#steel wheels tour

[mycollectionmylife]

Axl Rose e Izzy durante a "Steel Wheels" tour, 1989

[rolloroberson]

The Rolling Stones take a bow for their Clemson, SC Steel Wheels Tour performance on November 26, 1989. I was in attendance with my dear friend Howard. Howard succumbed to cancer 4 years ago. He is an irreplaceable friend and soul.

[darlinhutchence]

michael hutchence and keith richards backstage at the rolling stones' 'steel wheels' tour, late 1989.

📸: paul natkin

[thedailymobile]

“Steel Wheels Tour”

[cucumbercastle]

ronnie wood, mick jagger, charlie watts, & keith richards with personnel for the rolling stones' steel wheels tour, 1989

[waugh-bao]

Charlie: Actually, I prefer to be on the floor, but then equipment starts moving. It depends on what the floor's made of. Sometimes you're playing with one foot trying to reach a bass drum that keeps slipping away, and that's the hardest thing in the world. The one thing I don't like about drum risers- especially if they get really high like the enormous one Ringo used to play on--when they get that big you can't see everybody else. I don't like that.

Interviewer: It's like being separated.

Charlie: Yeah. I don’t like that.

(Modern Drummer, November 1981)

[march-hare01]

The XA Ford Falcon GT was released in March 1972 and ceased production in September 1973, and was the first Falcon GT to be available in a two door coupe. The XA was the first Australian built Falcon not to be based on a American design, and was almost completely designed in Australia. The XA Hardtop became the more preferred option to be used in Australian Touring Car Racing due to it's larger rear wheel arches for wider racing tyres. The XA GT Hardtop went on to achieve back to back wins at Bathurst with Allan Moffat and Ian Geoghegan in the 1973 Hardie-Ferodo 1000, and the 1974 Hardie-Ferodo 1000 with John Goss and Kevin Bartlett.Total produced: 1,868 Sedans and 891 Hardtops.Engine: 5766cc Cleveland V8 with overhead valvesCompression Ratio: 11.0:1Fuel System: Ford Autolite '4300' 605cfm 4 barrel downdraught carburettorPower / Torque: 224kW (300bhp} @ 5400rpm, 513Nm (380Ib-ft} @ 3400rpmTransmission: Four-speed manual, three-speed FMX automaticRear Axle: 9in removable carrier type, Limited Slip 'traction lock' Diff, 28 splineSuspension: Independent with coil springs, telescopic shock absorbers and anti-roll bar (front) Live axle with semi-elliptic springs, telescopic shock absorbers and anti-roll bar (rear)Brakes: Disc front 286mm (11.25in) Drum rear 254mm (10in) power assisted.Wheels:14 x 6 Steel - Argent painted Steel '12 Slot'.Tyres: ER70H14 RadialCurb weight estimated: 1585 kg / 3490 lbsPerformance: 0-100km: 7.2 seconds 0-400 metres: 15.4 seconds (manual sedan)Price when new for a 1973 XA Ford Falcon GT 5.8 Litre 351 V8 automatic two door Coupe: $6,648.00.

[vintagerocker69]

Rock Guitarist Keith Richards of the Rolling Stones on the Steel Wheels Urban Jungle Tours. 8th of October 1989 in the Arrowhead Stadium, Kansas City, Mo.. (Photo by Paul Natkin/WireImage)

[fall0utmind]

Epilogue

Hi guys - it's here

we are done - thank you so much for all the support you have given me - it's invaluable

ao3 here!!

Feedback would be much appreciated - alt ending coming soon

Love you all - Aoif

*6 months later*

It’s cold in Italy; it's unseasonably frosty but dry, at least. Marc steadies himself on the driveway, taking some deep breaths from behind the wheel. He refused a lift from the airport, choosing instead a hire car to ensure a quick escape if it’s needed. Now he’s sitting in the car, trying not to have a panic attack.

He stares up at the imposing building in front of him. The ranch house sits proudly at the edge of the property– all brick and wood with big windows which probably spill the light in during summer. It has changed, from ten years ago. Marc doesn’t know why that shocks him. His hands are shaking.

He cannot fathom what he’s doing here, in Tavullia on a random Monday in January. In a few weeks, he’ll be at the Ducati factory, filming and testing as their newest rider. He thinks he might be insane.

Valentino must have heard him pulling in, the loose scattering of gravel crunching under the wheels. Marc can see movement inside; his heart is beating out of his chest.

Things between him and Vale have been better, since Aragon. It has taken a lot of awkward conversation and a couple of fuck ups to even get to this stage. Marc’s slowly been getting used to the boys, whilst keeping Vale far away from his family (who still haven’t come around). They have been tentatively dating, trying to figure out how to fit into each other’s lives without implosion.

Marc has refused anything more than a couple of low-key dates on race weekends and spending time in Vale’s hotel room. Meeting on non-neutral ground feels like a big step, and now Marc is here, back where it all went so wrong the first time, potentially feeding himself to the lions.

He screws his eyes shut and breathes deeply. Alex will be here at the weekend. They will get through it. He steels himself to unflex his fingers from where they grip the steering wheel. His knuckles are white.

The front door to the house creeps open, Valentino emerging from behind. After all of these years, he still makes Marc slightly breathless. It has been a long time since he’s seen Valentino like this, dressed in a loose hoodie and sweatpants, his socked feet without shoes. Marc climbs out of the car, heading around the back to grab his bag before locking the doors and shuffling forward.

Vale stands on the threshold, looking as unsure as Marc feels - his hands reach forward before pulling back. Marc decides for him, wrapping his arms around Valentino and allowing the older man to pull him in and press his lips to the crown of Marc’s head. Marc smiles into his chest. It is good to know that he is not the only one who is nervous.

When they pull apart, Marc tilts his head towards Valentino and finds soft eyes already watching him, startlingly blue in the morning light. Valentino’s lips twitch upwards as he tilts his head down to brush a kiss against Marc’s mouth.

Valentino takes Marc’s bag before he can protest, lugging it down the hall and setting it down in what Marc assumes is Valentino’s room. There is a bike sitting by the footboard, one of Vale’s. Marc’s breath hitches, the rumours were true then. The sheets look fresh, untouched. The sun filters through the large windows located adjacent to the bed. Valentino shows no signs of hesitance in welcoming Marc into his home. It makes Marc’s heart contract, beating double time at the show of familiarity and trust.

