Charles doesn’t seem to notice. “Mate, we should get dinner when you are back,” he says instead. “When do you come in? I am back on Thursday.”

“Thursday for me too,” Max answers.

“Alright, let’s go. I will call that place on your street so they save us a table.”

The place on Max’s street happens to be the only restaurant in Monaco that serves anything remotely resembling Dutch food. It’s where Max always ends up after a bad week, and Max thought they were highly discreet until he’d brought Charles in and watched the owner practically fawn over him in what Max assumed was Monegasque while Charles flushed pink all the way down to the collar of his shirt. He’s fairly certain for that reason that the owners have absolutely no idea who Max is, which he loves. He’s also fairly certain he’ll never have to make a reservation as long as Charles is with him, not that he points that out.

“Sounds perfect,” he says. “Text me the details.”

“Alright, will do,” Charles replies. The water flicks off. “Are you sure you’re alright? You sound a little…”

“What?”

“Different. I don’t know.”

“I’m fine, Charles. I’m on the sim.”

“Ah, I see,” Charles teases. “You don’t even have time for a full conversation anymore, you’re so busy. The life of a champion.”

“You’ll know all about it soon enough,” Max answers. “I’ll see you.”

“Alright. Ciao.”

It’s only after he’s hung up that he registers what he implied; the way it could be construed. He hadn’t meant Charles would be a champion soon with Red Bull. Would Charles take it to mean that? Does he know what Max knows?

Max had meant Ferrari, of course.

Charles probably knows. After all, he can now apparently tell how Max is feeling just based on his voice. Max isn’t sure he has anything left to hide from him.

[f1]

'A step in a different direction' Sainz hopeful Ferrari can 'get the season' going in Barcelona with first major upgrade of the year

As he prepares for his home race this weekend, Carlos Sainz is hopeful that the upgrades Ferrari will be bringing to Barcelona will be a step in a different direction to make the F1-23 easier to drive for him and his team mate Charles Leclerc. Ferrari have scored just one podium finish this year – Leclerc's third place in Baku – and are currently fourth in the championship with 97 points, trailing championship leaders Red Bull by 159 points. Compared to this time last season it represents a decline as the team had two wins and were just 26 points off the Milton Keynes outfit. READ MORE: Vasseur insists there is ‘big room for improvement’ with current Ferrari car ahead of Spanish GP However, to improve their performance, Ferrari are set to bring their first major upgrade of the season this weekend to Barcelona, and Sainz says it is hopeful that they will allow the Scuderia to head down a different development direction. “Hopefully a step in a different direction and a first opening of a window that allows us to start developing a car that has proved to be a very difficult car to drive, very on the edge, both in the race and in quali conditions,” said Sainz, when asked what the upgrades will bring. Sainz admits he has been driving the car on the edge this season “It is a difficult car, and it has given Charles and I some tough times. But I think hopefully it can be in the right direction.” Asked how on edge the car has been for him and Leclerc this season, the Spaniard replied: “A lot more than people imagined, and we are both doing the best we can. DESTINATION GUIDE: What fans can eat, see and do when they visit Barcelona for the Spanish Grand Prix “We are still both doing some pretty good laps when we are done, but it is not easy what we are trying to do. Also hopefully now it is get into a bit of rhythm. “We’ve tried really hard but maybe, because we were not at the level we expected at the beginning of the season, I think now we need to settle down, realise that this is what we have, that we need to develop it and start scoring some consistent results.” Sainz will be racing at home for the ninth time this weekend and he was hopeful that the nature of the track will be a good place to try out the upgrades brought by Ferrari. “I think it’s a great place to try the upgrades, try to see how the car feels,” said Sainz. “A good testing ring also as you guys know and hopefully we can get the season going here.” Sainz will be racing at home for ninth time this weekend and he was hopeful that the nature of the track will be a good place to try out the upgrades brought by Ferrari. “I think it’s a great place to try the upgrades, try to see how the car feels,” said Sainz. “A good testing ring also as you guys know and hopefully we can get the season going here.” via Formula 1 News https://www.formula1.com

[whatilistenedtoatwork]

From August 19th to August 23rd

19-08-2024

MAC DeMARCO “Here Comes The Cowboy”; VAN DYKE PARKS “Song Cycle”; MOUNTAIN GOATS “We Shall All Be Healed”; MOTORHEAD “Iron Fist”; JEAN MICHEL JARRE “Oxygene 7-13”; THE MAGIC NUMBERS “The Magic Numbers”; NIRVANA “Nevermind”; FUNKADELIC “America Eats It's Young”; WOLVES IN THE THRONE ROOM “Black Cascade”; DR. JOHN “In The Right Place”; BOOGIE DOWN PRODUCTIONS “Criminal Minded”; MANIC STREET PREACHERS “Generation Terrorists”; THE ALBION BAND “Rise Up Like The Sun”; PRINCE “Xpectation”; BAD RELIGION “Generator”

20-08-2024

THE SHOP WINDOW “Daysdream”; PRINCE BUSTER “Fly Flying Ska”; UMPHREY'S McGEE “Hall Of Fame: School Of 2011 – Set 2”; THE STROKES “Angles”; THE WONDER STUFF “From The Midlands With Love”; COSMOS “Jar Of Jam Ton Of Bricks”; THE HU “The Gereg”; MIDFIELD GENERAL “Generalisation”; PATRICK STREET “Made In Cork”; DAVID HOLMES “This Film's Crap, Let's Slash The Seats”; BAD RELIGION “Against The Grain”

21-08-2024

SABRES OF PARADISE “Sabresonic II”; DAVID KITT “The Big Romance”; WINGS “Wild Life”; IRON MAIDEN “A Real Dead One”; BIKINI KILL “Yeah Yeah Yeah Yeah”; R.E.M. “Live From The National Bowl, Milton Keynes”; BLACK FLAG “Nervous Breakdown”; TOM WAITS “Mule Variations”; COMMON “Like Water For Chocolate”; DESCENDENTS “Hallraker Live”; SHARON SHANNON, MIKE McGOLDRICK, JIM MURRAY, & DEZI DONNELLY “Upside Down”; BLACK CROWES “Three Snakes & One Charm”; JOHN MARTYN “Solid Air”

22-08-2024

BUTTHOLE SURFERS “Electriclarryland”; QUEENADREENA “Ride A Cock Horse”; AMERICAN ANALOG SET “Know By Heart”; GOOSE “2022.03.12 Philadelpia, PA”; TRASH CAN SINATRAS “I've Seen Everything”; ROBERT POLLARD “”Kid Marine”; JAY-Z “In My Lifetime, Vol. 1”

23-08-2024

IRON MAIDEN “Iron Maiden”; GREEN DAY “Insomniac”; FUNKADELIC “Let's Take It To The Stage”; SOUNDGARDEN “King Animal”; QUEEN “Queen II”; AMERICAN MUSIC CLUB “Engine”; SILVER JEWS “Bright Flight”; BLACK FLAG “Damaged”

[surgems]

Ideas for your Christmas night out

With Christmas around the corner, many people will begin thinking about what to do for its celebrations. Whether you intend on spending some time with colleagues, family and/or friends, be glad to know there’s plenty to do and choose from. If you intend on going out for places to eat in Milton Keynes, with some cocktails Milton Keynes after, you have great options to pick from. 

Wagamama

If you’re not a great fan of the traditional food served around Christmas time, one of the best restaurants in Milton Keynes as a replacement is Wagamama. This authentic but modern chain restaurant has some of the best tasting Asian food you can buy. Wagamama pride themselves on their fresh ingredients and popping tastes, perfect for those who have a spicy, fragrant palette. Better yet, if you’re one to suffer with any sort of allergy, rest assured the restaurant has a separate workstation in their kitchen, dedicated to preparing food without allergens. Additionally, they serve an extensive, packed full-of-taste vegan and vegetarian menu. So, if you plan on visiting this on your places to eat in Milton Keynes this Christmas, expect a high quality service you know you can trust.

Pizza Express

In case you’re not a great fan of spice, why not transport yourself to a different culture? Pizza Express is an Italian restaurant which combines the best of Italian and other Mediterranean flavours, to give you some mind blowingly tasty pizzas and dishes. And you shouldn’t expect anything limited when eating here, as the pizzas are loaded with a variety of different toppings, with some including: spinach, chicken, peppers, pesto, rocket and onions, to name some. Additionally, if you’re wanting a night out with friends and family, this place serves a range of cocktails Milton Keynes to get you started.

Cocina

Cocina is another one of the best restaurants in Milton Keynes, which serves Mexican classics. So, if you and your cohorts really don’t fancy traditional Christmas food, this restaurant moves far away from that. Some of the dishes you can expect to find on the menu include: tostadas, quesadillas, burritos and enchiladas. And if you fancy sharing, Cocina serve wing roulettes that come in varying spices and traditional nacho bowls. What’s more, with the main dishes they serve, you have the choice of different fillings to make your meal yours. Keeping this all in mind, there’s not really a reason why you shouldn’t keep this on your list of places to eat in Milton Keynes this Christmas. 

Frankie & Benny’s

Not too far away from Mexican style cuisine, brings Frankie & Benny’s. This restaurant chain serves up a range of American dishes, which is perfect to have before indulging on cocktails Milton Keynes. Whether you fancy chicken or buffalo wings, build a burger, pasta, pizza or loaded fries, Frankie & Benny’s has it all. There range of southern classics are extremely tantalising, and definitely not one to be missed out on at any time of the year, not just Christmas. 

Hopefully, the above restaurants have given you some great ideas for where to go out to this coming holiday. 

[useless-englandfacts]

Milton Keynes has the decency to look like it was built in the 1960s and thus isn't particularly creepy. Poundbury was built in the 1980s to Charles's idea of an 'Ideal English Market Town'. Like it was built over centuries. We have plenty of the real deal in Dorset and they are quite nice places with good atmosphere.

Poundbury, by contrast, feels... off. Kinda like Disneyland, but at least Disneyland knows it's artifice? I'm not sure if Poundbury does. It desperately wants to be the real thing. My family drove through it on a sunny day and there were no people on the streets, even though it showed signs of habitation. My in-laws claim they know people who live there. It's like those Stephen King towns where there's a Dark Secret™, except it's not in Maine. I'm pretty sure it eats people.

Also apparently Charles liked to tour it and peek in people's windows to ensure they were living proper Prince of Wales-approved lives. This is not part of the sinister aura of the town, its just another disturbing thing about that place.

yes when i first got the anon and poundbury was described as a new town i assumed it would be a mid-century job like MK! that's what i meant when i said i liked new towns!

but you're totally right, this is a weird georgian mock up as if someone went to bath once and tried to redraw everything from memory but couldn't remember... anything particularly well. i'd say that it's a good setting for a horror film but. it's been done before (you could argue that even don't worry darling plays around with a similar concept)

as for peeking in people's windows...................................... what? if we have any followers living in poundbury please tell us more

[mrschilly]

The unexpected - part 1

Summary: where a simple party, where it was supposed that Mason, Ben e y/n should have watched just a couple of films, becomes something more. And that more becomes a little bit complicated.

Hi, nugget. I really miss you. Do you have plans for tonight?

The message was from Ben, the person she knew the best in the world, perhaps better than herself, the person who could read her mind and who knew when to text her, the person who would do anything to make her feel better.

I miss you too, nugget. Mason invited me over to watch a film and eat some snacks; so, I’ll have a quite busy night. Will you be there, too?

y/n had known Ben since they were little. She had lived with him all his sporting career, the ups and downs, the joys and the pains. They had grown up together, and the more they grew, the stronger their friendship grew. He grew up in football and she always supported him from behind, she was always proud of everything that happened to him. The turning point was his move to Chelsea. She had always moved between London and Milton Keynes for her studies, but Ben was her first to encourage her to move there permanently. He had helped her out to get a small apartment and paid the first rents, until she found a part-time job; he had even introduced her to his close circle of friends, where she had met his teammates, Mason in particular. At first, she had never noticed him, he was not even her type of hers and he had not been able to break through her heart. But Ben understood from the start, even before Mason and y/n knew they would fall in love, that those two were meant to be together and he would do anything to make them a couple, including organizing a small funny party between the three of them with the aim of leaving them alone and helping them to sort out the best of that date.

Yep, I’ll be there with you both 😉 be ready at 5 p.m., so I drive you there 😉

Ok, be careful while driving.

I’ll be extra careful 😘

In fact, it didn’t miss so much before 5 p.m. and y/n started getting ready. The evening was very easy, and she decided to put on a pair of white sweatpants, combined with a green T-shirt and small gold earrings in the shape of a heart, a gift from Ben for her 18th birthday, to which she was very attached. Her makeup was light, a little orange on the eyelids, a little bit of eyeliner and mascara. Ben's sister always tried to help her with her makeup, but this was the best she could do. However, the fact that both Ben and Mason had complimented her on how well her makeup looked and how good she looked with it was enough for her to continue wearing it.

Ben was quick to arrive, maybe he arrived earlier than expected and rang the bell.

"I'm coming," she complained, tiptoeing toward the door.

"Wow, how beautiful you are" was the first thing Ben said, his jaw dropping fully open.

“Thank you my dear. I can say the same about you.” She kissed his cheek and placed one hand on the other cheek, giving it a quick caress. “Do you want to come in?”

“No, don’t worry. We’re kind of late, in fact.” He said, devouring her body one last time with his eyes.

He never looked at her with the eyes of an adult, because he was always seeing her as his little sister, but he could no longer deny that she was becoming a beautiful woman and was awakening something in him.

“Ok, let go then.” She smiled and closed her apartment door.

He was a little bit confused, his head being fuzzy and his eyes not being able to get away from her body.

“Are you done looking at my ass or what?” she asked nonchalantly, turning her head to look at him and bringing the same smile on her lips as when they were kids.

“H-how did you notice I was looking?” his cheeks turned red, as he blamed himself for not having at least tried to deny it. She was his best friend, at least that was what he believed up to that point and it felt so wrong to want to have sex with her. He didn’t want to have a relationship, because he didn’t have the head for that in that moment, and it was pretty obvious it would be just pure sex between the two of them. She didn’t deserve to be threatened like that. Mason liked her and she liked him, and Ben wasn’t supposed to join their couple. He was supposed to be Cupid, not Apollo.

“First, I am a woman, Ben, and I know everything that happens; second, you’re my best friend and I know you better than my pockets. Nothing can escape me.” She said, a half-smile tugging her lips. She didn’t seem mad at it or, at least, that was what she showed.

“Well, I just think you’re cute, you know?” he mumbled, opening his car door for her.

“Thank you.” She sat down on the chair and put on the belt. “I know what you’re trying to say, and I have an idea for later, so just wait.” She whispered.

His breath went heavy, while he was trying to concentrate on driving.

Seeing Mason’s house was a relief, as he was feeling the air was becoming more and more hot in the car.

“We’re here.” She observed, smiling and taking her purse and the little bag she brought with her.