The unease slowly slips off Marc’s shoulders like satin as he relaxes into the space. It’s just the two of them for now. It’s nice, there is a settled kind of peace in the air – a contentedness rolling off both of them. Valentino tugs him around the house, giving him a tour. He never got to this point last time, only saw brief flashes of parts of the house back in 2014. He pushes the memory away and smiles as one of Valentino’s dogs trails curiously behind them, occasionally nudging a wet nose into the back of Marc’s knees.

He could settle here, Marc thinks. The thought catches him off guard and makes him do a double-take. He stares at the gentle slope of Valentino’s shoulders underneath his too-large t-shirt. The way he looks so soft and gentle here. Marc doesn’t realise that he’s stopped, even when he feels the soft brush of fur against his calves as the dog pushes past him. Valentino pauses, looking back over his shoulder. His face is relaxed, his eyes adoring, tinged with concern as he notices Marc has paused.

“Marc, Angelo, what’s wrong?” He says, striding back, cupping his face gently. His gaze tracks over Marc's frame, assessing for hurt or pain, his hand grazing over Marc’s arm.

Over the past 3 months, Valentino has relearned Marc’s body. It was difficult, to come to terms with the chronic pain Marc faces daily. Sometimes, Marc would shuffle into his hotel room, late after a race, his arm stiff by his side, looking dazed and in pain. Every time, Valentino would run a bath and painstakingly massage his arm and shoulder until the pain lessened, kissing away the tears which gathered in Marc’s lash line.

It has been difficult for Marc to allow himself to be looked after; he is learning though. Now, he just smiles, small and closed-lip. He kisses Vale, once, twice.

“Nothing, mi amour. I love you.” He whispers.

Valentino answers with a grin and a soft “I love you too”.

It is worth everything to Marc.

*

Cohabiting with someone you used to hate is odd.

They spend two days in a strange kind of domestic bliss. Their nights are spent wrapped around each other in Vale’s bed, satiated and sleepy. Valentino wakes up every morning to prepare Marc a coffee, just how he likes it, and delivers it with a sweet kiss. In the intervals between cooking or meetings, Valentino wraps his arms around Marc from behind and kisses his forehead softly.

Marc thinks he could get used to domestic bliss.

Valentino whines and complains when Marc asks to use the gym.

(“You’re supposed to be on a break”)

But he sits and watches Marc work out each time without fail, revelling in the way Marc flushes prettily when he catches Vale staring.

(Cardio usually ends up being done in the bedroom).

On Wednesday, Valentino pulls Marc towards the garage to show him the impressive bike selection he keeps. Valentino has spent years (and a lot of money) amassing his collection, including a few of his old MotoGP ones. Marc looks awed, his fingers trailing over handlebars and pausing on the bright ‘46’ of Vale’s 2005 Yamaha. Valentino watches with adoring eyes.

Marc is holding back a million questions, crouching to inspect each machine before moving on to the next. He appears at home among the bikes. Even so, Vale can tell Marc is antsy without one to ride. He desperately wants to appease Marc and show him around the track but also recognises the history here. Marc won't ask to ride, not after last time, and Valentino's pushing won’t go down well.

Valentino pretends to fiddle with a bike, tuning it up a bit, watching as Marc becomes more impatient. He hopes to time it perfectly, waiting until the last minute to ensure the younger man will agree.

“We can ride, if you’d like?” Vale asks quietly.

Marc’s answering grin is wide.

Valentino hurries to pull out the bike he’s been tuning for Marc, unable to contain his excitement. The deep red ‘93’ is already in place.

When he turns back, Marc is half undressed, always so eager. But he has stopped still at the sight of the bike. He inches forward, running his hands across the throttle, a questioning look in his eyes. Valentino laughs uncomfortably, suddenly embarrassed.

“Well, you know- you need it for the weekend. And I was hoping you might need it again a bit more regularly going forward.”

He scratches his neck awkwardly, regretting his decision to be so forward. What if Marc doesn’t want to come back, or it is too much too soon?

Marc nudges against him, drawing Valentino’s attention back to reality. The smaller man pushes onto his tiptoes and presses a kiss to Vale’s lips, effectively wiping out any other thoughts.

“Thank you”, Marc whispers. It’s so painfully honest that it hurts.

Valentino kisses him again.

He brings his hands to Marc’s waist and is momentarily distracted by the bare, warm skin he finds. Of course, Marc is still half undressed. He pulls back to look at Marc shamelessly.

There are miles of tanned skin on display, unblemished other than his arm. Marc’s been somewhere hot over the break, Valentino saw the photos on Instagram. Marc with his friends, shirtless, his built chest and abs on full display as he laughed to the camera, golden sand and the crystal ocean behind him. Valentino is not ashamed to admit that he practically salivated when he saw them. It is no different now, with Marc standing in his garage. He doesn’t think Marc’s beauty will ever get old.  

Marc looks amazing like this, slightly dishevelled, glowing with happiness. Valentino wants to keep him here forever.

He kisses Marc firmly one more time and pushes him in the direction of where their leathers are hanging up side by side.

“Come on, let’s ride” He suggests, knowing that if they don’t go now, Vale will become sidetracked. Marc is all too happy to oblige.

It’s a good day to ride - clear and a little cold, but bright. Marc takes a few laps to settle into the track, evidence that it has been a long time since he was last at the ranch. Guilt churns in Vale’s stomach, maybe if he was kinder, less bitter, that would not be the case. The thought is cast aside soon enough as they’re chasing each other around the track, just like old times. The sound of laughter is loud and bright; it can be heard above the familiar two-stroke engines as they roar around the circuit.

The unbridled joy of riding is only slightly dampened by the undercurrent of fear radiating off Marc. Valentino observes the way his shoulders are slightly hunched, how he holds himself back, just a little, pulling the angle of his bike a smidge more upright than usual. Marc is scared he will fuck it up, push too hard, and send them both toppling into anger and misery once more. Valentino wants to put a stop to it.

He can practically see the memories flashing behind Marc’s eyes and he hits each apex. Vale tries to be a comforting presence, to show Marc that he’s safe. But Marc only fully relaxes when Valentino pulls him into a tight embrace after they finish their first quick laps. After that, they’re off, racing wheel to wheel like they were born to do.

Valentino quickly discovers that he no longer cares when Marc edges him across the line, content to kiss him thoroughly when they pull to stop, wiping any residue of worry off the younger man’s face.

Later, Valentino takes Marc back inside, pushing him towards the shower and grinning when Marc tugs him along too.

He has never been one to deny Marc what he wants.

He nudges the younger man into the bathroom, grabbing two of his fluffiest towels from the warmth of the airing cupboard en route.

By the time Valentino has locked the door Marc is already half out of his clothes, a pretty flush spreading from his cheeks down his chest. Valentino trails his eyes up and down Marc’s body, saliva pooling under his tongue.  

He gently pushes Marc up against the marble-countered sink, the smallest hint of pressure on his hips. Valentino bends down to reach Marc’s lips, making the younger man push up into his touch.

The kiss isn’t gentle, it’s deep and wanting, yearning for more. Valentino pushes his hands under Marc’s legs as he hops to sit fully on the counter, his fingertips searing the soft skin there. In return, Marc wraps strong thighs around Valentino’s waist, grinding up to seek friction. By the time they pull apart, they are both achingly hard.

Valentino regretfully breaks away, leaving Marc panting on his countertop so he can reach into the lavish shower and turn on the taps.

He knew that the ungodly amount of money he spent on this bathroom would be beneficial one day.

Once steam has filled the room, he pulls Marc to his feet, letting the younger man strip off his underwear before pushing him into the warm spray.

Valentino watches for a moment, wondering how he got so lucky, before he too steps out of his clothes. He brackets himself in behind Marc, wrapping his arms around the younger man’s waist as water pours over them. Marc leans into his hold.

Valentino chases a water droplet which rolls down Marc’s neck, sucking a mark lightly onto the juncture of his shoulder as his hands trace patterns onto his hip. Marc’s head falls back, his eyes fluttering as he groans quietly.

Valentino keeps going, following the trail of the water, spinning Marc around and pushing him against the wall. He sinks to his knees, fascinated by the way Marc’s eyes screw shut, his face scrunching. Valentino spends a long time laving his tongue across Marc’s abs, admiring Marc’s reactions as he licks across the younger’s hip bones and bites. Valentino could stay here for years.

(He couldn’t, his knees already hurt)

Marc’s quads tense as Vale sinks his teeth into the delicate flesh, strong muscle bracketing Vale’s head. Marc leans his weight against the wall, slightly boneless as Valentino continues to nibble on the soft skin, sucking until there’s a line of pretty purple bruises from mid-thigh to his groin.

It’s one of Vale’s favourite things to do, leaving blemishes on Marc’s tanned skin, like blots of ink on paper. Staining Marc and making him Vale’s own, after so many years. The added bonus is that Marc is always so pliant when Valentino does it. He goes limp and far away, his eyes dazed when they’re not rolling back in his head. He is reduced to a mess of whining and pleading.

Valentino is not immune.

Marc is above him, his legs shaking and whining as Valentino mouths everywhere but his dick, which is hard against his abs. Precum smears across his stomach, washed away by the spray of warm water sluicing over them.

Valentino takes pity on him, slipping one hand around his thigh and putting his mouth where Marc so desperately wants it. He licks a strip up Marc’s dick, revelling in the way his moans shift up a pitch. Marc releases little hitching breaths as he finally, finally, takes Marc all the way, sucking without hesitation.

Marc’s hands are scrabbling for purchase on the tiles. His moans get louder as he loses himself to the feeling. His brain is mush as he slips into another headspace, floating, the only thoughts are more and Vale. He can’t produce any words apart from Valentino’s name which he whines out. Marc brings a hand to his mouth, trying to stop the needy whines from slipping out.

Valentino taps his hip, “No, no. I want to hear you, Bambino”.

Marc groans, long and low, his hips bucking into the warmth of Vale’s mouth. The older man pins his hips against the wall. Marc’s knees damn near give out as Valentino begins to suck in earnest, laving his tongue over Marc’s head and drinking him down to the hilt.

The only sensations Marc registers are the wet heat around him and the finger biting into his hips. The rest of the world is static.

He’s getting close far too quickly, only spurred on when he looks down and sees the older man looking back up his blue eyes steely, almost engulfed by his blown pupils. Marc tries to gulp down the whimper in the back of his throat, his hips bucking of their own accord. Valentino hums around his dicks before pulling off with a wet pop. He smirks up at Marc.

Valentino loves Marc like this, whining, fucked out, and desperate.

He pulls himself to his feet, ignoring the way his knees pop and protest, instead pushing himself against Marc and kissing him soundly. Marc can taste himself, bitter on Vale’s tongue. He groans pitifully.

Valentino breaks the kiss, only to trail his lips across Marc’s jaw, sucking more bruises into Marc’s neck until there is almost no space left unblemished.

(Marc will pretend to be annoyed later, complaining as he secretly examines the bruises in the mirror, a pleased smile on his face.)

Marc pushes on Vale’s head.

“In me? Please?” he whines.

Valentino chuckles, “Later, Carino. We have no lube”

“I don’t care, fuck me, please Vale” Valentino groans, the temptation rising as Marc pleads.

“No, Tesoro. I don’t want to hurt you. We do it like this for now, okay? Come on Gattino, show me how pretty you are.”

Valentino is quickly learning the best way to get reactions from Marc, to cause the younger man to become dazed and pliant like he is now. He punctuates his request by rolling his hips into Marc, gripping his ass and encouraging him to grind against Vale.

Marc does so readily, rutting them together until he is almost sobbing, squirming under Valentino’s hands. They’re both getting close. Marc makes a glorious sight in his arms, his eye wide and doe-like, his muscles clenching and unclenching as he chases release.

Vale wraps his hand around both of them, gasping at the added friction. He connects their lips again, more panting into each other’s mouths than actually kissing.

“Come on, Bambino, come for me” Valentino whispers, bucking up to chase the pleasure.

In the end, that’s what does it for Marc. He shakes and whines as he comes, his head thrown back in ecstasy, his eyes screwed up. Valentino follows soon after, pushed over the edge by the vision of Marc falling apart.

When he comes back to himself, Valentino gently washes them both, soothing hands against Marc’s body as the younger man drifts. Marc is always quiet afterwards, his head blissfully empty.

Valentino steers Marc out of the shower and deposits him onto the ledge, fetching one of the towels and wrapping it around him, watching the way the younger man curls into warmth. Vale tenderly helps Marc dry, kissing the exposed sections of skin. Once Marc is changed, Valentino focuses on himself, perfunctory, already thinking about what to cook for dinner, considering what Marc likes.

The younger man looks warm and content, wrapped in one of Valentino’s hoodies, too long in the sleeves, clinging more to Marc’s chest and shoulders, where it’s loose on Vale. It settles somewhere inside of Valentino, a place he’s beginning to associate with home.

*

They were right, back in Aragon, it hasn’t been easy, not by any stretch of the imagination. It took Marc two months to feel secure that Vale wouldn’t just up and leave. Even now there are moments when they both tense, waiting for the other to land a blow. Moments where it threatens to blow up in their face, a bated breath when a sharp-edged comment slips out.