“Hi, besties, how are you?” Mason greeted them on his patio, covering his eyes with the hand to protect them from the hot summer sun that shone over London.

“Hey, Mase. I’m fine and you?” she kissed his cheek and hugged him thigh.

“Pretty good after seeing this beauty in front of me.” He smiled. They had the same baby smile and both of them were still children at heart. Maybe that was why they were perfect for each other, Ben found himself thinking.

"Hey, lovebirds, can we go inside?" Ben jokingly interrupted them

"Yes, sure, wait a second, let me just compliment this pretty lady.” His cheeks flushed as he finally reached for y/n’s cheeks to kiss it.

Everything was ready in Mason’s living room and the tv was already opened on the first film of Harry Potter.

“Wow, there are a lot of snacks.” y/n’s eyes sparkled as she made herself comfortable.

“They are all for you.” Mason chuckled and sat next to her. Ben went a little farther from the couple, as he didn't want to disturb them.

Mason started the movie and it was visible on his face that he was so excited to see y/n. The more time passed and the more Mason and y/n were becoming closer to each other. He was whispering sweet nothings in her ear and she was smiling like a teenager at her first crush.

- I have to go. - Ben said out of the blue. He knew exactly what had to happen that night but he was still a bit jealous over the fact Mason would have y/n all for himself. Leaving was actually the best solution.

- Why? Please, stay. - y/n seemed pretty shoked but her hand immediatly left Mason's chest as she was running towards Ben.

- Well, I guess you both have some better plans for this evening than staying with me and watching Harry Potter. -

- In fact, I do. I'd really love to have a threesome with you both. - she blurted, covering her cheeks with the sleeves of her sweatshirt, as she seemed embarassed.

It seemed like it wasn't an agreed thing with Mason, since his jaw dropped fully open, and Ben didn't knew anything until that moment.

- I'm sorry, you don't have to do it, if you don't want ... - she spoke after a few moments of silence.

- Get on your knees, I want to fuck that pretty little mouth of yours first. -

[the-al-chemist]

The Phoenix Resistance - Book 1, Chapter 9

The Smuggler and the Scavenger

A/N: the first of a currently undecided number of chapters written as part of the @phoenixresistance project. Kaari Arcano belongs to the incredible Lari @kathrynalicemc, who set up the project and invited me to contribute. Mad props and big thanks to you 🧡 BTW, it’s not too late to join the project, just ask Lari about it. Warnings: sheer desperation, starvation, discussion of war and prison.

Milton Keynes, Buckinghamshire, England - 14th October 1997, 7.58am

The sun had finished rising over the semi-detached houses of Laburnum Close, and the cacophony of slamming car doors, shouting children, and rattling keys had given way to a gentle sort of hush. The street was empty now, other than a woman with a toddler in a pushchair, one man with curly black hair waiting at a bus stop, and a handful of the local cats picking the best spots to bask in the cool October sunlight.

As the lady with the pushchair walked past Number 12, her child reached out to stroke a tortoiseshell cat sitting on the front lawn, its coat - all mottled black-brown-golden-red - blending in with the autumn leaves littering the grass. The cat leapt to her feet and hissed, her back arched, her fur standing on end. The lady pushed the child away, and the cat turned tail, running down the narrow path between the house and the one next to it, jumping over the gate and into the back garden, where she disappeared completely. In her place stood a short and skinny young woman with matted dark hair and hazel eyes.

Artemis Hexley pushed her hair back from her face, and pulled a wand from the pocket of her coat. She pointed the wand at the back door, and the click of the lock could be heard.

It was a nice house, if a little blandly decorated, she thought, as she walked in through the back door and into the kitchen. Starving hungry, she picked a banana out of a fruit bowl on the kitchen counter and ate it as she padded through the hallway.

“Accio,” she muttered, holding her left palm out. A sheet of paper and a pencil flew from one of the rooms towards her. She caught both, and held her wand between her teeth as she started to scrawl a message on the paper.

Wizarding World at war, your child has been sent abroad for their safety, and for yours. Can’t tell you more, but they say that they love you.

She wasn’t really sure what else to write. She couldn’t tell them more than that, it was too risky, but somehow she got the feeling that most parents would want more information about their child’s well-being and whereabouts than that. Not that she was any expert in the matter.

She left the message and banana skin on a countertop in the kitchen and went up the stairs, wand in hand. She hadn’t washed in days - not unless she counted grooming her fur in cat form, which she didn’t. She found the bathroom and summoned two towels from a cupboard on the landing: one for her, and one to cover the mirror. She knew better than to look at her own reflection at the moment.

It took a minute or so to work the dials that controlled the shower, but as soon as the hot water started to run over her bruised and bony body, turning an ashy brown colour as it did, she felt more human. Not completely human, but at least like she might be something that resembled a human.

Wrapping herself in the towel, she used magic to clean her clothes, and redressed herself. Her belly rumbled. A banana wasn’t enough food, not after days of living off the bare minimum. Or surviving off the bare minimum, anyway. Living was a strong word for what she’d been doing.

The kitchen cupboards were well-stocked, thank Godric, and so she started filling her pockets with items. She probably wouldn’t end up eating all of them herself, but at least they’d do someone some good. As she did so, she heard a floorboard creak in the hallway, and her body stiffened.

She wasn’t alone here.

Cursing herself for not checking before, she closed her hand on her wand, and turned around slowly. The handle of the kitchen door turned, and she planted her feet on the ground, knees bent, her right hand gripping her wand, her left reaching for a knife on the draining board, her eyes fixed on the door. It opened, and she pounced.

In one darting movement, she threw herself across the length of the room, using what little bodyweight she had left to force them - no, him, it was a man - against the wall, her left forearm pressed to his chest, the knife held against his neck, her wand raised and pointed at his face.

“Who the hell are you?” she snarled. The man smirked.

“Most people shake hands,” he said. He had a peculiar accent, one Artemis couldn’t place, but it wasn’t British. “Still, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Artemis Hexley.”

Artemis didn’t move other than to apply a small amount of pressure to the knife.

“I asked you who you are,” she said.

“My name is Kaari Arcano.”

“And how do you know who I am? How did you find me here?”

“It’s a long story. Perhaps if you put down the knife and the wand, I’ll be able to tell you,” replied Kaari Arcano. Slowly and deliberately, he reached into his pocket, Artemis following the movement with her wand, and pulled out his own. He looked her in the eye, and threw it gently across the room. “See? I am not here to hurt you. Put down the knife.”

Artemis looked from his hand to his face. He looked genuine. She lowered the knife and stepped backwards, but kept her wand raised. He chuckled.

“I’m not sure what you were planning on doing with a bread knife,” he said, raising his eyebrows. “Were you going to saw me to death?”

Artemis scowled at him.

“Just tell me what you’re doing here so I can get on.”

“What am I doing here? I’m looking for you.”

“Why?”

“I need your help,” said Kaari Arcano, before correcting himself. “We need your help.”

“Who is ‘we’?”

“The Phoenix Resistance.”

“Never heard of it,” Artemis shrugged.

“No, but you work with us. In a way, anyway,” Kaari Arcano tilted his head, his black curly hair falling over his shoulder. “Have you never stopped to think about what happens to your little friends once they leave you?”

He raised his eyebrows again, and Artemis narrowed her eyes at him.

“The smugglers,” she said, and Kaari Arcano nodded. “I never ask what happens. It is better not to know, that way if I get caught no one can get that information from me.”

“Noble.”

“Hardly.”

Kaari Arcano smiled, less teasingly than before, and Artemis lowered her wand slightly. She looked the smuggler up and down. He had an average build, somewhat muscular, with patterns of scars and shiny burns on his forearms. Artemis had seen burns like that before.

“You’re a dragonologist,” she said, lowering her wand further.

“I am.”

Artemis nodded and moved away from him. She opened the cold cupboard, and started to investigate its contents.

“You were sitting outside this morning, where the bus stops,” she said, picking up a piece of cheese, breaking off a chunk, and eating it. “You were waiting for me. How did you know I was going to be here?”

“You’ve been asking for their addresses,” said Kaari Arcano. “The last one said you promised to leave a message for their family.”

“Yeah, well. Don’t want them thinking their kid’s just done a runner and won’t come back for no good reason.”

“You do it for all of them?”

“Yes.”

“Do you always steal food from them, or is this a special occasion?”

Artemis, clutching a Tupperware box full of an unknown substance, came out of the cold cupboard and stared at Kaari Arcano. He was grinning, as if her antics were amusing. She glowered at him.

“I’m risking my life to save their children, putting up with the dementors for days on end, existing on a diet of cold porridge and mice. I think they can afford to let me use their shower and eat their leftover” - she opened up the Tupperware and peered inside - “chilli con carne. Hm.”

“Sounds tasty.”

“Yeah,” Artemis cupped her hand and used it to start eating the mixture. It would have been better warm, but she was too hungry to care.

“Do you want a fork?”

“Do I want to what?”

“A fork. For the chilli con carne,” Kaari Arcano grinned. “Not that you don’t look very appealing right now.”

Artemis pulled a face at him, and continued to eat the cold chilli with her bare hands.

“What do you want from me, anyway?” she asked him through mouthfuls of food. “Why are you looking for me?”

“You can get people out of Azkaban.”

“And?”

“There’s someone we need to get out of there. A prisoner who is needed for… for the war effort.”

“A child?”

“No.”

“I am only helping the children now. Once they’re all out, I can start on the others.”

“I am afraid that that won’t work. We can’t wait,” Kaari Arcano’s voice turned harder. “The person we need to break out is important.”

“Everyone is important.”

“But not everyone can change the result of a war.”

Artemis swallowed, slowly, before giving her answer.

“Tough. I’m getting the children out first.”

“But-”

“Have you ever been there? Azkaban?” Artemis asked him. He shook his head. “It’s awful. You know, birds don’t fly over there. All you can hear is the wind, and the waves, and the screams. Sometimes you can’t tell who’s screaming, you or the person in the cell next to you. The dementors are everywhere, making you remember… everything. The inmates talk to themselves, and they cry until they have no tears left, and some of them are children. Children. Left there in the dark all alone. Whoever it is you want to get out can wait a while.”

“I understand. But we need them out of there, because-”

“I don’t care how useful they are. People are not just worth saving if they’re useful. You said yourself that they’re important, if that’s true they’ll have them in a high security cell.”

“So you don’t think you’ll be able to do it? Or you are worried about getting caught?”

“I can do it, and I can do it without getting caught,” Artemis said, rolling her eyes. “I’m not scared, but I don’t want to draw attention to what I’m doing. Death Eaters don’t care about the odd Muggleborn child disappearing, it’s hardly like they think they’ll get anywhere, what with them having the trace on them. They just assume that they’ve drowned or something, I guess. But a high security prisoner? They’ll notice that, and then they’ll know something’s up.”

“It’s a risk, I know.”

“I don’t think you do know. If I get caught, no one else can escape. If they realise that these children are getting out, and who is helping them-”

“The smuggling will have to stop altogether,” Kaari Arcano finished Artemis’ sentence for her. She nodded.

“Yeah, exactly.”

“But, if we win the war, then there won’t be any more need for smuggling,” Kaari Arcano reasoned. “And this prisoner will help us to do that. Without him, the chances of us winning are limited. And next year there will be more Muggleborn children sent to that hell-hole, and the year after, and the year after that.”

Artemis’ eyebrows furrowed. He had a point. But so did she. She jutted out her chin and shook her head defiantly.

“I’m not doing it,” she said. “Sorry. Find another way.”

“Okay, I will try,” Kaari Arcano pulled a small scroll of paper out of the pocket of his cloak and handed it to Artemis. “But I will find you and ask you to reconsider if there isn’t one. This is how to reach me if you change your mind before then.”

“I won’t.”

“You might. Think about it,” the man smiled again, and retrieved his wand. “Until we meet again, Artemis Hexley. Maybe next time, you will have a better knife.”

There was a loud crack, and he disappeared, leaving Artemis alone once more.

[miltonkeynesuk]

Top 5 Best Bars In Milton Keynes

Visiting Milton Keynes means you're already in for a great time - and that also includes its vibrant nightlife! Whether you prefer fun and crowded nightclubs where you can bust out your dance moves, sports bars for superior viewing and drinking experience while rooting for your favorite team, or laid-back pubs with great drinks and a relaxed vibe, Milton Keynes has extraordinary local bars to go with your tastes.

Listed here are the five best bars you need to experience in Milton Keynes:

Be At One - Milton Keynes

+441908668774

Nothing completes your Milton Keynes trip like Be At One - Milton Keynes! This bar is a lively chain bar that serves sweet, sour and spicy cocktails, and offers mixing masterclasses, showing off trademark drinks, sumptuous varieties of bar foods, and friendly locals anyone can get along with. Drop by at 25 Mortimer Square, Milton Keynes MK9 2FB for a Milton Keynes experience you just can't pass up.

https://goo.gl/maps/QDtHzdQej84KJ4MP7

Brewhouse & Kitchen - Milton Keynes

+441908049032

Just like their skillfully blended drinks and must-try dishes, Brewhouse & Kitchen - Milton Keynes brings together new and unique style with timeless tastes. It's an Irish-themed bar & grill dishes, casual American grub to go with live music & open-mic nights, inviting to both young and young-at-heart groups alike. Pop in at 7, Savoy Crescent, 12th Street, Milton Keynes MK9 3PU and enjoy a fun night out!

https://goo.gl/maps/UXYcHoSzysxGRVvq8

Midsummer Tap

+441908395147

Local patrons and enthusiastic tourists have been coming to Midsummer Tap for several years, enjoying its familiar and welcoming ambience-- as well as its great selection of drinks, of course! Found in the heart of Milton Keynes at 2B Savoy Crescent, Milton Keynes MK9 3PU, it gives you the extraordinary feel of the United Kingdom life while making you feel as though you're among long-time friends.

https://goo.gl/maps/XrfDHeqAHaSKbuAH8

Bistro Live Milton Keynes

+441908231313

With cool music, savory bites, excellent beer, and freshly-made cocktails, Bistro Live Milton Keynes is Milton Keynes’ hidden gem! They also caters large venue for hire specializing in hen dos and birthday parties, with live bands and full menus. Drop by Bistro Live Milton Keynes at 488 Midsummer Blvd, Milton Keynes MK9 2EA for a good ol' time during your vacation. There's no better place to take it easy and let your hair down!

https://g.page/BistroLiveMK?share

The Countryman

+441908676346

The party spirit is alive and well in The Countryman! As one of Milton Keynes’  most vibrant spots, this bar is a full-service chain bar & grill providing hearty American eats in an informal setting. For live shows from local music acts or even famous guests, exclusive events, and terrific drinks for all sorts of tastes, swing by 127 Bradwell Common Blvd, Bradwell Common, Milton Keynes MK13 8DY!

https://goo.gl/maps/kbYwhM5aXMdBfren8

Nothing captures the spirit and story of Milton Keynes like its local bars. So make your next experience exceptional by dropping by and enjoying the good food, great drinks, and new friends - giving you great stories from Milton Keynes, in the United Kingdom that you'll be talking about for a lifetime!