Every time though, one of them stops back, unloads the gun, and lowers their fists. They use words now, communicating in soft-spoken apologies and reassuring touches.

“you’re the one who left last time”

“And I said I’m sorry amore”

“Sorry doesn't fix everything, Vale.”

A soft sigh and a light touch on the back followed.

“I know, I know. A sorry does not even begin to cover half of the things I have done. Yet I am still sorry.”

Marc looks away.

“Marc, please”

A sigh, “It is okay. I am just hurting, not angry, just a fresh wound Vale”

Valentino holds him close until it gets better and doesn’t let go, even after.

The childish avoidance from before is gone; hindsight has shown them that was not a good strategy. They still have their squabbles, occasionally digging too far, but it is better now, less vicious.

Still, Marc has to text his mum twice on the first day, just to confirm that they haven’t killed each other yet. His parents were reluctant for him to come to Italy; they are still wary, unwilling to trust Valentino as easily as Marc does, or is learning to. They cannot resist the occasional jab at the older man, comments designed to stir up guilt; Marc is dreading the day that they all have to be in the same room. Alex is just about coming around, albeit reluctantly. For now, he is content to watch on suspiciously, waiting for even a slight slip-up from Vale. Ultimately though, they just want Marc to be happy, and if that is with Vale, so be it.

As Valentino promised, they have taken every second slowly, catching up on everything they’ve missed. Valentino refused to sleep with him until Marc won in Phillip Island. Even then Marc had begged and begged until Valentino laid him carefully onto the bed in his hotel room and took him apart slowly, carefully. Until Marc was drooling into a pillow, crying.

Afterwards, Valentino wrapped him up in his arms and held him until he came back into his body. He had picked Marc up, and washed him in the shower, taking care to press kisses against any part he could reach. He wrapped Marc in a soft fluffy towel and slept next to him until dawn broke on the following day.

It's odd for them, to take it slow when they are so used to 300kph. But it’s good. Different, but good. Soft and unhurried as they have all the time in the world. They both knew if this was going to work, it had to be different. They couldn’t make the same mistakes as before.

They owed it to themselves to at least try.

So now they spend their days in a sort of bubble; a world which other people aren’t privy to – not yet. In this world, Valentino fucks Marc gently on his bed and kisses him breathlessly in the kitchen. He whispers, ‘I love you,’ against Marc’s lips mid-kiss, his neck when they hug, and his hair as the younger man sleeps in his arms. Valentino has a different version of Marc from the rest of humanity - one who is soft, pliant and sweet. He loves both versions of Marc and all of him, so long as they’re his.

*

On Thursday, people begin to arrive for the race.

Marc doesn’t know why he agreed to this plan; he has basically treated himself to an undercurrent of sick nerves in his stomach for the whole day, possibly the weekend. His heart beats faster and louder every time he hears a new car pulling into the drive.

Valentino keeps Marc tucked into his side for as long as he can before he is swept up in the duties of being Valentino Rossi. Marc is embarrassed that by 9 am he is still hiding in the house. By the time Luca finds Marc, he’s a mess.

Intuitively, he knows that he’s safe, but a part of him can’t quite let go of the anxiety.  His therapist warned him that this may happen, his brain playing tricks on him, convincing him that something bad will happen. She said that it stems from what happened last time, their eventual ruin. Marc hates it.

When they eventually have to leave the safety of the house, Marc keeps his chin up, shutting down any hint of nerves or anxiety. Outwardly, he is the picture of calm indifference, inside he’s a mess. His only reassurance is Luca’s presence and the knowledge that Alex will be here soon.

Marc nods at everyone he passes, ignoring the double takes, and pretends that he knows what he’s doing as he casually loiters at the front of the house for Alex. By the time his brother pulls up, Marc is vibrating out of his skin, only relaxing once Alex has gathered him into his arms.

The plan is to act as though Marc and Alex arrived together, so they enter the foyer together, greeted by an enthusiastic Valentino.

 “Marc, Alex. Allora, it is good to see you”

Marc now understands the ungodly number of espressos the older man had this morning. Alex shoots Valentino a sceptical look, bordering on unimpressed. Marc has to disguise his laughter with a cough.

As usual, it is all being filmed; the crew are eager to shove a camera in Marc’s face, their eagle eyes focused on Valentino’s hands trailing Marc’s waist when they stand together. Valentino dutifully points out which bits of merch to sign and where. He is acting more detached than Marc has seen him in a while. It burns, sour and acidic in the back of his throat.

Marc wishes they had talked about this, where they stand and who knows. It didn’t seem important to discuss before now, with too many other things to keep on track of. Marc assumes (hopes) that they can edit anything out as needed.

When the brothers have finished dutifully signing, Valentino signals for the filming to stop, shooing people away. Marc is tugged into a side room. It’s becoming increasingly apparent that Valentino is a bit like a teenager in the way he can’t keep his hands off Marc. He draws the younger man into a kiss, pushing him against the closed door.

Marc groans when he pulls away, changing Valentino’s lips for a second before giving up, his head thunking against the door.

“Oh, come on, my brothers out there” He whines, only pretending to be annoyed at Valentino's constant eagerness. The older man laughs in delight and presses one last kiss to Marc’s lips.

“Sorry Amore, I can’t resist. You just look so beautiful and I do not want you to be nervous, you seem nervous”

“Of course I’m nervous, everyone is staring at me” Marc says flatly

“Ah well, it is probably because your ass looks good”

Before Vale can finish the sentiment, there is a loud knock on the door.

“I can hear you, you know. Please stop”

Valentino smirks, pressing one last kiss to Marc’s cheek before he opens the door and lets them out.

Alex looks mightily unimpressed.

“Now now, baby Marquez, my house, my rules.” Valentino jokes, no heat behind his tone and his eyes dancing with humour. Alex groans.

“Franco is with the boys in the garages, I hear he’s looking forward to seeing you”

The effect is immediate, Alex flushing brightly at Vale’s teasing. It makes Marc cackle. With one last tap low on Marc’s waist, Valentino is gone, back to play the entertainer to his loyal subjects. Marc watches the older man go, before turning toward Alex and dragging him toward the garage.

*

It is strange, Marc thinks, that only days ago, Marc and Vale were here alone, kissing in peaceful moments between riding, training, cooking, and living. Reacquainting with one another and deciphering how to fit into each other’s lives.

There is no peace now.

Whilst Valentino plays the gratuitous host and welcomes every guest, Marc and Alex are left abandoned amongst a sea of people hungry to know why. Marc holds his head high, portraying a sense of disinterest even as he feels a hundred curious eyes on him.