Click to learn about the best places to stay whilst visiting Milton Keynes.

[calumcest]

i took a walk with my fame down memory lane (i never did find my way back) - chapter six

[ao3]

can you believe i’ve actually been posting this on time on schedule every week bar that one week that i accidentally posted it at like 1am but lets not talk about that. i’m a changed woman i really am nobody come for me about unfinished chaptered fics again 

as ever i have to thank the brilliant @tirednotflirting for putting up with the horrors of my huge google doc which is still half-bolded because i change all those things in the ao3 posting box because i write like an absolute mess i believe the document is now around 140 pages so...you are a trooper for sitting with me through all of that every time i see you in there i get very happy and your little comments always make my day 

and of course where would this fic be without @kaleidoscopeminds at this point maybe i’m sustained by your validation...maybe so 

It would have been too much to expect that having to have The Conversation with Michael would be the only thing Calum would have to contend with. 

In fairness, the day doesn’t get off to too bad of a start. Calum can’t eat breakfast, stomach churning too much to swallow anything more than a glass of water before he runs out of the house at half-eight, just managing to make the bus to Piccadilly, but, unusually for British Rail, his train’s actually on time. It’s idling on the platform when Calum gets there, a few people dressed up in suits looking at their watches before getting on, like they can’t really believe it’s two whole minutes before the train leaves and it’s already there, and it’s not too busy inside. Calum finds himself an empty two-seater and slides in, putting one elbow on the slight ridge of the window and resting his chin in his hand as he stares out, trying to focus on the people milling around on the opposite platform rather than the uncomfortable lightness of his stomach. 

The train leaves on time too, pulls itself out of Piccadilly with heaves and groans, all rattling and hissing, but then they’re on their way, and Calum watches as the industrial sites and red-brick houses fade into flat, green fields. It starts raining somewhere past Leamington Spa, or maybe Milton Keynes, but Calum doesn’t mind, picking out specific raindrops and watching them as they trickle down the window. Someone’s etched COCK into the glass - or is it plastic? Calum’s never sure - and the raindrops sliding past it make it look oddly artistic, like something Calum thinks he might find in the Whitworth. He’s so entranced by it, watching the droplets framing the second C, that he doesn’t realise they’re in London until people start standing up and gathering their things together, and the train starts slowing as it pulls into Euston. 

Calum hasn’t got much to gather, but pats his pocket to make sure his wallet’s in there all the same, pulls his coat closer around himself and shoves his hands in his pockets as he stands up, smiling politely at the woman that gestures for him to go ahead of her. The crowd of people that have gathered by the door are slowly starting to trickle through it, jostling impatiently as they wait for an elderly man to make his way off the train, and Calum just shuffles along with them, swallowing to try and clear some of the dryness in his mouth. He’s here, now. He’s in London. This is it. 

Euston’s big, impersonal, has none of the charm of Piccadilly - not that any of London does, really, Calum thinks - and he joins one of the queues by the dirty ticket barriers, fumbling in his pockets for his ticket that hadn’t even been checked once on the entire train journey down as it slowly shuffles forwards. The machine doesn’t spit it back at him, just swallows it down and flings itself open for him to walk through, and he hesitates for a moment before going through. It feels like crossing some kind of threshold, but he’s swept up in the bustling hordes of self-important-looking Londoners weaving in and out of each other before he has too much time to think about it. They always seem to be in a permanent state of transience, Calum thinks, as he manages to duck out of the crowd and lean against WH Smith; he’s never seen a Londoner look like they’re actually where they want to be, always seem to be heading somewhere else. 

It’s getting close to lunchtime but Calum’s still not hungry, feeling a little sick with anticipation. Or maybe it’s just travel-sickness. Or maybe it’s the adrenaline that spikes every time he thinks about the fact he’ll be near Michael again, that Michael will be within reach. He tries not to dwell on that as he joins the crowd heading for the tube, digging around in his pocket for some change to buy a ticket. He’s not even sure what he needs - a single should do it, right? He’s not sure how returns work, whether he’ll need to use it by a specific time, not even sure what time he’ll be leaving Michael’s. London off-peak might be different to Manchester off-peak. 

There’s even a queue for the ticket machines - fucking hell, is there anywhere in London that he doesn’t have to queue for - but Calum’s slight irritation is quickly replaced by a cold rush of fear when he hears an unmistakable voice shout: “Eeyar, ‘s that Calum? Hey, Cal! Cal!” 

Oh, shit.  

For a split second, Calum dithers between turning around and legging it, but by the time he’s glanced over at possible exit routes, a hand’s clapping on his shoulder and pulling him around anyway. 

It’s Liam, with Noel in tow, because of fucking course it is. Jesus Christ. It’s like the universe is spitting sign after sign at Calum, flashing red neon warnings that say don’t be a cunt, you owe it to the two of them, don’t go behind their fucking backs, only escalating with every one that Calum ignores. Well, he thinks, a little bitterly, as the guilt that’s been quietly gnawing at his stomach flashes its sharp teeth. The universe shouldn’t have sent him Michael in the first place, then, should it?

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Liam says happily, not sounding more than a little curious. Noel, though, is frowning, having the answer to the equation and one constant, and trying to figure out the coefficient and the variable.

“Just...running a few errands,” Calum says, and hopes it doesn’t sound as evasive to Liam and Noel as it does to him. “Mum wanted some stuff done.” It’s not exactly implausible, is it? It’s a week ‘til Christmas; it’d make perfect sense if Calum’s mum wanted some stuff done. It might not explain why she’d need it doing in London, but Calum hopes that that part of it won’t get prodded at too hard by either of the brothers, and if it does, chucking in a few embassy s and work visa s should do the trick. 

“Why didn’t you say?” Liam says, but he doesn’t sound upset, just curious. Calum shrugs, and steps forward to the ticket machine as the lady in front of him walks away, buying himself time to come up with a semi-plausible answer. Noel and Liam follow, much to the annoyance of the guy behind Calum in the queue, who tuts and mutters something under his breath that just earns him a lazy two-fingered salute from Liam. 

“Only found out last night,” Calum says, which is absolute bullshit, because he hadn’t got back from the pub until long after last call, and his mum goes to bed around ten. Liam seems to have forgotten that, though, because he just nods, and turns to the machine. 

“What d’you reckon we need, then, eh?” he says, glancing over his shoulder at Noel, never mind that Calum’s the one who’d queued for the fucking machine, and all. 

“Probably best to get a travelcard,” Noel answers. “Got a lot of places to visit.” 

“Where’re you going?” Calum asks, as casually as he can manage. Maybe a little too casually, because Noel’s eyes narrow fractionally, but then Liam responds as he’s stabbing buttons on the ticket machine. 

“Hampstead Heath, wasn’t it? And I’m looking in Kentish Town.” Well. Calum has no fucking idea where those are, but at least they aren’t Camden. 

“Why’d you go and tell him to follow me down here, eh?” Noel asks, throwing Calum an exasperated look, but there’s no heat behind his eyes or his words. 

“You’d rather he sleep on your floor every night?” Calum says, arching an eyebrow. “Done you a fucking favour, mate.” Noel grins, inclining his head a little in concession.

“On the floor?” Liam says, sounding a little incensed, and holds his hand out for Noel to give him some money. “I’d be sleeping in the fucking bed, me. Our kid can kip on the floor. Tiny cocker can probably curl up on an cushion or summat, anyway.”

“Get fucked, you, ‘s my fucking bed. And why’m I paying for your fucking ticket?” Noel demands, even as he’s digging in his pocket for change. 

“You get more of the royalties,” Liam says, and Noel rolls his eyes as he slaps a selection of coins in Liam’s hand. 

“That’s three travelcards, then,” Liam says, turning back to the machine, and Noel makes a noise of outrage, and tugs at Liam’s shoulder as he starts slotting the coins into the machine. 

“Hang on a minute,” he says indignantly, but Liam shakes him off, pushing coin after coin in until the machine makes a groaning sound and starts churning out tickets. “Cheeky cunt,” Noel grumbles, and Liam throws him a winning smile as he presses Calum’s ticket into his hand. 

“Aye,” he says happily, and steps away from the machine, Calum following in his wake, not wanting to listen to Noel grumbling to himself about Liam or risk him yanking Calum’s ticket out of his hand.

“What about my money?” Noel demands, because the machine’s spitting out coins now, and Liam just shrugs, already engrossed in a map of the Northern line. Noel flips him off anyway, and then scoops the assortment of coins out of the machine and sticks them in his pocket as he wanders over to where Calum and Liam are stood. 

“Where do we need to get off?” Liam asks, and Noel frowns at the map. 

“Hampstead, I think,” he says, and Liam nods, before turning to Calum.

“Where’re you off to?” he asks. Calum hesitates, wondering whether he should lie or not, and then realises as he’s squinting at the map that they’ll probably be on the same tube, so he can’t. Now that he’s looking closely, he’s realising Kentish Town looks uncomfortably close to Camden - it’s the next stop after Camden Town - but given how fucking massive London is, that should be fine, right?

“Camden,” Calum says, a little reluctantly. 

“Oh,” Liam says, and shrugs. “Alright.” He doesn’t seem to think anything of it, and for once neither does Noel, who’s too busy patting his pockets and frowning.

“Where’s my ticket?” Noel says, as Liam starts for the ticket barriers, and Liam holds his hand up as he walks, waving two tickets in the air. Noel jogs after him, reaching up and trying to snatch one of the tickets out of Liam’s hand. “Give it here, you prick. How’m I meant to get through the barrier?” 

“Not my problem,” Liam says, but he lets Noel take one of the tickets when he gets up to the barrier, sticking it in and forcing himself through when it swings open. “Fucking hell, these things are small, innit? Who are they made for, Noely G?” 

“Fuck off,” Noel tells him, but Calum can see the small, fond smile playing at his lips as they start down the escalator. 

Liam’s absolutely buzzing with energy, even more so than usual, pointing out adverts on the wall as they pass and commenting on what people on the other escalator are wearing and asking how old d’you reckon the tube is, then? Hundred? Two hundred? It’s proper deep, innit? How far underground d’you reckon we are? until Noel cuffs him upside the head irritably and says shut up, Liam, for fuck’s sake. 

“Are we northbound or southbound?” Liam asks, stopping abruptly in front of one of the huge maps and making at least three people behind them tut and swerve pointedly around them. 

“North,” Noel says, dragging Liam towards the platform by the elbow. Calum throws the map another quick glance just to double-check - yeah, he’s northbound too - and then follows in their wake, letting their quiet bickering wash over him as he gulps in the hot, sticky air of the underground, hoping it’ll do something to counteract the way his stomach feels like a block of ice, cold and heavy in his abdomen. It seems to get heavier with every step, like it’s trying to stop him being able to get himself onto the tube and lean against the door next to Liam and Noel, who are now arguing about whether it’d be better to have a Tesco or a Sainsbury’s nearby. He’s not sure whether the fact that Liam and Noel are here, not a care in the world, buying Calum tickets and joking around with him not knowing what he’s here for, or the prospect of the conversation with Michael is making him feel worse. He knows he has to do this, knows that he and Michael can’t toe the tentative line they’ve been dragging themselves along forever, but doesn’t want to think about what the possibility of crossing it might mean. There’s no going back from that, and Calum’s not sure he’s going to like what he finds on the other side. 

Camden’s only two stops away, and much as Calum wants to put off getting there, he’s sort of glad it’s not far, because he always forgets how fucking loud the tube is. He does enough damage to his ears in his profession, and he feels out of place being the only person wincing at the rattling that’s probably pushing legal decibel levels. Even Liam and Noel don’t seem to care, just raising their voices to shout over the sound of the carriages hurtling along the tracks, enjoying their latest spat too much to care about anything else.

“This is me,” Calum says, when the tube pulls into Camden Town and starts to slow. 

“When’re you heading back?” Noel asks, and Calum shrugs. He hadn’t picked a specific train back to Manchester, just bought an open return. He doesn’t know whether Michael wants to pull him in to shout abuse at him for half an hour and then kick him out again, or spend half a day talking about everything that’s happened in the past five years.

“Not sure,” he says. Liam nods inattentively and turns back to Noel, but Noel cocks his head a little, eyes flicking to the doors as they open. 

“Alright, well,” he says. “I’ll probably call you tomorrow.” Calum nods, ducking out of the doors and throwing both of them a quick wave, hoping his nervousness isn’t written all over his face, the combination of shit, shit, I’m here, I’m here and what the fuck does Noel want to call me to say that he can’t say right now?  

Liam’s already turned back to Noel and started saying something before the doors have shut, but Noel’s eyes linger on Calum for a minute, something Calum can’t quite pinpoint on his face. He doesn’t have time to worry about it, though, caught up in the crowd as they make their way up the escalator and out of the station, blinking once he’s standing in the road and trying to remember which way his dad’s old London A-Z had told him to go. It was two lefts, he knows that, but was that after a right? Or was the right after the second left? He should have written it down, really. Although, given how today’s gone, the piece of paper would probably have blown out of his pocket and straight into Liam’s face, or something, big red letters that say Michael Clifford (from Blur, y’know, my ex)’s Address on the top. 

He decides to just take the two lefts first, thinking he can always just ask someone if he gets really lost, and it turns out to be the right decision, because he’s on Michael’s street after about ten minutes of pushing through angry-looking Londoners walking at the speed of light. It’s a smaller street, a little tucked away, surprisingly quiet for the fact it’s just off a main road, lined with identical Georgian houses. Number thirty-nine, Michael had said. That’s thirty-one, thirty-three, thirty-five, thirty-seven-

Thirty-nine.

Calum stares up at it for a moment. It looks exactly the same as the other houses on the street, a house Calum usually wouldn’t bother glancing twice at, except it’s got his childhood best friend, his first love, his fucking competition inside it. It seems to loom a little more than the houses either side of it, and a sense of foreboding creeps around the edge of Calum’s veins, constricting his lungs a little. He doesn’t fucking know what to expect. He doesn’t know what Michael wants. 

Calum takes a deep breath as he steps up to the door, wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans, and rings the doorbell. He holds his breath as he waits, feeling like he really needs to piss, and tries not to hop from foot to foot in nervous anticipation when he finally hears the sound of someone heading for the door and sees a figure looming behind the frosted glass. 

The door opens, and Michael blinks at him. 

“Hi,” he says. His voice sounds different in person, smoother and richer than Calum remembers - but then again, he’d been off his fucking head the last time he’d seen Michael. His eyes are greener than Calum remembers, too, still with a hint of blue, blinking a little hesitantly at him from behind dark lashes. He’s dressed in jeans and a blue jumper, one that Calum hasn’t seen before, and he looks so oddly out of place here, on a residential street in the heart of London. Something about it makes Calum’s head spin even more than the first time he’d seen Michael on stage, or when he’d seen him in that magazine, or at the awards show. He shouldn’t be here, his brain is trying to say, throwing up memories of Michael in shorts and a singlet on the beach, while his eyes are saying but he is here. And he looks fucking good, too.

“Hi,” Calum says, when he remembers to speak. He clears his throat, trying to clear out the embarrassment. Fucking hell; great first impression after what, six months?

“Come in,” Michael says, and steps aside, holding the door open. Calum throws him a polite smile and heads inside, hesitating just past the door as Michael clicks it shut again. 

“Um, should I-” he says, gesturing at his shoes.

“Oh, uh, yeah,” Michael says, a little apologetically. “If you don’t mind.” Calum shakes his head - it’s Michael’s house, why the fuck should he mind? - and kicks off his shoes, taking his time arranging them next to the blue-and-white striped Adidas trainers placed a little haphazardly next to the radiator, before straightening back up again, looking back over at Michael, who’s staring at him. He feels strangely naked standing in Michael’s hallway in his socks, a little disarmed, like he’s just willingly carved out a chink in his own armour. 

Michael looks away quickly, cheeks a little pink, like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t have been, and turns around, walking off down the hallway.

“D’you want something to drink?” he asks, heading into a room to the right. Calum follows him in; it’s the living room, big and light and beige and decorated by someone that definitely wasn’t Michael, all damask walls and sun-and-moon decor. 

“Uh, no, I’m good, thanks,” Calum says, hovering near the sofa. Michael gestures at him to sit, and hesitates for a moment, clearly dithering between sitting down next to Calum or on the overstuffed armchair opposite him, before heading for the armchair and curling up on it. It’s probably for the best, Calum thinks, as he arranges himself on the sofa. His skin’s already prickling at being in the same room as Michael, fingers itching to reach out and touch what used to be his.

“I thought we’d go out for lunch,” Michael says. “Probably better than me trying to cook.” Calum feels his lips twitch at that - it’s good to know that hasn’t changed. Michael being in a famous British band feels more realistic than Michael knowing how to cook anything more complicated than pasta. 

“Fine by me,” Calum says, clasping his hands on his lap and then unclasping them again. It feels so horribly formal, being sat like this with Michael, stone-cold sober and six feet apart. It feels so fucking wrong. 

Michael sighs, and casts his eyes down at his feet. 

“So,” he says, and Calum’s stomach flips. The Talk. 

“So,” Calum echoes. He hopes the lump in his throat isn’t audible. 

“I don’t even know where we should start,” Michael admits. “There’s- there’s so much.” He pauses, and then smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Why don’t you tell me about Oasis?” 

“What?” Calum’s a little taken aback. He was expecting why the fuck did you stop writing back, you absolute cunt, tell me why I shouldn’t deck you right fucking now. Maybe he’s been spending too much time with Liam. 

“Well, y’know,” Michael says, waving his hand a little awkwardly. “I only know what I’ve read in the papers. Last I heard from you you were working in construction.” 

“Oh,” Calum says. “Yeah. Uh. Well. I dunno, really. Bonehead started this band, and Liam knew him through a mate, and then their singer dropped out and Liam managed to join somehow, and they needed a bassist, so.” He shrugs, a little uncomfortably. “And then Noel came back from roadie-ing for the Inspiral Carpets, and Liam got him to join, too. And- well. That’s about it, really.” He’s not sure what else there is to say, but it feels a little clinical, like he’s reading Michael an excerpt from his autobiography, or something. 

“You went to school with Liam, right?” Michael asks, and Calum nods. 

“Yeah,” he says. “We were Chemistry partners. Gallagher and Hood, y’know.” Michael hums, like he’s thinking about it, and Calum just waits, tries not to hold his breath in anticipation as Michael turns the information over and over in his mind. Fuck, he hates this, hates the fact that he’s shuffling forwards with his eyes closed and his hands tied behind his back, no way of knowing whether he’s walking in the right direction.

“I like him,” Michael admits after a moment, and Calum can’t help but smile at that. 

“Yeah,” he says, and he hears the fondness and pride in his own voice. It’s sort of impossible not to like Liam, really. He’s a cunt, but he does it so well and so earnestly and with such an innocent expression on his face that you can’t really hate him for it. Well, if you aren’t Noel, at least. And Michael and Liam both have that kind of anarchy to them, that same spark of joy lighting up their eyes when they spot something chaotic happening. “You’d get on. Well, if-” Calum cuts himself off, smile suddenly dropping off his face as the all-too-familiar guilt churns in his stomach. If he didn’t hate you on principle. 

Michael doesn’t seem to have thought anything of it, though, just nods a little thoughtfully, and Calum can see from the way his eyebrows are drawn that he’s moved past that, isn’t thinking about Liam anymore. Sure enough, after a few seconds of silence, Michael opens his mouth again, and asks:

“What about Noel?” There’s something a little calculating in his eyes, and his tone a touch too casual, and Calum frowns. 

“What about him?” Michael shrugs, the smoothness of the movement belied by the way his shoulders stay a little hunched. 

“What’s he like?” Calum opens his mouth to respond - he’s exactly what he seems like - and then realises that that’s not quite true, and closes it again. Noel’s exactly what he seems, and then a little bit more, and also a little bit less. 

“Complicated,” he says eventually, and Michael cocks his head. 

“He’s a cunt,” he says, which, honestly, is a fair enough assessment of Noel Gallagher. 

“So’s Liam,” Calum points out, and Michael nods. 

“Yeah.” There’s a moment of awkward silence, and Calum feels he might have been wrong-footed by Michael somehow, like there was a second, unspoken part to that question that he missed. It’s too late now, though, no matter how much he replays it in his mind - the way Michael had looked at him, the way he’d shrugged - so instead, Calum clears his throat, and asks:

“What about you?”

“Me?”

“Yeah. I read that you knew Graham through someone back home?” Michael smiles for real this time, and Calum tries not to let it hurt, that he’s smiling about Graham like that and couldn’t manage it for Calum. It’s not like Calum’s done anything to deserve it, is it? 

“Through Luke, actually,” Michael says, all conversationally, like it’s perfectly normal that one of Calum’s closest friends from Sydney knew Graham Coxon and never thought to mention it. Calum stares at him. That makes absolutely no fucking sense. 

“What?” he says. “How- what? Luke knows Graham?” 

“Yeah,” Michael says. “The Hemmings’ went on a holiday a few years ago - that cruise, I think? Remember, y’know, the one where Jack thought he got that girl pregnant?” Calum nods - yeah, he remembers that one. Luke had been beside himself, although Calum still thinks at least thirty percent of that was because it was his ticket into Ashton’s arms. “Yeah, and you know what Liz is like, making conversation with anything that moves. They ended up talking to Graham’s family over dinner, and Graham and Luke became mates over the rest of the cruise, swapped numbers and sort of stayed in contact.” 

“Oh,” Calum says, and tries not to sound bitter. It feels strangely unsettling to know that Luke knows Graham, like the solid image he’d had of his past life is being shaken up. “He never mentioned.” Michael shrugs. 

“He never mentioned to me either,” he says. “Not until I said-” he cuts himself off. “Well,” he says carefully after a moment of awkward silence. “When I decided to move here.” Calum swallows. 

He’s wondered, in the moments that he’s had time to think about anything more than the permanent guilt swimming around in his stomach and the sickening feeling that seems to creep its way around the edges of everything to do with Michael, what had made Michael move to the UK. He’s even wondered, in brief moments of weakness, whether it had had something to do with him. After all, Michael had always said he’d come here to see Calum, hadn’t he? Calum had just never stopped to think that maybe he’d meant coming here for good, for more than just a visit. 

But then Calum had stopped writing as often, and Michael had stopped sending as many letters back, and the weed and booze in Calum’s veins had made him forget that Michael had ever said he’d fly over, and so the brief moments of weakness pass and Calum thinks no, he wouldn’t’ve done that. Not in the state we were in. 

(It doesn’t stop him wondering the same thing the next time he’s staring at himself in a cracked hotel mirror on a comedown, though, doesn’t stop the what if s from floating around in his mind.) 

But since he’s here, he might as well ask. This is supposed to be all about sorting all of that shit out, isn’t it? Calum knows that they can’t move anywhere with the huge wall between them, knows that they’ve got to dismantle it brick by brick before they can see all the possible roads they could travel. So, he takes a deep breath, and says:

“Why did you decide to move here?” Michael cocks his head and blinks at Calum, like he’s a little surprised Calum’s even asking.

“For you.” Fuck. 

A new guilt surges through Calum’s entire abdomen, something that isn’t as well-worn as his Noel-and-Liam guilt, making him dizzy with the suddenness with which it pulls all the blood from his head down to his stomach. Michael had moved here for Calum, even after Calum had stopped writing. Michael hadn’t forgotten; only Calum had.

“Oh,” Calum says, and it comes out barely more than a whisper. Michael looks away, cheeks burning. 

“Yeah,” he mumbles uncomfortably. “Well. Changed my mind after I got here, but stayed anyway.” Calum bites his lip.

“I’m sorry,” he says. It’s the first time he’s said it, and probably the millionth time he’s thought it, but the words still trip off his tongue clumsily, like they weren’t rehearsed often enough, like maybe he should have made it a million-and-one.

“Are you?” The words are harsh, but Michael’s tone is soft, a little sad. 

“I am,” Calum says truthfully. “I- fuck. I’m a cunt, honestly. I just got so caught up in everything, in Noel and Liam and the drugs and the band, and-” he cuts himself off. He’s making excuses, and Michael deserves better than that. 

“You stopped caring,” Michael supplies before Calum has the chance to think about what he wants to say next, matter-of-fact, but Calum catches the tiny grimace that flits across his lips. 

“No,” Calum says hastily. “I just- I thought I did. Or maybe I just hoped I did. Or- I don’t know. But I saw you a few years ago, and I felt the same. And then I saw you this year, and I felt the same. So I don’t think I ever stopped.” He can’t bring himself to say stopped caring, because it feels too revealing. He doesn’t know if he can actually admit out loud that he still cares about Michael, not with all the shame burning hot in his veins. It feels like something he should keep to himself, a burden he deserves to be laden with, the ball at the end of his chain of disgrace.

“You saw me a few years ago?” Michael says, frowning, and Calum’s stomach drops. Oh, fuck. He’s never told Michael that, has he? 

“Uh,” Calum says intelligently, and looks down at his feet. “Yeah. Ninety-two, I think. At the Boardwalk in Manchester.” Michael’s frown deepens, like he’s scanning through memories, trying to find the one he needs. 

“I didn’t know you were there,” he says after a minute, still frowning. 

“I didn’t know you were either,” Calum says. “I mean. I didn’t think it could be you.” Michael shifts, pulling his legs closer towards him, looking like he’s trying to fold in on himself. It looks defensive, and it makes Calum’s heart crack a little. Is it him doing that? Is that because of Calum?

“That was a shit gig,” Michael says after a moment, and the ghost of a smile crosses Calum’s lips, but he can tell that’s not what Michael really wants to say. 

“Wasn’t too bad,” Calum says. “We definitely played worse ones than that.” Michael huffs out a short laugh. 

“Yeah, like LA,” he says, and Calum’s lips manage to twitch in a tiny smile this time. Even though he knows it means nothing, something about the fact Michael remembers that, remembers how awful the gig had been and remembers that it had been in LA, makes Calum’s heart skip a beat. 

“Yeah, like LA,” he agrees, and Michael smiles back at him, something heavy and sad in his eyes. It’s sort of disconcerting to be able to tell what Michael’s feeling but not being able to place why, feels like Calum’s sat here with some kind of Michael-Mike hybrid. It just drives the past five years of distance home, makes Calum realise that the gap between the sofa and the armchair is bigger than he’d wanted to believe. 

Almost like he knows what Calum’s thinking, Michael’s lips hitch up in a small, mournful smile. 

“It’s been a long fucking time, hasn’t it?” he says, and his voice is saturated with so much melancholy that it makes Calum swallow, gulping in a breath of Michael’s air. 

“Yeah,” he says. 

“I sort of keep forgetting,” Michael says. A slightly bitter laugh almost bubbles out of Calum, but he just about manages to force it down - he’s not sure how Michael can forget, when it’s the only thing that’s ever on Calum’s mind when they talk, when he can’t push it away for more than a few minutes at a time. 

“I don’t,” he says, and Michael frowns. 

“You don’t?” Calum shakes his head. He spends all his time trying his best not to think about the gulf between the two of them, trying to relegate it to some dusty corner of his mind, but it always rides back to the forefront of his thoughts on a wave of guilt. 

“It’s hard not to think about it,” Calum says, which is the closest he can get to saying I spend all my time trying not to think about how you’ve changed.  

“I guess,” Michael says, with a tiny shrug. “Maybe I just don’t want to.” Calum gets that too.

"Maybe you're just better at it than me," Calum says, and Michael smiles, tinged with sadness. 

“Maybe,” he allows. “Or maybe I just want it more.” What? Wants what more, to forget? To pretend-

Oh. 

“Oh,” Calum says, and his mouth is suddenly dry. Michael’s holding his gaze, forced defiance written all over his face, but Calum can still see past that, can still see the vulnerability in the way the corners of his lips are tilted down and the way he’s blinking a little too fast. 

Michael wants this. 

“Yeah,” Michael says, and Calum can hear the heartache  beneath the veneer of bravery. “That hasn’t changed, at least.” It’s a little bitter, and it makes Calum frown. What does Michael mean, that hasn’t changed?  

“What d’you mean?” Michael shrugs uncomfortably, his cheeks a little pink. 

“Well. Y’know. I always wanted you more,” he says, and his voice cracks on the you. Calum stares at him for a moment, trying to wrap his head around what Michael's just said. 

He wants to say no, you didn’t, but he can’t. Calum had forgotten, and Michael hadn’t. And maybe now Calum wants Michael more than Michael wants him, can’t push Michael out of his mind where Michael can push Calum out of his, but that doesn’t change the fact that Calum had let Michael slip out of his mind to make room for Liam and Noel and drugs, while Michael had moved to the UK for him. And he can’t lie to Michael, can’t lie to himself either. 

“Maybe then,” he says. "But not anymore." Michael blinks at him. 

“You don’t know that,” he says. "You don't even know how I loved you." Calum swallows, but it doesn’t go past the lump in his throat. 

“I loved you too,” he says. “I did. I really did.” 

“Not enough,” Michael says, and Calum winces, but doesn’t say anything. It’s true. He can’t have loved Michael enough, can’t have loved him well enough, if the Gallaghers and drugs and music and distance could fill the Michael-shaped hole in his heart. 

“Maybe,” he says, and the word sounds heavy and leaden. “But I was seventeen. I don’t think I really knew how to love.” 

“Do you now?” 

“I don’t know. I haven’t- not since-” he stops, not wanting to say I haven’t been in love since you, but Michael gets it anyway. 

“Oh,” he says, and he sounds a little warmer now, like he’s pleased to hear that. “Me either.” Calum’s heart flips, but, for the first time in almost the entire conversation, not unpleasantly.