It’s not exactly a secret that Vale and Marc are back on friendly terms, with Valentino being complementary in interviews and talking to Marc in the paddock. But to see Marc at the ranch will be a shock for many. Many more will be upset.

Marc tries to remember whose stupid idea this was. Entering the biggest event Valentino has ever put on right at the start of their relationship. 10 years of the 100k di campioni. Marc Marquez is in attendance.

The headlines practically write themselves.

To make matters worse, they’ve reshuffled the teams. Marc doesn’t know whose idea it was, whether it was Valentino, one of the boys, or someone else entirely. But Valentino was adamant that they had to race together.

Marc wondered whether it was to prevent any issues when one of them beat the other. Even though they were both fine with that, others might talk.

Either way, the team announcement was delayed until it became public knowledge that Marc was in attendance. It is bound to cause a commotion.

Marc guesses that going from enemies to friendly enough to be teammates (by choice) is quite the leap. The sudden reshuffle means that Pecco pairs with Luca, Franky with Alex, and Cele and Marco are together.

Marco muttered something about it being unfair that one of the teams has 17 world championships – Valentino laughed at the time but Marc thinks Bez was being dead serious. He doubts many other people have considered that yet. It’s only a matter of time before they see the two of them on the track and realise it might be slightly unfair. Oh well.

Marc keeps his head down as he drags Alex toward the garage. He tries to swerve around the people he doesn’t want to see, keeping out of the way of cameras. It’s funny really. He knows that he’ll be in the clips anyway, but if he tries to make himself smaller or irrelevant, maybe people will talk less.

(It’s wishful thinking)

Marc lets out a sigh of relief when they make it to where Pecco is chatting with Bez on the threshold of the building.

Releasing Alex’s arm, he greets the boys fondly, ruffling Bez’s hair and clasping hands with Pecco. He has a moment of panic when he belatedly realises that Alex has never really interacted with the boys. He questions whether they will play nice after everything which has happened; especially due to Alex’s protectiveness.

The worry doesn’t last long; they greet Alex kindly, albeit with a little awkwardness. The tension dissolves when Franky approaches, falling instead into boyish teasing as he wraps an arm over Alex’s shoulder. It feels natural, almost easy. Marc exhales, the tight coil in his stomach loosening slightly.  Alex deserves happiness more than anyone he knows; Marc would do anything to keep him content.

The good-natured ribbing continues, but Franky takes it in his stride, simply pressing a kiss to Alex’s cheek and grinning smugly when he flushes. He must be used to it, growing up in this environment with these boys who are almost like family.

Pecco nudges him, subtly so the others don’t notice, content to let them continue to throw childish barbs at one another whilst he accosts Marc.

“Where’s your boyfriend?”, he teases. Marc rolls his eyes, shoving Pecco back lightly.

“Holding down the fort I believe”

Pecco huffs, an amused tilt to his lips.

The boys have taken well to him and Valentino tentatively dating, happily including Marc on race weekends. According to Vale, they have been asking for Marc to train with them at the ranch for months.

Marc feels such a swell of love for his new friends and their acceptance. It is like he has somehow adopted the children Vale has gathered over the years, in an odd way. He knows some of the younger ones admired him when they were growing up, before he and Vale imploded. It has almost come full circle, everything falling so easily into place. If Marc thinks about it, he feels this is a long time coming.

He fits in here - another teacher for the younger ones, someone who understands the pressure of being a champion and being on a bike that doesn’t love you as much as you love it. Someone who knows what it’s like to win, to lose, and to overcome the impossible.

There is a sense of belonging that Marc hasn’t felt in some time.

While the boys mess around, joking and laughing, Marc peaks his head out to look around. Hidden in the alcove of the garage, he scouts the people who are already here. He recognises some familiar faces - riders from the grid, some of the lower leagues, and one or two from different events and classes. It’s quite the lineup.

Marc shelters for as long as he can, unwilling to go out and face the music. He really wishes that he and Valentino had thought of some answers to the inevitable questions before they dived headfirst into this.

Eventually, though, his plan is foiled by Mig, who shuffles them outside, ever the leader in the academy.

“Stop being hermits and go mingle”

 Marc pouts at Mig until the younger man pats his cheek, mocking but not cruel.

“Do not be a baby, you are too old for that.”

It just makes Marc scowl, before he changes tact, going wide-eyed and innocent in the hopes of persuading the younger man to let him stay. He sees the moment Mig clocks onto what he’s doing.

“God, I see why Valentino thinks you're adorable. You have a face like a disgruntled cat, although your puppy eyes are pretty adorable”, he smirks.

Marc gapes at him whilst the others burst into rambunctious laughter.

“Ay, Mig, you were not meant to tell him that” Marco giggles

Luca smiles, “Stop flirting with Vale’s boyfriend, he will get mad, you know what he is like”

The comment confuses Marc, and he frowns. He doesn’t know what Valentino is like. It startles him, the realisation that he has no idea how Vale talks about him.

Pecco throws an arm over his shoulder, grinning as he puts on a high-pitched voice, imitating Vale.

“Allora, stop staring at him”

Cele chips in, also mimicking Vale “Marc’s so perfect. It’s so unfair”

Mig chokes out his impersonation between fits of giggles “I am definitely not jealous but I will kill you if you so much as look at Marc, even though I can’t bring myself to make it more official than the occasional coffee.”

Alex is giggling along, unaware of Franky’s awed face watching him.

Marc doesn’t know how to feel.

Bez nudges him, “We are only taking the piss, it is funny.”

“We have had to put up with the old man pining for too long,” Pecco adds

“Ah well, that is what happens when we get old. A good impression of him though.”

It comes from someone new, not one of the boys. Marc jerks, he knows that voice.

Behind Franky stands Dovi, a wide smile on his face as he observes the group, clearly privy to their previous conversation.

The boys fall silent, their gazes snapping between Marc’s shocked face to Dovi's one of amusement. Luca leaves first, excusing himself and patting Dovi’s shoulder as he goes. The others follow suit, slowly slinking away to give them some privacy.

Marc stares at Dovi in silence, stunned and unsure what to say.

It has been playing on his mind recently, the fear that he might have hurt Dovi. Even though they agreed to remain friends, he feels guilty. Dovi doesn’t deserve that pain, it isn’t fair.

“Hey, none of that. Don’t feel guilty, you two deserve happiness.” Dovi declares, tapping Marc twice on the chin.

Marc grimaces. Dovi laughs; he doesn’t look sad, or annoyed- quite the opposite, Dovi looks like he’s glowing with happiness. In fact, now that Marc thinks about it, squinting at Dovi, he does look unusually happy, less tired, brighter.  

“You’re tanned,” Marc says, changing the topic, suspicious of Dovi’s

Dovi shrugs, “Australia does that to you”

“Australia?” Marc parrots back, unable to hide his confusion.

It’s then that he hears a distinctive accented voice. He lifts his head, searching and sees Casey talking to Pecco a few feet away. His jaw drops.

Casey and Dovi are here and Vale hasn’t said a thing. He cannot begin to fathom why Valentino would invite Dovi after everything between them.  

Marc flicks his gaze back and forth between Casey and Dovi, noting how the latter's cheeks begin to redden. He grins slyly.

“Oh, ohhhhhh. Is this a new thing?” Marc asks. Suddenly a few more things make sense.

Dovi chuckles a little,

“Um, yes. Fairly. After everything that happened, y’know with you and Valentino. I had a lot of thinking to do. As it turns out, Australia is good for that. And maybe I have a type.”

“Oh, and what type is that then?” Marc pushes cheekily; he can’t help the wicked grin that slips onto his face.

“Crazy bastards who look good on motorbikes.” comes the response, not from Dovi but from Valentino who wraps his arms around Marc and rests his chin on his head.

“Hey, don’t talk about my boyfriend like that” Dovi teases.

Casey wanders over and cuffs Valentino on the shoulder in reprimand before he slings his arm over Dovi’s shoulders.

Huh, Marc thinks. He leans back in Valentino, unable to help the way he relaxes.

Looking at Dovi and Casey now, he can see they’re happy, both adoring. It’s sweet. Marc realises that he is genuinely over the moon for them both. Dovi deserves someone simpler, less messy than him. And Casey is the perfect mix of grounded and still a little unhinged.

 Even Valentino seems happy, no longer glaring at Andrea with barely concealed jealousy.

As Casey and Vale begin to bicker, he meets Dovi’s eyes, smiling wide.

Maybe things have a way of working out in the end.

*

Of course, social media blows up when the official VR46 account posts videos of Marc at the ranch. Valentino’s subsequent repost goes viral. Marc is giggling at the insanity as he lays in bed on Friday night, his head pillowed on Valentino’s chest. The boys have clearly taken it as a challenge to see who can break the internet the quickest, posting pictures they have snuck of Marc and Vale from the past three months. None of them are incriminating but if you look hard enough, you can see the softness in Vale’s eyes in every photo.

(Luca unofficially wins with a photo of Valentino and Marc asleep in someone’s motorhome. Not cuddled, but close enough that their hands are touching.)

Marc is still smiling as he falls asleep to the sound of Valentino's heartbeat, their legs entwined.

The weekend continues without a hitch, much to Marc’s relief. He spends most of the time mingling with the boys, sometimes being pulled into conversations with non-MotoGP riders who ask him about Ducati next year. Marc is thankful that no one asks about him and Vale, he doesn’t think they need any more drama.

Luca wins the Americana race for another year running, dominating the field. Marc giggles when Pecco hugs him for just a fraction of a second too long, eliciting whistles from Bez and Mig. The atmosphere is pleasant - laid back rather than overly competitive.

By the time the main race rolls around, Marc is enjoying himself so much that he forgets to be nervous. He has naturally fallen into the rhythm of riding here, watching as Valentino skids through the dirt, approaching the line to hand over to Marc. It’s electric, the roar of the bikes, the screaming crowd, Valentino swerving toward him, a glimpse of wild blue behind the visor.

When Marc takes over, they are already leading. Marc bears down, grinning manically as he hears Pecco hot on his tail. He throws himself into every corner, grasping for the win, catching the bike as it threatens to slip out from underneath him. He skids too hard around one corner, wrangling the bike under control just in time, letting Pecco close in next to him. Good, Marc thinks, a real race.

They fly together through the laps, Marc edging into the lead once more, swinging his leg out for balance, his gaze laser-focused on the racing line. This is his element. He pulls away from Pecco, the speed of his cornering just too much for the younger man to keep pace.

Valentino is there, cheering as Marc thunders over the line, pulling him into a hug as he slows to a stop. The crow roars. Marc beams, flipping his visor up. He desperately wants to kiss Vale, holding himself back from jumping right here and now. He settles for a knowing look shared between them as the others begin to crowd around and celebrate.

Before Marc knows it, they are being shepherded over to where a makeshift podium has been set up. They are awarded their stupid necklaces and champagne as the others watch on.

Marc stands on the top step, gazing up at Valentino next to him.

He sees a God, the man who broke his heart and is now piecing it back together again.

He sees his past, his present, and his future.

Valentino meets his gaze, “Okay, Bambino?”

Marc grins

“Yes. With you, yes – always”

Valentino glances around quickly, and shrugs helplessly, pulling Marc in. Marc laughs, gasping slightly as Vale wraps one arm around his waist and the other around the back of his neck. Marc’s hands come to rest on Valentino’s hips.

“Vale, the cameras” Marc giggles.

Valentino grins, “They can delete it, or not I don’t care. I have the greatest treasure in the world, I don’t mind people knowing that.”

Valentino presses their lips together right there, in front of everyone. Marc beams into it, delighted, there are still purple-red hickeys sitting on his neck and Valentino’s arm around his waist. It feels like home.

Marc deepens the kiss, holding Vale by the roots of his curls. Someone hoots next to them and there is plenty of wolf-whistling from the crowd; Marc can hear Alex laughing.

Fireworks go off behind them. Marc breaks away from Vale, still smiling so hard that his cheeks hurt.

“I love you”

“I love you too, mi amore”

*End*

[notafraidofredyellowandblue]

Article Rammstein giving visually impaired fans a special experience

Article from 3voor12vpro.nl Rammstein show in Nijmegen 2024-06-18/19

Googly translated

--

Special tour by guitarist Paul Landers on the stage of the German metal band

june 24, 2024, text: robin hogenboom. photos: jens koch & lonneke prins.

When you think of Rammstein, you think of theatrical shows full of flames and fireworks. But what if you cannot enjoy it optimally due to a visual impairment? The German metal band organizes a guided stage tour for those people, where these fans can feel before the show what the rest of the audience will see later. 3voor12 Gelderland is lucky and can join the tour of June 18 in Nijmegen.

Of course, musically it's all rock solid. Yet the more than 100,000 music lovers who travel to Nijmegen on June 18 and 19 also expect a show that has been taken care of down to the last detail. Cooking pots, flamethrowers, rubber boats and a gigantic penis that squirts foam: it is part of Rammstein's standard repertoire. But what if you have a visual impairment? How do you make a show accessible to people who will experience little or nothing of all those theatrical excesses?