“Oh,” he says, echoing Michael. He wonders whether the mild, tingly feeling spreading from his fingertips to his toes is echoing Michael too. 

“Well,” Michael says hastily. “I’m not, like. I didn’t stay single for you, or anything. I just- not like that.” Calum nods. He’s the same. It’s not like he hasn’t fucked hundreds of girls and guys in the past few years; he’s just never felt what he felt with Michael with anybody else. 

Suddenly, and a little guiltily, Noel’s face flashes in his mind’s eye. That’s the closest he’s ever got, a hollow echo of what he’d had with Michael. It had only been a night, one that Calum could almost pretend hadn’t happened if he didn’t hear Noel’s pretty little sounds playing whenever he harmonised with him onstage, but Calum knows if Liam hadn’t been on both their minds it could have blossomed into something more. They’d never spoken about it, and Noel would deny it if Calum ever asked, but he knows they both stopped themselves going further because neither of them wanted to lose Liam, the weird, brash little cunt more important to both of them than they were to each other. 

And now, Calum thinks, here he is, talking to his ex who happens to be his biggest competition, betraying both his best friends and his band, pitting his ex against his fling, pitting himself against the fucking lot of them. It makes his fucking head hurt, makes his eyes sting a little bit with something he thinks might be frustration but could be guilt, because that’s fucking all he seems to feel these days. Guilty for forgetting Michael, guilty for picking the habit of him back up again, guilty for going behind Liam and Noel’s backs, guilty, guilty, guilty. 

He grits his teeth and curls his hands into fists, digging his fingernails into the palm of his hand, hard, hoping none of the shame and guilt in his veins is finding its way to the surface of his skin, betraying him with a blush or a visible, too-fast pulse. Michael’s watching him carefully, eyes searching Calum’s face for the little hints he still knows how to find, and it should maybe make Calum feel a lot more vulnerable than he already does, but instead, it settles him. Michael still knows Calum’s nooks and crannies, still knows where to look to see what he’s trying to hide, and it’s oddly comforting. Michael hasn’t forgotten a single inch of Calum, eyes flitting from the corners of his lips to the crease between his brows, and that’s got to mean something, right? 

“I thought I’d never see you again,” Michael says suddenly. “I never- I thought about it, sometimes, but it was never- y’know.” Calum doesn’t know. At all. He has no idea what Michael’s trying to say, but before he can ask, Michael’s continuing. “And then I saw you on a poster, looking cooler and older and hotter, and I started thinking. About seeing you again, I mean. I wondered if we’d ever bump into each other. And then Damon started saying you were our main competition, and I didn’t know how to tell him about us, and I thought you must know about Blur and you hadn’t said anything, not even hello, so. I just thought that was it.” He speaks half-stilted, half in a rush, like he’s got a hundred things to say but none of the words to say them in, or maybe none of the courage. 

“Did you want to?” Calum finds himself asking. 

“Did I want to what?”

“See me again.” Michael hesitates. 

“Yeah,” he says eventually, softly. “I was angry. I wanted to see you and show you how well I was doing without you.” Calum swallows. The words sting more than he thought they would. 

“Oh,” is all he can say. He thinks it probably says it all, anyway. 

“I thought I’d hate you,” Michael says. “I thought I’d see you and I’d be so furious. You made me-” he cuts himself off, and bites his lip, like he’s thinking about whether or not he wants to say it. Calum shifts, pulls his legs onto the sofa and wraps his hand around his ankle, holding himself in place. He can feel the tension of his muscles under his fingertips, strained and stiff and wanting to move, and it feels fitting, feels like the muscle of his legs is echoing the muscle of his heart, tight and uneasy. But, just like the muscle of his legs can’t slacken until Calum’s hand lets go, the muscle of his heart can’t relax until the grip around it is loosened, too. 

And Calum, loath though he is to do it, knows how to pry that iron fist off.

“Say it,” Calum says. “I- you- we should, like. Just get it all out.” He doesn’t want to, and he’s pretty sure it’s written all over his face, but he knows that they should. That’s the whole reason he’s here, after all, isn’t it? It would have been easy for him to put it off, to stay in Manchester, to say he was busy, but he’s here, because how can they ever move on if there are still things left to say? 

Michael nods, inhales deeply, and tries again. 

“You made me feel so worthless,” he says quietly, and Calum can’t help the small grimace that crosses his lips. “So rejected. Like I was nothing. You left, and suddenly I didn’t matter anymore. To you, to myself, to anyone. It was like I was only ever temporary to you.” Calum’s throat is dry, heart pounding at the words and somehow sinking at the same time. He’d never stopped to consider how Michael might have felt, so wrapped up in his own world. He’d never taken a moment to think about whether he might be hurting Michael. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, and his voice cracks on the words. He doesn’t think he’s ever meant anything more. He feels it in his lungs, in his heart, in his stomach, in his fucking fingertips; the guilt, the shame, the remorse. Michael looks at him for a moment, and then casts his eyes back down to his feet with a small shrug. 

“I wasn’t, though,” he says, even more quietly than before. “Angry, I mean, when I saw you. I thought I’d be fucking livid. I had so many...uh, revenge fantasies, I guess you’d call them. I imagined seeing you again so many times, imagined what I’d say, how I’d feel, but…” he trails off. 

“But?” Michael shrugs again, staring steadfastly at his socks. 

“I saw you up on that stage at Glastonbury,” he says, “and I just felt-” he purses his lips, like he’s considering his next words. “Warm.” 

“Warm?”

“Warm.” Michael doesn’t elaborate, but Calum thinks he understands. It must take a lot, he thinks, for Michael to say that, to admit that instead of feeling angry, instead of all the hurt that’s been simmering for years, he’d felt something almost positive. Calum doesn’t know whether he would have had the courage to say that in Michael’s position, to bare himself and make himself vulnerable like that.

“I didn’t think I’d feel like this either,” he admits. A concession for a concession. Glastonbury in reverse. 

“Like what?” Michael asks. 

“Y’know.” Calum doesn’t want to say it. 

“I don’t.” Michael wants him to say it. Fuck’s sake. But he deserves it, really, doesn’t he, after all this?

“Fond.” Michael blinks at him for a second. 

“Fond?” he asks, voice wavering slightly. Calum shrugs, more of a defensive movement than anything else. 

“Yeah, I guess. I dunno. I didn’t think I’d still care as much as I do.” Michael cocks his head, like he’s considering it. 

“That’s why you wrote that song about me,” he says, and Calum blinks. 

“You heard it?” He can’t help the surprise in his tone. Michael’s never mentioned it, so Calum had just assumed he hadn’t heard it. It’s not like he was about to be the one to fucking bring it up, is it?

“‘Course I heard it,” Michael says, and for the first time in a while his lips twitch in what looks almost like a tiny smile. “You fucking named it for me.” That’s true. Drunk Calum has never made the best decisions. 

(But sober Calum was the one who’d looked the other way.)

“What about the one you wrote?” Calum says, deflecting. “The one about collapsing in love, making it to the end.” 

“What about it?” 

“Well, y’know,” Calum says, waving his hands around vaguely, because he’s not really sure what he’s asking. “When did you write it?” 

“Years ago,” Michael says. “Two, three, maybe?” 

“Why?” 

“I was throwing all your letters out.” Oh. 

“Oh,” Calum says. He hadn’t been expecting that. It smarts, but he deserves it. He’s not even sure if he has many of Michael’s left, and the ones he does have will have survived by accident, not on purpose. 

“Yeah, well,” Michael says, sounding a little embarrassed. “Alex always says the best way to get over someone is to forget about them.” 

“Did you?” Calum can’t help but ask. 

“Did I what?”

“Forget about me.” Michael hesitates. 

“Almost.” Calum can live with that. 

They sit in silence for a moment, but it’s not uncomfortable. It feels a little heavy, a little sombre, but Calum can feel both himself and Michael in it, and Michael’s not pulling away, not holding himself back. It’s almost nice, he thinks, to co-exist like this with Michael, neither of them pulling or pushing. It’s definitely better than it had been ten minutes ago, at least. 

“What about you?” Michael asks after a minute. “Why’d you write Columbia?” 

“I was drunk,” Calum says honestly. “And I saw a picture of you in a magazine.” Michael scrunches his nose up in the way that he does when he’s thinking about something, and it makes something sharp shoot through Calum’s heart, that he still recognises that. 

“I like it,” Michael says, after a moment. 

“Like what?” 

“Columbia.” Calum swallows. 

“Yeah?” he says, a little shyly. He’d never even really expected Michael to hear it, and it’s fucking embarrassing, the drunken words swimming to the forefront of his mind as he watches Michael’s eyes search his own for the answer to a question Calum doesn’t know. 

“Yeah,” Michael says, and Calum sees the corners of his lips twitch in what looks like the tiniest of smiles. “It’s a good song.” 

“Well. Thanks,” Calum says, and then, in a brief moment of courage: “It’s your song, so. I’m glad you like it.” The tiny smile turns into a small smile, and Calum sees the corner of Michael’s eyes crinkle a little, and his heart almost stills in his chest. He didn’t know he could still do that to Michael. 

“I’m glad it’s mine,” Michael says quietly, even shyer than Calum, and maybe Calum’s imagining it, but there seems to be a pink tinge to the top of his cheeks. He really is fucking pretty, Calum thinks dimly; white teeth sinking into a full pink lip, long lashes covering his blue-green eyes. Calum doesn’t know he ever managed to fucking forget that. 

They sit in silence for a minute, a little tense and a little uneasy, until Michael sighs, sags a little, and rests his head against his hand.

“Where do we go from here?” he says. Calum swallows, and shrugs. Wherever you want, he wants to say. I’ll take anything I can get.  

“I don’t know,” he says instead. “What do you want?” Michael hesitates. 

“I’m not- I don’t-” he cuts himself off, and sighs. “I want this,” he says, and gestures between the two of them. “Us. Whatever that is. We’re both different people now, so I don’t- I don’t know whether it’ll work like that again. I want to give it a chance, though. But I can’t pretend the past five years didn’t happen.” Calum nods. That’s fair. He doesn’t think he can pretend the past five years didn’t happen either, can’t fucking forget it in the lines on Michael’s eyes and forehead that weren’t there before, but they’re both different people now. They need to relearn one another, rediscover the familiar landmarks in the new maps on both their faces and feel their way around the new ones.

“Okay,” Calum says. Michael wants this, whatever form this takes. He wants Calum, in one way or another, and that’s enough for him. 

“What do you want?” Michael asks. Calum shrugs again. 

Anything isn’t quite right. He would take anything, but the word is too desperate, doesn’t quite express everything Calum wants it to. Everything isn’t right either, too greedy, too much too soon. Calum’s vocabulary’s a little too limited to get across I want you, I want this, I want whatever you’ll give me in any which way in the exact way he wants.

Well. He supposes he’ll just have to try and get as close as he can.

“You,” he says, quieter than he’d intended.  

“How?” Fucking hell. Michael’s really fucking good at picking at loose threads. 

“However,” Calum says. “Acquaintances. Friends. More.” He tries not to look nervous as he shrugs, but he can tell from the look on Michael’s face that he fails miserably. 

“Okay,” Michael says, gently. “But then we’ve got to stop tiptoeing around each other like this.” Calum nods, stomach churning a little as he thinks about what that might mean. Is this the moment where he chooses between Michael and his band? He’d never thought his fork in the road of fate would come in a beige living room in London. 

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, okay.” Michael blinks at him for a minute, and then smiles, small, hesitant, but one that reaches his eyes. 

“Okay,” he says again, smile still on his lips, nothing big and bright and brilliant but the most radiant smile Calum thinks he’s seen in years all the same. “I’ll start by telling you Supersonic’s got the worst fucking lyrics I think I’ve ever heard.” Calum laughs, startling himself with it. 

“You’re telling me?” he says, still a little hesitantly, dipping his toes in before he sticks his foot and then his leg and then his torso in. “Imagine having to hear it every single night and listen to Liam talking about how it’s mega, yeah, fucking mega, Cal, and it makes perfect fucking sense and all, don’t know what you’re on about...eeyar, Noel, what is it about?” Michael laughs, clear and amused, and Calum can’t help the way it makes his own lips quirk up in a smile, something warm spreading from his ears to his heart at the sound. 

“You do a fucking good Liam impression,” Michael says, and Calum snorts, gaining confidence. 

“You would too if you had to spend as much time with him as I do,” he says. “Cunt never shuts up.” Michael grins. 

“Seems like a laugh, though,” he says. 

“Yeah, if you know you can give him back to his handler after fifteen minutes,” Calum says, and Michael laughs again. It’s fucking heady, the feeling of making Michael laugh like that, makes Calum want to dredge up every memory he has and pick it apart until he has a whole fucking stand-up routine just for Michael. 

“Liam with a handler?” Michael sounds amused. “I don’t even want to imagine the salary he’d have to offer for someone to take that job.” 

“Salary?” Calum echoes, with a grin. “Fucking hell, don’t give Noel ideas. The prick gets paid enough already.” Michael cocks his head at that, a curious frown appearing on his face. 

“Noel?” he echoes, and Calum nods. “Don’t they hate each other?” Calum blinks. 

“D’you think we’d be here if they did?” he says, and Michael opens his mouth, then closes it again, and his brow furrows further. 

“Huh,” he says, sounding a little surprised. “But- y’know.” Calum does know. He knows what it looks like to anyone who doesn’t look closer than the black eyes and split lips, which is exactly where Liam and Noel both want people to stop looking. Neither of them can stand to be weak or vulnerable, and their greatest vulnerability is each other, so it’s better to keep everyone else at arm’s length, stop them from seeing how to get to either of them. That, and they really do hate each other half the time. 

“Well, they don’t, and they do. But you can’t really spend a lot of time with Liam or Noel and not hate them,” Calum says. “And you can’t spend a lot of time with either of them and not love them, either.” Michael hums, like he’s mulling it over. 

“Your band shouldn’t work,” he says, and Calum laughs. 

“I know,” he says, and Michael grins back at him. God, it feels oddly surreal and yet like the most natural thing in the world, laughing and joking and listening to Michael chat shit about his best friends like that. “But imagine what we’d be like if Noel and Liam were normal.” Michael pulls a face. 

“You’d be like, U2 or something,” he says, and Calum scoffs. 

“U2?” he echoes. “Fuck off. Bono’s mental.” 

“Yeah, but what about the rest of them?” Michael points out. “Bet Larry Mullen goes home after a gig and sits in front of the fire with a pipe and a cup of tea.” 

“Larry who?” Michael grins. 

“Exactly,” he says, and Calum just grins back at him, relishing the way his fingertips are tingling at this new rapport, this foray into new and yet familiar territory. His stomach feels lighter now, too, almost empty, even, and- oh. Yeah. He hasn’t eaten yet. 

As if on cue, his stomach growls loudly, and Michael snorts. 

“Fuck off,” Calum says, but he’s still smiling. 