That thought also struck guitarist Paul Landers. “At one point I thought that blind fans couldn't see the stage and so maybe it would be good if they could feel the stage. That is how the first stage tours in 2022 came about.” Since then, fans have been able to register for the tours with a simple email – and a medical certificate. “On average, 4 to 6 people register for the tour, but due to increased safety measures, only 2 groups can participate at a time. Of course, every participant also has a supervisor.”

And safety, that is of course a thing. Paul: “The tour takes place once all preparations and rehearsals have been completed. That is why we take very small groups behind the scenes and extra security is present to guarantee the safety of the visitors.” And it comes as no surprise that parts of the stage also remain closed. Paul: “There are areas that are too unsafe for visitors, for example because pyrotechnics are ready there. These pieces are not part of the tour.”

The tour

When we report to the agreed location, we meet Twan Driessen (21) from Nijmegen, who will participate in the tour with his father as a guide. Although he will experience something that many Rammstein fans would sign up for, he only became a fan of the German band relatively recently. “I'm normally not a metal fan, but 'Deutschland' made me become a fan of Rammstein. That song really stuck.” The song also had an impact on his father: “he really ended up in the Rammstein corner!”

We walk past the dressing rooms and end up behind the characteristic stage. There we meet Paul Landers, who quickly takes Twan through some highlights. Paul places Twan's hands on a gigantic steel tube that holds the stage upright. The colossus, 60 meters wide and 35 meters high, weighs about 1,350 tons and is transported through Europe by 90 trucks, says Paul. “And we have two. The other is already in Dublin.”

Schedule

And then we enter the actual stage. Just below Christoph Schneider's drum kit, Twan is allowed to experience some attributes that are already ready for the show. For example, he receives an explanation about a flamethrower and the cooking pot from 'Mein Teil', but also the pram that will be rolled onto the stage for 'Puppe'. Although, roles? Paul: “The ceiling under the stage is very low, so the wheels don't fit under it yet. They are added at the last minute.”

The more you think about it, the more special it actually becomes. About an hour and a half before the start of the show, which is known for how tightly organized it is, Paul takes the time to explain everything about the show to Twan. And the pleasure with which he provides the tour is admirable. Only the supervision of a few crew members reveals that the organization is more involved than the guitarist lets us experience.

Paul dismisses the fact that it has an impact on his own planning: “it must be well timed between the arrival of the audience and the start of the show. I have to be there on time, but it's all worth it to me. I really enjoy doing the tours for the visually impaired.” What do you find most special about the tours? “Every tour is different. Sometimes people are moved to tears. People who have poor or no vision often have a sensitive and reserved character. I love it when I can make those people happy!”

The stage

Finally, the hydraulic lift that leads to the actual stage lowers. As the field slowly fills up, Twan gets the opportunity to feel the floor of the stage. And the type of flooring comes in very handy today. Paul: “This material is normally used on oil platforms, so that you do not slip when it is wet. It's sharp and hard, so you'll need thick shoes to stand on it for the entire show. And if you trip and fall on your knee, it will hurt you for a while!”

After a photo moment with Paul we are escorted back to the field. Twan: “When I was selected for that blind tour, I already had the feeling that something special could happen. And then the guitarist comes to do the tour! It's almost surreal that you can just chat with someone so big and famous. That someone from the band takes you along and takes the time for you. I think that is really special and exceeds my expectations!”

The show

Then of course it's time for the show. Although the weather is anything but good, the atmosphere is exceptionally good. Of course, the show is phenomenal again, just like two years ago . The differences with that show can be counted on one hand. 'Armee der Tristen', 'Zick Zack', 'Zeig Dich' and 'Heirate Mich' have made way for 'Ramm4', 'Keine Lust', 'Asche zu Asche' and 'Wiener Blut' respectively, with the latter in particular having a considerable intense addition to an already impressive show. The men play very tight and don't really loosen the reins anywhere. You would almost forget that the band is celebrating their thirtieth anniversary this year.

Twan: “I thought they played well live, full of energy. The singing was also good and it was really heavy at times. 'Puppe' and 'Adieu' at the end were impressive!” But: did the tour have any influence on Twan's concert experience? “I liked getting an insight into what that stage looks like, with the flamethrowers and the cooking pot. When you feel the stage and how big it all is, that is impressive and that also gives a better idea of ​​what you get on such an evening.”

The last word goes to Twan: “compliments to Paul Landers and the management of Rammstein. They did a really good job: the service, the reception, everything. Well organised!”

We would like to thank Greenhouse Talent, the management of Rammstein and in particular Paul Landers and Twan Driessen for their cooperation in this article!

[outlawruben]

RIP Van Der Linde gang 😔 you would’ve loved:

Abigail Marston - Marriage counseling, Stanley Cups, The Barbie Movie

Arthur Morgan - Slim Jim’s, Bass Pro Shops pyramid, Levi’s wooly Jean Jackets

Bill Williamson - Grindr, Shitty Gas Stations, “Don’t Tread On Me” flags

Charles Smith - Mitski, microwaved popcorn and movie nights, Bison as a protected species

Dutch Van Der Linde - Backseat Driving, Political Debate Podcasts, fruit flavored vapes

Hosea Matthews - Keurig Coffee Machines, chiropractors , Candy Crush

Jack Marston (depending on age) - Warrior Cats, Percy Jackson, Disney +

Javier Escuella - Electric Guitars, Cards Against Humanity, The Oscars/Grammys/Golden Globes

John Marston - 3 in one soap, Ford Truck Of the Month, band T-shirts

Josiah Trelawney - Magician Kits, Amazon, America’s Got Talent

Karen Jones - White Claws, Dolly Parton, Brittany Broski

Kieran Duffy - Star Stables Online, NASA space pictures, JellyCat Plushies

Lenny Summers - Kindle tablets, Soundproof headphones, Barnes and Noble

Leopold Strauss - Cashapp/Venmo, Facebook, Wikipedia

Mary-Beth Gaskill - thrift shopping, fanfiction websites, Taylor Swift’s Eras tour

Micah Bell - Ben Shapiro, Alpha Males, Playing Devil’s Advocate

Molly O’Shea - Steel Magnolias, Weighted Blankets, Themed Calendars

Rev, Orville Swanson - Bible study, AA meetings, Sacramental Wine

Sadie Adler - WLW music, Matching tattoos, Gym Membership

Sean MacGuire - Totino’s pizza rolls, Good Mythical Morning, Sugary Cereal (Lucky Charms /j)