“What d’you fancy for lunch?” Michael says, stretching his arms out in front of him, a comfortable, trusting move. It catches Calum off-guard, making him reply a moment too late, if the frown on Michael’s face is anything to go by. 

“What’s going?” 

“Fish and chips?” Michael suggests, as he stands up. “Can’t go wrong with fish and chips, can you?” 

“You’ve clearly never been to America,” Calum says darkly, getting to his feet, and Michael laughs, and Calum’s stomach feels like it’s soaring and sinking at the same time. 

“I’m just not stupid enough to try and get any there,” he says, grinning at Calum as he heads for the living room door, pausing halfway there to look over his shoulder at Calum.

"Coming?" It's just one word, but Michael says it so casually, says it like he used to when they were skipping school, or when they were going to get drunk in the park, or when he was about to get in the shower, and it sends something exhilarating and powerful coursing through him, washing over him from head to toe. It's a little slice of them, the first peek at what was and what could still be.

"'Course." He always would. 

taglist: @callmeboatboy @sadistmichael @clumsyclifford @angel-cal @tirednotflirting @cthofficial @tigerteeff @haikucal @queer-5sos @i-am-wierd-always @stupidfuckimgspam @bloodyoathcal @pixiegrl @pxrxmoore @currentlyupcalsass @clumthood @another-lonely-heart @calumscalm

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[f1]

Verstappen sets clear goal for himself and Red Bull as F1 season resumes at Zandvoort

Max Verstappen has stated that he and Red Bull are fully focused on “doing the same thing” as F1 returns to action at the Dutch Grand Prix this weekend – with both the driver and team looking to continue their winning runs. Verstappen arrives on home soil having won the last eight races on the bounce, meaning he can draw level with Sebastian Vettel’s all-time record of nine if he triumphs again around the tight, twisty Zandvoort circuit. LIVE COVERAGE: Follow all the build-up ahead of the Dutch Grand Prix weekend Red Bull, meanwhile, are pushing to extend their run of 13 successive race wins, stretching back to last year’s Abu Dhabi season finale, having recently surpassed McLaren’s previous record of 11 from the 1988 campaign. After a “pretty relaxed” summer break that involved “sleeping a lot” and spending time with family, Verstappen shared some insight into how he and the Milton Keynes operation will be approaching the second half of 2023. This feature is currently not available because you need to provide consent to functional cookies. Please update your cookie preferences Max Verstappen looks back at his dominant 2023 season so far “Just try to keep on doing the same thing – that would be nice,” said the reigning double world champion. “But, of course, after a break, you never know how you get back into things. “Also [with] the track, and the weather that is forecast, I think it’s always a bit more tricky. We’ll see. We have a quick car, but it’s again about putting everything together to have a really strong weekend.” READ MORE: Haas retain Magnussen and Hulkenberg as drivers for 2024 Verstappen was then asked about Red Bull’s chances of maintaining their 100% victory record in the races to come, to which he replied: “Honestly, I don’t think we really think about it too much. Verstappen could make more F1 history in front of his passionate fans this weekend “We just want to look ahead and try to always bring the best possible car to the track. I think everyone is always trying to prepare in that way. “Of course, we want to win here, there’s no secret about that. It’s one of my favourite places to be, and to win is… It’s always very special here, so for sure that’s the target for the weekend.” DESTINATION GUIDE: What fans can eat, see and do when they visit Zandvoort for the Dutch Grand Prix Prior to the weekend, Red Bull sit 256 points clear of Mercedes in the constructors’ standings, while Verstappen is 125 up on team mate Sergio Perez in the drivers’. via Formula 1 News https://www.formula1.com

[splendidsp-blog]

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[magistralucis]

Rammstein @ Stadium MK, 06 July 2019 [Review]

Just over a week ago, I saw one of the greatest shows in my life.

I dedicate lengthy reviews to most concerts I’ve been to. R+ most definitely merit one, and I like to think this one turned out very nice and long, with plenty of images in between. Nevertheless, I omitted a lot more details this time than I usually do, because:

My pre-show adventures were abnormally long (12+ hours wait).

I made irl queue buddies whose identities aren’t up to me to release.

I’ve talked to people who plan to attend future tour dates and do not want to be spoiled on what R+ has planned. I usually put my reviews below a cut to prevent spoilers, but it doesn’t work on mobile as well.

So, a compromise: I commented on every song on the setlist, but I kept to general comments for new content. There are things R+ brought out this year that you really need to see with your own eyes. But I can’t completely refuse to talk about new things, otherwise that’s only half a review. Those who are wary of all spoilers, please, read at your own risk.

Read on for more. Mobile users, be warned this is a very long post.

----------------------------

The Journey (+ Queue Adventures)

This show wasn’t in London. You won’t read about London commutes or opinions about the London Underground in this section for once. Too bad the journey to Milton Keynes fucking sucked. It wasn’t commuting back and forth between Rammstein and my hotel that was the problem. In fact, going back home from Milton Keynes was very simple. But getting there? My God. Only a few things went pear-shaped, and I have nobody but myself to blame for the things that went wrong, but I was not prepared for the discrepancy between MK and the areas surrounding it. Future me, book your hotels and transport in Central Milton Keynes next time.

I will never put myself in the mercy of so many taxis in my life again. Well, I mean, two. Still two too many.

A quick note about Milton Keynes for non-UK residents. It’s probably the most organized city in this country. Milton Keynes is modern and grid-planned, unlike most other cities here which have grown organically and have alleys and hills and cobblestones all over the place. All the roads in MK are in straight lines or clear roundabouts, buildings/facilities are in logical places, and it’s widely considered to be a very easy place to navigate. It’d have been nice to experience literally any of that during most of my journey, because dumbass booked a hotel in the villages around Milton Keynes rather than the city itself. The villages are serene and calming, but they absofuckinglutely do not adhere to any such thing as a grid plan and getting around them was difficult. This was not helped by the fact that the very first leg of the journey, Brighton to London, was delayed for an hour due to an accident on the motorway. I missed the connection to Milton Keynes as a result.

Fuckign.

That was one inconvenience which was not in any way my fault whatsoever, and I’m still bitter that it nearly ruined my entire journey. At least trains between London to Milton Keynes are very common, and it’s only half an hour. So ultimately, after an extra fifteen quid, I arrived right on time. Commuting to the hotel was much harder, because it was a very hot day, and the trains to these villages come by more infrequently. But at least they were there, I hadn’t packed a very heavy load, and when I finally reached the hotel I was given a cottage room all to myself which was cool and comfortably out of the way. There was a huge bathtub. Some nice free toiletries. Complimentary brandy. Oh, hotel, why couldn’t you have been a little closer to the city centre?

But, whatever. I got there. I took the Ls I deserved, and I didn’t pay too high a price for the one I didn’t deserve. I’d brought more than enough money to cover it, because I’d known I would need to shell out extra for transport on the day of the concert. That thought process is universal among concertgoers; I think I handled that as well I could have. I ate dinner, packed a bag, and fell asleep.

That was Friday. Saturday the 6th I will cover in bullet points, from waking up to front row, because most of my Saturday consisted of nothing but waiting for Rammstein. I’m usually more detailed about my preshow life, but there’s a line between an entertaining diary entry and making people slog through fifteen hours of Rammstein-not-happening. Let’s go.

4am. Up nice and early. I force down breakfast. I have a small bag packed with necessities, and a plastic bag intended to be disposed of at the concert: the latter contains energy bars, satsumas (for hydration), some dried salami, and two bottles of water. That is all I’m going to be eating for the rest of the day.

5:45am. Taxi to Stadium MK. It costs exactly a tenner. I decide that when I’m heading back from the concert, I’m willing to pay up to double this amount. A higher price surge will mean I’ll have to wait.

6am. Queuing adventures begin. There are already four people ahead of me; the people at the very front have been waiting since 3am. I’m at Gate 5, closest to front row out of all the other available gates in the stadium. There are three queue lines already formed with metal barriers, separated by standing, seats, and accessible/disabled, but there is a taller barricade in front of it which prevents us from going in there. We are too early even for that.

Stadium doors open at five, R+ comes on at eight. This is going to be a ridiculous haul.

7am. Up to ten people in the queue. The first six of us in the queue begin talking. These people are the aforementioned queue buddies who will subsequently keep my place in line during bathroom breaks, give me much concert wisdom, and preserve our places for front row. The human capacity to spontaneously begin caring for one another at concerts is what I like best about concert culture, especially metalhead culture. Ain’t no other home I’ve found like with fellow metalheads.

9:30am. I am really tired. The people right behind me have homebrewed a sunshade out of plastic picnic mats across the barriers. Half of us are collapsed on the asphalt, sleeping.

10:13am. Bathroom break. Me and one other girl leave the queue to the 24h McDonalds to make use of theirs. I will revisit this McDonalds roughly 14 hours from now, this time to contribute actual business.

12pm. People in queue are significantly more alert because security guys have started milling around. The barricades for the main queue lines will be removed around 3pm.

1:30pm. One last bathroom break. We visit the nearby Asda, because it’s becoming evident the area is flooded with R+ fans and the restaurants are demanding they engage with actual business before using their bathrooms. Asda has no such issue.

3pm. Barricades finally open and I make it to the front of the line once more. We’re allowed a single 500ml bottle of water with us but then they FUCKING HIT US AGAIN WITH THE NO BOTTLE CAP BULLSHIT. Seriously it’s more of a hazard to have open bottles spilling water everywhere for the love of God just let us keep our bottle caps. I discard my original cap, but what I didn’t tell security was that I had a sports cap from a separate bottle from earlier hidden in the depths of my jacket. Once I’m in, I just screw that on, and I am fine and dandy.

5PM FUCKING DOORS ARE OPEN GO GO GO-

-STAIRS? S T A   IR S??? AIN’T NOBODY FUCKING TELL ME ABOUT STAIRS ? 1!?@?3@?@/2?3?#

After a wild scramble I score front row nonetheless. Last time I was front row for Rammstein, I was in front of Richard; this time I choose Paul’s side.

Around 6pm it begins to rain. In the stadium.

6:30pm. I am really cold. I am shivering despite the thousands of people rubbing shoulders beside and all around me, and it’s still 1hrs 30mins until R+ show up. They cannot come on fast enough. I have never wanted so much to be toasted like a marshmallow.

7pm. The opener comes on - Jatekok, a classical pianist duo who covered most of Sehnsucht over a half-hour period. They are all the way over at the B-stage however, and while I can hear them, being a short woman at front row essentially means I forfeit anything that happens on the B-stage. It’s too far back, and there are too many people between me and the stage for me to see anything.

Rammstein came on at 8pm to a multi-language announcement asking the audience not to film the performance. The abundance of full-length videos on youtube depicting exactly that is proof that this request was not kept, but I digress. I’m assuming most people reading this review are Rammstein fans, or or know how each song’s ‘performance’ goes, so a minute-by-minute play will be unnecessary. My comments are general, but hopefully insightful.

----------------------------

01. Was ich liebe (Rammstein)

Check this shit out!

This screen will continue to be relevant throughout the concert. Half the time it’s displaying the logo, and half the time... well, you’ll have to see 😂 R+ have opted for a relatively calm start in this tour. The bandmates appear one by one to the intro, lingering at the front of the stage (save for Schneider) until Till appears.

All the bandmates’ outfits. So far a theme is uncertain. Or maybe it’s just that Flake is the odd one out. He sparkles most golden throughout the entire concert. He still has the treadmill arrangement going. If anything he’s gotten more stage-confident and hilarious since the last time I saw him.

Till’s outfit goes hot and serious and heavy. He will only keep the coat on for ‘Was ich liebe’, which is perfectly reasonable; it’s stopped raining by this time and the venue is warm-ish, though clouded. As for ‘Was ich liebe’ as a song, I’m fond of it. I am, however, surprised to see that it’s the opener. This is not a complaint: in retrospect, R+ paced out the songs from their recent album very cleverly throughout the concert, alternating between their older hits and building up to the major climaxes in the middle (songs 7-14). It was just a bit of a surprise at the time.

I see the most of this cheerful lil’ bastard through the show. Paul will feature heavily in my images of this night.

02. Links 2-3-4 (Mutter)

Storytime. Kinda. I had never watched the music video of ‘Links 2-3-4′ until the day of this concert. I’ve always known one existed, I just didn’t watch it because it’s full of ants and insects are my number one phobia. I haven’t willingly sought out things with insects in it for years, and I wasn’t going to start any time soon. This self-imposed ban on watching the video was broken in Stadium MK because while we were waiting, they were marathoning every single R+ music video on a large screen off to the side of the stage. I watched the whole thing then because I might as well; what the hell else was I gonna do, leave the front row?

It was actually a pretty good video once I got past the CGI bugs ick factor of it. This has nothing to do with the actual live version of the song. Why the hell have I written so much about this? Till removes his heavy coat almost as soon as the song begins. Paul starts properly fucking around with his mic. I’m seeing the virtues of being on Paul’s side very early on, and I finally get what people mean by having ‘met Paul’s eyes’ during the concert. It’s not that he’s focused on the one person, at least not as far as he outwardly presents himself, but he does seem to have a specific zone in which he regards the audience. He takes time to meet eyes with various people, smile, and acknowledge particular situations.

03. Tattoo (Rammstein)

Till is now dressed suitably for the Tillhammer to come out in full force. I’m not huge on ‘Tattoo’ as a song, but this is where Till really starts to gravitate towards either side of the stage, rather than at dead center. After shenanigans with Paul, as seen above, he comes over to Paul’s side (where I am) and stays for the first verse and the first ‘zeig mir deins, ich zeig' mir deins’ chorus.

I like to think we make eye contact, but there are thousands of people behind me and he’s not an eye contact person. Just a fleeting thought.

Also I just went to look at one of the aforementioned full-length videos of this concert and someone was bouncing around an inflatable shark (?) behind me. How did they get that in? Hide it deflated in one’s clothes then inflate it while in the stadium?

04. Sehnsucht (Sehnsucht)

The last strands of ‘Tattoo’ fade immediately into ‘Sehnsucht’ with no time for a break. Till removes another layer of outerwear. Fireworks burst out at every beat leading up to the main part of the song. In retrospect, discounting their fiery entrance, ‘Sehnsucht’ is really the point where you can tell they’re warming up the pyrotechnics. I don’t remember any particular interaction between Till or the guitarists, as from what I can remember Till was busy Tillhammering at the center stage; he will move around more freely later. My memories of this song are loving but blurred, because I got into headbanging with the girls beside me and their hair was grazing my arms something awful. I have similar length hair, however, so I’m sure I was doing the same to them.

God ‘Sehnsucht’ is so good. I always think of the Live Aus Berlin performance where Till was bashing the mic against his forehead when I hear this song. Hits me right in the spot every time.

Also: bonus Richard.

05. Zeig dich (Rammstein)

*sick guitar riffs* ‘Zeig! Dich!’

Fuck yeah. The heat from those firebursts are brief but incredible. Now I feel most comfortable and toasted. Black smoke drifts into the sky.

Also significant ymmv based on location, but this is only about the people around and behind me: come on guys, seriously? You don’t know the lyrics! This is the third song from Rammstein already and you’ve been quiet all three times! I however give them credit for being so well behaved through the show. People further to the right of me were getting dragged out all over the place.

06. Mein Herz brennt (Mutter)

Till trolls us with the first instance of ‘mein Herz brennt’, as the main riff doesn’t immediately begin after these words in this performance. He has a laugh about this. Other than that, the performance is as you’d expect, complete with heart pyrotechnics towards the end.

Olli comes very close to me at the halfway point. I'm starting to worry he’s going to spend the entire concert dressed like this, though the concern is unwarranted. It seems such a hot thing to be wearing.

07. Puppe (Rammstein)

ich rEISS' DER PUPPE den KOPF! AB!

ja, ich REISS' DER PUPPE den KOPF! AB!

UND DANN BEISS’ ICH DER PUPPE DEN H̷AL҉S̕ ĄA̡AA͟B̵!

E̷҉S̀͡͞ ҉̶ĢE͞͝H̷͡T͘ ̢́M͜҉I̵͜R ́͠͝N̷̴Í̷C͟͡͞H̸̀T̛̀ G̡̕U̡҉̀U̵̕U͡͠U҉UU̢U͡T̷̨̛

Make sure you see this performance live, preferably up close. It’s beyond words.

08. Heirate mich (Herzeleid)

When I was in the queue I struck up a conversation with one of my queue buddies about what songs might be on the setlist. She had been front row for the concert in Berlin prior to this, so she already knew what we were getting into. I requested no spoilers in advance, which she kept to - but then our conversation moved to the Herzeleid-Sehnsucht era and I mentioned how I’d love to see a live performance of ‘Heirate mich’ again. It was always a wistful sadness of mine that I was born too damned early to see Till doing this.

Not that I said outright Tillchard was the reason I liked this song.

In retrospect, she had a twinkle in her eye when I said this, because she knew that this song was on the setlist. I did not see it coming. I kept myself spoiler-free from day one of buying tickets to the actual concert itself, so it was a genuine surprise when the intro to ‘Heirate mich’ started playing. Surprise and confusion with a heaping side of mother fucking excuse me when I recognized what it was.

Oh I went hog wild, guys.

Till does not do the dragging himself onto his knees thing in the current tour, which I think is understandable. His knees weren’t amazing twenty years ago and they are presumably even less so now. It’s a very straightforward performance, winding down to prepare for the real showstoppers - but my old wish was finally granted, Till sounded wonderful in both song and narrative, and I came away most satisfied. 11/10 would listen again.

09. Diamant (Rammstein)

Half the band takes a break here. Flake comes down from the keyboards to sit on the stage and Olli sits beside him, providing the bass for this short beautiful little ballad. There are no fancy pyrotechnics here, nor much stage movement; it’s a sequence to make the audience aware of the overheard screen, imo, in case ‘Puppe’ didn’t do a good enough job of it. The entire performance is broadcast on that screen with the camera turning between Olli, Till, and Flake.

Till’s voice is beautiful. It’s the most legitimately serene Rammstein performance I’ve ever seen live. They have their share of ballads - ‘Ohne dich’ will also feature later in the concert - but ‘Diamant’ is probably the most low-key of them all.

10. Deutschland (Richard Z. Kruspe Remix) / Deutschland (Rammstein)

I...

???

?????

?!?!?!?!?!!?!?!?!?!

I have no words. Like ‘Puppe’, you really need to see this entire sequence live. I can say three things, however, and two are about Richard: 1) ‘Deutschland’ comes in two flavours in the tour, the second one being the glorious full version in the main album, 2) Richard avoids sounding devilish in his backing vocals (‘du hast, du hast, du hast, du hast... so heiß, so heiß, so heiß, so heiß’ etc), though I cannot guarantee he will always be as tuneful in future performances, and 3) he will not go of that coat until ‘Du hast’. DJ Kruspe is in the house and only the unrelenting flow of time can part him from his swaggity swag fluffcoat.

But I... well, I keep remembering Till’s pink shrug every time I look at it. Remember back when we fawned over that as the brand new Rammstein outfit?

Oh my God I’ve gotten so old.

11. Radio (Rammstein)

This is probably my second favourite song of the new album and they deliver. Because ‘Deutschland’ was, well, ‘Deutschland’, it comes across as relatively low-key compared to what came before (and will after), but I like it like that. During the bridge ‘Ra-di-o... radio’ part, Paul and Richard come out with their own small synths to recreate that sound. It’s so peppy.

Paul does another small dance. Why did I neglect being on Paul’s side until now? This is great.

12. Mein Teil (Reise, Reise)

I’m half ashamed to say I spent this entire performance filming it instead of rocking out. I wanted to save it that much. It was that good.

No, it’s not fundamentally different to other performances of ‘Mein Teil’. Till keeps his usual outfit, Flake’s in the pot, there is a pot, etc. However, the pyrotechnics have changed significantly, and let’s just say that Flake endures a hell of a lot more than previous incarnations.

And comes out of it more sprightly than before, somehow.

Marry me.

Also a bonus consequence of being front row: after this song, Till comes down the stage and walks along the barrier shaking/slapping hands with people. In his murderchef outfit. I was one of many who managed to touch his hand. It really is a very quick walk, so you’ll have to be ready with hand already out and in reaching distance (difficult if you’re short) if you want to partake in this encounter, but it does happen. Future concertgoers watch out for something like this maybe.

13. Du hast (Sehnsucht)

Can you really call it a live performance of ‘Du hast’ if the audience isn’t singing at least 50% of it in Till’s stead? But then, when else do we have that opportunity. Milton Keynes audience does not disappoint.

Also Till shoots some excellent fireworks that travels across the length of the stadium and back before crashing back onstage. I still hear their whistles in my mind. Night is beginning to fall for real, and it’s a fantastic time to be ramping up the fireworks. Evidently R+ think the same, because...

14. Sonne (Mutter)

Daaaaaaaaammnn!!!

I have a video of this performance, but honestly it is not that useful for assessing what’s happening onstage. There is just too much fire. The video whites out continuously from all the flames mere feet away from us. ‘Sonne’ has always been a facemelting showstopper for Rammstein during live shows, but they’ve really gone above and beyond this year: the arena truly lights up like the sun for the full duration of the song. I highly recommend getting front row for this, right in front of where you can see the pyrotechnics are installed in the above gif. (Between main speakers, essentially.) Your face will burn off even more than it usually burns off during a R+ concert, and you will enjoy every minute of it.

15. Ohne dich (Reise, Reise)

Till’s in very good condition tonight. How he pulls off the slow ballads is how I tend to gauge his voice is from night to night, and he doesn’t let us down here either. The entire front row slow waves to this song, which is something I’m proud of being a part of. The girl to the left of me is weeping. The seriousness of this song still does not prevent Flake fucking around. It wouldn’t do R+ performances justice if he wasn’t like this.

‘Ohne dich’ is considered the first ‘ending’ of the concert, meaning in reality the band’s first departure from the main stage. All six members take an initial bow before moving to the B-stage. They will return to the main stage shortly afterwards for further encores.

16. Engel (Sehnsucht)

Pros: The opening act return in their gorgeous outfits and pianos, and act as the piano instrumental for this performance.

Cons: It’s on the B-stage. I sure heard this song but didn’t see anything. God damnit I hate being five feet four.

They provide a karaoke for people exactly in my situation, though. That’s at least something 😂

17. Ausländer (Rammstein)

You thought one R+ boat ride was awesome? HOW ABOUT THREE.

I am going to cry. Look at it. It’s literally a Welcome sign. The sentiment of the music video to ‘Ausländer’ is perfectly retained as they surf across the audience from the B-stage.

Also bonus ~✨👀 unintentional Tillchard moment 👀✨~ as Richard has a little slip on his way out of the boat. He was not hurt and was back onstage quickly. All this before the song even begins. I may need to upload the video of this moment.

‘Ausländer’ itself I have slightly more mixed feelings for. The song is fantastic and I have no complaints about the album version, and hearing Till cry out ‘я люблю тебя’ is always a plus. The problem with the live version is simply that the drums are too loud during the chorus: instead of a clearly enunciated ‘Ich bin Aus-län-der!’ with a drumbeat on each syllable, one hears ‘*THUD* *THUD* Aus-län-*THUD*!’. I was wearing earplugs which might have affected the quality somewhat, but people who weren’t wearing any were talking about this after the show as well, and after watching videos of the Milton Keynes performance I’m sure the drums were too loud. Your mileage may vary on whether this is a desirable effect - it lets the audience fills in the ‘ich bin’ part, I suppose - but I feel Till was unnecessarily drowned out.

18. Du riechst so gut (Herzeleid)

For me, the highlight of this song in the live version is always, always, always Richard’s evil scream-growl ‘DU RIECHST SO GUUUUUUUUUUUT’ (example here for reference). He delivers yet again.

19. Pussy (Liebe Ist Für Alle Da)

On the whole, this performance is largely unaltered from how it usually goes. Till gestures for the audience to sing the first couple of lines, there is a dick cannon that shoots something at the audience, and Till mans the dick cannon. Last time I saw them from front row, we were all covered in a very thick white foam; this time it was bubbles, followed by a shower of white confetti. The combination was less clinging than the foam, somehow, much more pleasant to be showered with.

Only Rammstein could make me write such a sentence about dick cannons.

Speaking of the dick cannon, though, I engaged in some discussion about it while I was waiting for the performance. This cannon has had a troubled existence, as R+ fans would know: sometimes it straight up hasn’t worked, and it’s been redesigned several times, ranging from a disturbingly realistic look to a flesh-coloured polygonal creation. This current version is the least realistic of all the dick cannons R+ have ever used. It’s just like, metal. Visibly. They haven’t gone to the extra trouble of painting it flesh-coloured. My guess is that this is because it fits with their current chrome/dark aesthetics better, R+ aren’t a band to neglect that kind of detail. As long as it works and the audience is aptly showered, what’s the problem? Let’s do it quick! 😀 And now this is entirely too many words about dick cannons, so I’ll move on.

20. Rammstein (Herzeleid)

‘Ramm-stein!’

Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful. It is past ten o’clock and the skies have gotten dark, though not so dark you can’t see the black smoke spiraling into the air with each burst of fire. A plane flies by far above into the distance and I appreciate the poetic irony. I think I would have been happy enough if they’d ended the performance on this note, but there’s one last song left.

21. Ich will (Mutter)

I can’t think of a better finale.

This song is exactly what you’d expect, with an additional sprinkle of fireworks punctuating every pause in the lines ‘Seht ihr mich? / Versteht ihr mich? / Fühlt ihr mich? / Hört ihr mich?’. Like always, audience participation is mandatory, as is the audience showing off their hands. It is the perfect way to end the show: it’s a classic favourite, it’s neither too bright nor too grim (avoids ending on a downer note), and it’s a song exclusively written to highlight a togetherness between band and audience. ‘Ich will’ could end every R+ concert it features in, in my opinion, regardless of theme or era... and it will always be appropriate.

The concert really ends after that. It helps that Till addresses his farewell to us as ‘fucking Milton Keynes’ (in a wholly fond way) before they depart. I won’t speak about the details of how they leave, because that’s almost a small show of its own, but trust me when I say I was in tears.

I say that like that didn’t happen at least three times during the concert.

----------------------------

After it’s all over, I... don’t get to go back to my hotel and sleep. Not after a lot of waiting, anyway. Over 30,000 people are trying to leave this stadium all at once, the traffic congestion is awful and there are pretty much no taxis/uber rides available in the couple of hours following the concert. I eventually end up sitting in the McDonalds (only 24hr restaurant nearby) with queue buddies until roughly 1am until the surge goes down and I can pay the amount I promised myself for my uber.

I could have gone back earlier. I budgeted over a hundred pounds to see myself through the price surge, in case it didn’t go down as quickly as I hoped, or if I urgently needed to get myself out of danger. It was just that the predictor was showing something like fifty to eighty quid for a ten-minute ride back to my hotel and, like. Fuck that. There’s being able to ‘afford’ it, and then being able to afford it, and I can think of better ways to spend fifty pounds.

And to be honest, after over a half day of hunger, even McDonalds was one of those better places. I had a meal and a Sprite before I could get out of there. It was probably the first time I’d had something resembling a legit meal in two days and if I hadn’t been so ecstatic I think I’d have been depressed. Then I got back to my hotel. Made myself a hot chocolate with brandy. Passed out on my bed around 3am, then got back up around 7am to enjoy a nice morning bath and get myself back home. It was around 5pm on Sunday when I returned to Brighton, ears still ringing, feeling on cloud nine.

So that’s me. Future concertgoers, take as many opportunities as possible to go see Rammstein’s current tour live. Front row may be near impossible if you aren’t a LIFAD member and/or get pre-releases for the Feuer Zone (although Milton Keynes didn’t have that) but try to get as close as possible, anyway. It is not an experience to be missed.

Though also bring an umbrella, maybe. If your stadium allows it. It was a fucking trip surviving 12+ hours in the great outdoors and then immediately being rained on while on front row 😰

[sleepyverstappens]

Let me share this whole new world with you (Chapter 3/6)

Title: Let me share this whole new world with you

Pairing: Daniel Ricciardo/Max Verstappen

Rating: Gen/PG

Word Count: 5482

Tags: Oliver Verstappen-Ricciardo, Original Child Character, 5+1

Summary: Time for some home GPs :D

A/N:  Just a reminder, Max talks Dutch with Oliver when he’s younger/alone with him. Apart from a few Dutch sentences/words, that should be clear enough through context, but will also be translated in the end notes, most of it is written in English but in italics to indicate that it’s spoken in Dutch.

Read chapter 3 or Read from the start

2) Melbourne, Zandvoort & Monaco 2024

Melbourne 2024

Oliver’s tiny hand is clutching onto his own as they walk into the Red Bull garage, big headphones already covering his ears as engines are revved. His wispy blond hair is almost white from the sun it had gotten during the winter break spend in Australia and is now starting to fall over his eyes, in desperate need of a haircut.

“You stay with Vicky yeah, Papa’s gotta go drive the car now,” he said trying to push the strands of hair from Oliver’s eyes one last time.

“‘kay Papa, be safe,” the little boy mumbled back, the words always tugging at his heartstrings. He’d picked them up from his mum, the words always said by her every time he stepped into the car, whether it was in person or via text.

“I will Oli.”

After 2 weeks of testing in Spain and plenty of time spend in the Red Bull and Renault factories, winter break was now really over, the first practice session of the season about to start. Pre-season hadn’t been the easiest on them. Even with Enstone and Milton Keynes only being an hour apart, their rental place somewhere in the middle, they’d barely gotten the time to spend together, both of them exhausted from long days at the factory. They’d both crashed pretty much as soon as they’d managed to get Oli to sleep. At least with testing they’d had to be on track opposite each other, one of them getting to spend their day with their son as the other worked up miles on the racetrack.  

Now though they were finally back in Melbourne. He loved Melbourne, a fresh start to a new season where everything was possible again. Over the years he’d been with Daniel it had become sort of a home race for him as well. A home race without the busy schedule that Zandvoort or Spa brought. While for Daniel it meant a jam packed schedule and barely any time for his family, for Max it meant he got to spend some time with his extended family. Grace, Joe and Michelle always happy to have Max to keep them company whilst their son and brother was rushed about the circuit. And of course these last two years they had all been excited to get to spend some extra time with their grandson and nephew as well.

He grabs his helmet and glances back at his son one more time, the boy happily playing with the toy car his assistant had given him. The bright yellow Renault shirt he’s wearing is clashing terribly with the colours around them, but even though Oliver had insisted on going with his papa today he’d refused to wear the Red Bull shirt to go along with it. No amount of playful teasing from the Red Bull crew had made him want to change it either, the boy happy in his ‘nana shirt.

With how quickly Oliver seemed to change his mind nowadays, the terrible twos finally rearing their ugly head just a few months before he would turn three, he would probably insist on wearing his Red Bull shirt at Renault on race day. He might be a handful at times, but Max loved him with all his being and he loved having him at the track with them.

---

Come race day he’s on his own at the garage, Oliver at Renault to spend time with Daniel’s family, it’s his home grand prix after all. It doesn’t mean Max doesn’t miss seeing his boy at the back of the garage though, his toothy grin the last thing he sees before strapping himself into the number 33 car. It makes him miss the old days sometimes, the days when he’d only have to look towards the other side of the garage to see curly hair and a bright smile. What he’d give to have been able to share that with his son, their son. Both of them giving him a kiss on each cheek for luck before they jumped into the car on their respective side of the garage.

It would never be like that, Alex now a permanent fixture on the other side of the garage, the man now his teammate for longer than Daniel had been. Them parting ways, so to speak, had probably been for the best. Made it easier for them to separate work and home, their battles now with their respective teams rather than each other.  

He’s shaken from his thought by Tom handing him his helmet, reminding him that there was installation lap to be driven, the clock steadily ticking down to 16.10.  

Zandvoort 2024

Home races were always special, while he was lucky to have fans come out in droves to quite a few tracks, the stands turning orange all over the world, Zandvoort was something else. The success of the first three years had made sure that Zandvoort would be a permanent fixture on the race calendar for the foreseeable future. And whilst the crowd was still mostly orange in its 5th year on the calendar he was happy to see that more and more different coloured specks had started to show up in the crowd. It’s what made the sport so special after all, there weren’t just the fans of two teams there like in football, there was a mixture of fans, even people who changed their shirts on each day of the weekend not being able to choose a favourite.

It was still all very hectic though, he’d flown into the Netherlands on Monday and had had pretty much every minute of his day scheduled from then on. Daniel and Oliver had followed on Wednesday, the hugs from his family a welcome reprieve from all the formal handshakes and (fake) nicery from the last few days.

Today hadn’t been much better, a room of bored looking media people staring at him, Lando, George and Daniil followed by a multitude of microphones waiting for him in the press pen. The pen was empty of other drivers by the time he’d been done with his last interview. He’d looked over at Vicky expecting her to tell him where he was needed next, but she hadn’t had anything planned for the next hour or two. Which is how he’d found himself here, his shoes getting filled with sand as he climbed down from the dune and onto the beach.

It wasn’t all that warm yet, the winds were strong and would surely be a big factor during the weekend, making him zip up his hoodie as he walked towards his family. He could see Victoria chasing after Oliver near the shore, his mum and Daniel chatting, sat atop a giant spread out blanket.

None of them had spotted him yet, only Victoria knowing that he had found himself some free time and was coming over, happy to help him surprise the others. He continued walking towards them, his shoes collecting more and more sand, and saw Oliver turn around still trying to avoid getting caught by his auntie. The second Oliver spotted him he was running towards him, yelling out Papa! and alerting the others of his presence. Max grinned as Oli jumped into his arms, pressing a kiss against the boy’s forehead as his son immediately started telling him all about his day.

“Hey,” he greeted his family, settling down next to them, Oli cuddling up on his lap.

“Hey, I thought you were busy for the rest of the day?” Dan asked him before pressing a kiss against his lips, a curious smile on his face when they drew apart again.

“I thought so as well, but Vicky doesn’t need me again until 4. Victoria told me you guys were on the beach and I didn’t want to miss that did I?” He addressed the last part to Oliver, bouncing him in his lap a little and ruffling his hair making the little boy giggle.

“Papa, kasteel?”

“You want to build a castle? Okay then go get your bucket.”

Soon enough not only his shoes were filled with sand, his hair and clothes covered by the sand as well, but an impressive, if he said so himself, sandcastle was standing proud in front of him.

“Come on Oli, let’s fill the moat to finish our showpiece.” He hoisted Oliver up onto his shoulders and ran over towards the sea, the plastic bucket hitting him in the head as he went, but the giggles floating along the wind more than made up for it.

The racing started tomorrow, the campsites already filled with thousands of people dressed in orange, but this right now is what he loved the most. He had never expected himself to love something more than racing, his whole life had been revolved around the sport, but now that he had this, a family of his own he’d give it up in a second if someone made him choose.

Monaco 2024

“Hello little man, are you lost?” They heard Lewis say, Oliver having ran right into him, the Brit’s hands reaching out for him before he could tumble over.

“Up?” Oli requested, hands already reaching up for Lewis, head tilted backwards with what were surely his best puppy dog eyes. They could see the other man melt before their eyes, one of Oliver’s many victims this weekend.

“You don’t have to,” Dan jumps in, but before the words could even fully leave his mouth Oliver was already in Lewis’ arms, the little boy happily snuggling his head against the man’s chest.

“It’s okay, I love kids, makes me miss when my cousins were this small. Don’t get me wrong I love playing soccer and games with them, but most of them are at that age now where they’re refusing cuddles.”

“Oh but you haven’t seen a two-year-old throwing a tantrum huh, uncle,” Dan said with a wink, clearly not having forgotten the fit Oliver threw earlier that morning, the boy refusing to eat his toast because it was cut into squares instead of triangles. Daniel had been close to pulling his hair out before Max had come into the kitchen after his shower and reminded him that squares could be cut into triangles, the boy’s cries stopping as soon as Max had cut the first one in half.  

Dan and Lewis fall into an easy conversation then, Oli sucking his thumb, eyes flicking between the two adults intently. Max should probably join in, instead of just standing here, but he can’t help but let his mind wander. He’d seen Lewis change a bit during this season, it was only the 7th race of the year, but the fact that these would be Lewis’ last races had shown a different side of the man. He would never refuse to talk to you if you started up a conversation before, but would usually stick to himself if he could. Nowadays he was happy to mingle with the rest of them. Noise cancelling earphones exchanged for friendly conversations on the drivers parades, relaxed walks through the paddock rather than quick scooter rides right into the garage. It made Max wonder whether he would change, once his time came. Not that that would be any time soon if it was up to him.  

Lewis’ announcement hadn’t exactly been a shock to people, 39 was already a pretty old age to retire, if you excluded Kimi of course. Still the knowledge that Lewis’ records would soon be up there ready and waiting for someone else to take them away again, had made the press go into overdrive, churning out article after article. Max didn’t really care about that though, he cared about the conversations he’d had with Lewis over the last few race weekends. About his plans to start his own fashion company, not just a fashion line but a proper brand of his own. The plan to travel to all the countries they’d been to so often but had never really gotten the chance to see properly. The wish for a child of his own, the registration for the adoption agency ready to be send off.

He’d not always liked the other man, had had more than enough moments where he’d despised him, but seeing him like this, happily chatting with Dan, Oliver now asleep in his arms, it made Max realise he would really miss him next year.

---

“Papa, kijk!” Oliver exclaimed as they crossed the street towards the harbour, the Red Bull yacht already pumping out music. That wasn’t what the little boy had spotted though, no he’d spotted the giant inflatable unicorn floating in the swimming pool.

“Wat is dat dan Oli?” They’d pretty early on decided to try and raise Oliver bilingual, Max talking only Dutch to him to try and get him to pick up Max’s native language alongside English. Max often tried to use German as well, after all now was the best time to try and teach their son more languages.

“Eehoon.”

“Eenhoorn, Oliver,” Max corrected him gently, the word still sounding silly to him in his mother tongue as well. “You want to go swimming sweetie?”  

Oliver nodded his head so excitedly Max was almost afraid it was gonna fall off. They had some time to spare between the last free practice session and qualifying. Whilst Oliver had of course been with them last year, this was the first time he really got to take in the Monaco grand prix weekend. The streets of his home transformed into the tracks where his fathers got to race their fast cars. He still didn’t understand it fully, the city not all that recognisable anymore after all, and this wasn’t the part of the city where they actually lived, but seeing the excitement on their son’s face never failed to make them melt.

They quickly changed Oliver into his swimming trunks, Red Bull branded floaties wrapped around his arms to go along with them. As soon as they reached the pool he was pointing at the giant unicorn again, clearly wanting to sit on it. They waited for it to slowly float its way to the side of the pool, the currents of people wading their feet in the water making it bop up and down in every direction before Daniel shouted for someone to push it towards them. No one was surprised to see Daniel there, even with it having been six years now since he’d gotten to swim into this pool himself. It wasn’t uncommon to see Daniel back at the Red Bull hospitality these days though, nor Max at Renault’s for that matter, having a child who wanted to see both of his daddies would do that for you.

Oliver’s giggles were barely audible over the music coming from the dj booth on the other side of the deck, but they managed to go straight through to Max’s heart anyway. The boy was now sat atop the floating animal, clutching onto its rainbow mane as Daniel pushed it around the edge of the pool, not caring about the people sitting in their way.

They finished the lap of the pool, Max taking hold of the unicorn as Dan took his shoes off to join him on the edge of the pool, and just taking it all in for a while.

“Papa, kiss!” Oliver requested excitedly, his tiny little body already leaning towards him. Max grabbed hold of him before he could fall off the floatie and pressed a kiss to his son’s lips.  They would need to go and prepare for quali soon, but right now as he sat on the edge of the pool, his feet in the warm water, his son happily splashing his feet into the water as he sat atop his unicorn, he couldn’t help but wish for more time.  

[cathkaesque]

Thousands of workers are expected to take part in international hospitality sector strikes this Thursday, including in cities across the UK.

The Bakers union (BFAWU), War on Want and Unite are leading a UK campaign for workers’ rights and ending poverty pay, with demonstration due to hit cities this Thursday.

It follows McDonald’s, TGI Fridays and Wetherspoons workers’ announcement of coordinated strike action. Uber Eats & Deliveroo couriers will be joining them in taking action this Thursday.

Uber Eats couriers, as part of the IWW Couriers Network, are also organised in the Independent Workers of Great Britain and GMB, and have decided to not log-on in protest over a cut in the rates for deliveries. They are demanding £5 per drop & £1 per mile as a minimum rate.

Workers in Wetherspoons (the Bright Helm and Post & Telegraph, Brighton), TGI Fridays (Milton Keynes, Covent Garden & Stratford Westfield) and McDonald’s (Brixton, Crayford, Cambridge and Watford) will be striking over tips, poverty pay (for £10/hr) and for union recognition on the same day.

The strikes:

National Food Delivery Courier Shutdown / Uber Eats strikes to take place in Brighton, Bristol, Cardiff, Glasgow, London, Newcastle, Plymouth, Southampton (called by IWW Couriers Network, IWGB and GMB).

The Independent Workers Union of Great Britain (IWGB) is joining the national shutdown of food delivery Couriers. IWGB / Unite Private Hire Driver (UPHD), including Uber drivers will be taking action and protesting in solidarity on the day.

GMB London Region calls on gig-economy members from Deliveroo, Uber Eats, Yodel Couriers, Hermes, Uber, Addison Lee and Green Tomatoes, DPD, UK Mail & Amazon & others to take action on the day.

US Fast Food workers to strike on 04 October too, as part of #FastFoodGlobal

Momentum are mobilising activists across the country, with local groups organising solidarity actions.

Fast food workers from four continents are set to come to the UK to show solidarity in this global movement.

Solidarity actions also taking place in Aberystwyth, Birmingham, Bradford, Leeds, Manchester, Sheffield. Swansea, Wrexham (with more being organised)

International demonstrations for fast food workers rights will take place in Chile, Colombia, USA, Belgium, Italy, Germany, Philippines and Japan as part of #FastFoodGlobal

Hospitality workers from four continents are coming to London to show solidarity with striking hospitality workers. An International Union of Foodworkers (IUF) conference will take place in London on the 3rd October at Unite HQ.

Protests near you:

Brighton, 00:01-01:00, Midnight Picket: Workers at the two Wetherspoons pubs going on strike will rally with community supporters.

Brighton: 18:30 Rally: Community rally in support of striking Wetherspoons workers. [Meeting at Clock Tower]

Brixton (London): 08:00-09:00, Morning Picket: Workers at the McDonald’s will rally with community supporters.

Leicester Square (London): 11:00-12:00 Rally: Striking workers and hospitality workers (Including McDonald’s, TGI Fridays, and Wetherspoons strikers, international fastfood workers & others) will come together for a rally to demand improved working conditions across the hospitality industry. Frances O’Grady TUC General Secretary to speak.

Uber HQ (London): 17:00 London Uber Eats Strike: meeting point / Uber Demonstration: Meet 5pm Uber HQ at Aldgate Tower.

Cardiff: 17:00, UberEats Strike: strikers will meet at 17:00 Queens St McDonald’s

Glasgow: 12:00 UberEats strike strikers will rally @ George square,

Glasgow: 18:00, UberEats strike18:00 evening rally @ George square

JD Wetherspoons workers were inspired by the McStrike and joined the BFAWU. This will be the first time Wetherspoons workers have been on strike in the company’s history.

TGI Friday’s #AllEyesOnTGIs strike is the eighth by workers at TGI Fridays restaurants in Covent Garden and Milton Keynes, since 18 May 2018. Workers from Stratford City are walking out for the second time. Unite members there have come together against ‘tip theft’, and are striking over the company’s refusal to listen to their concerns after a change in tip policy left them £250 a month worse off.

#McStrike: Last month McDonald’s workers organised in the BFAWU made history when members at two McDonald’s stores went on strike for £10 an hour, an end to zero hour contracts and for their right a union. They won a ten-year record pay rise. On 1st May 2018 – International Workers Day – workers at five McDonald’s stores also went out on strike.

Fast food workers in the US will also be going on strike between between October 2nd and 4th, in tandem with strikes and rallies by airport, hospital, child-care and higher education workers, and other low paid workers. The strikes will be centred in cities in Michigan, Wisconsin, Illinois, Florida, Georgia, California and Connecticut.

A full list of solidarity actions and strikes called will be kept updated here: www.waronwant.org/ffs410

Article via Left Foot Forward and graphic (unfortunately) via The Daily Star. Spread the strikes!