Simon Pearson - Hell’s Kitchen, Panini press/waffle iron, Walmart Superstore

Susan Grimshaw -Life 360, Boxed Wine, Cats

Tilly Jackson - Mani-Pedis, Shea Butter Scrubs, Micellar Water

Uncle - Wheel Of Fortune, Recliners, Car seat heaters

[sunsetofdoom]

Thanks @man--eater for the tag! This is a depressing AU inspired by the musical Next to Normal, which starts when Blitz enters the morning of Apology Tour to find Stella breakfasting by the pool-

"You're a little late!” She said, coolly, her tiny cat’s-ass mouth pursing into a smug smile. “My husband has left the premises for the moment." Okay. Blitz could roll with this. “What’s up, you miserable bitch? I thought you got served papers,” he grinned, channeling the energy of all his weird complicated feelings into the urge to lunge for her teeth-first. “Sneak your way back in here, or what?” “I believe that’s what you did, actually,” she called back, smirking as she spread fancy butter on a fancy little breakfast pastry. “Fortunately enough, those papers were never signed! As it turns out, they were something of a symptom of my husband’s terrible nervous breakdown, for which he’s finally been hospitalized.” Blitz staggered out of his confident stride, going cold all over. “He- What?” “Hospitalized,” she said innocently, holding up a hand to take a bite of her pasty.  As she chewed daintily, Blitz was frozen with the memory of what he’d been doing all night- driving in circles on the highway, screaming along first to angry breakup music, then sad breakup music, and finally sitting on the shoulder with his head against the steering wheel while his playlist rang with soft, desperate love songs. What had Stolas been doing, shut up in his big fancy house, crying alone after Blitz screamed at him? “It’s been months,” the wife said, swallowing, “but I managed to leverage my legal rights as his wife to see him treated for what was clearly a delusional episode. Those damn papers were in my way for a while, but convincing a judge that my husband wasn’t of sound mind was easy enough when he was told about how he’s been parading about town with something like you.” “Hey!” Blitz interjected, offense cutting through his steel-cold worry that Stolas had slit his fucking wrists. “The digital trail was quite helpful, really,” she kept monologuing like she was a fucking spy villain, drinking her tea with one pinky up. “Comments on social media, pictures- the company was even obliging enough to cough up records of your direct messages. Disgusting, by the way.” Actually blushing, Blitz turned his face away. His stomach flopped with dual arousal and nausea- Stolas sexted like a whore on a coke binge, and while it’d been annoying a year ago, the last few months of cancelled full moon dates had seen Blitz whacking off to the old messages with a fervor he wouldn’t admit to at gunpoint.

Tagging @blitzwhore and @stolitzsings, @pipsqueakparker and @goddessofcoloredpencils! Maybe even @helluvakiki if you make stuff?

[littlequeenies]

Maureen Wilson Plant

Maureen Plant, née Wilson was born in India. She was a trained nurse and the only wife of Led Zeppelin's frontman Robert Plant, and muse of the band's "Thank You" song. She is the mother of 3 of his children: Carmen Jane, Karac Pendra, and Logan Romero Plant.

Early Years and Family

Maureen F. Wilson was born in Kolkata (formerly Calcutta), India on November 20th, 1948. She has one younger sister, Shirley Wilson.

Guitarist Vernon Pereira (1944 – 25 October 1976), who was a founding member of the Band of Joy with Chris Brown, was her cousin.

Maureen Wilson's father was chief of the Calcutta mounted police. Their family moved to Trinity Road, West Bromwich sometime after Indian independence, where he became a steel factory owner in Birmingham.

[Maureen and Robert at their home, Jennings Farm at Blakeshall in Worcestershire, England, by Mike Randolph/Paul Popper/Popperfoto]

Relationship with Robert Plant

In 1966, Maureen Wilson met Robert Plant at a Georgie Fame concert, which at the last minute was canceled. From then on they began seeing each other and their relationship blossomed. Throughout the mid-1960s, Plant struggled financially. He played in various bands such as Listen, Band of Joy, and even had a few solo projects.

Plant later acknowledged that Maureen, who was working as a qualified nurse at the time, had helped him financially during this period of chopping and changing bands. Apparently, Plant even had a short stint working in Maureen’s father’s steel factory to make ends meet.

On November 9th, 1968, Robert and Maureen married. The reception took place at the Roundhouse, a venue Led Zeppelin played earlier that evening.

In 1969, Maureen traveled with Led Zeppelin on their North American Spring Tour, however, this was her last ever tour on the road with the band. After that, she stayed on the family farm and looked after their children.

Also in 1969, Robert Plant dedicated the track “Thank You” to her.

Robert and maureen had three children: Carmen Jane (born 21 October 1968); Karak Pendra (20 April 1972 – 26 July 1977); and Logan Romero Plant (born January 21 1979). Robert was present for the birth of all 3 of their children.

[November 21, 1976 - Robert and Maureen with their children Karac Pendra and Carmen Jane, with Scarlet Page (C) at "The Song Remains the Same" premiere party.]

Car accident and Karac's death

The day after the last Earls Court date, on March 26th 1975, Robert Plant, Maureen, and their two children set out on a trip to Marrakech, Morocco. Jimmy Page, his girlfriend Charlotte Martin and their daughter, Scarlet, joined the Plants in June. The two families travelled through July and wound up on the Greek island of Rhodes. On August 3rd, Page left to check on some property in Sicily. The next day, Maureen Plant was driving her family and Scarlet Page in a rented Austin Mini car down a narrow road on the island when she lost control. The car hit a tree hard. Thrown against the steering wheel, Maureen suffered life-threatening injuries and had lost a large amount of blood. Robert first thought she was dead. Maureen's leg was broken, her pelvis fractured, and she suffered concussion for 36 hours from a fractured skull. Robert and their children were seriously injured but Scarlet Page was unhurt. Charlotte Martin and Maureen's sister Shirley Wilson, who were following in the car behind managed to get medical help, but there was concern the local facilities were inadequate and Swan Song Records tour manager Richard Cole was contacted to bring the Plants back home to England for emergency treatment. Band manager Peter Grant arranged for two Harley Street specialists as well as blood plasma to be sent via private jet in the meantime. While Robert had to be moved again to the Channel Islands for tax reasons and recuperation, Maureen remained in London to continue recovery. Robert wrote the song 'Tea for One', about his feelings for her on tours away from home.

Karac Plant was at the tender age of five when he became suddenly ill with an unidentified viral infection. On July 26th 1977, Led Zeppelin traveled to New Orleans for the next show. As they were checking into the hotel, Robert received a call from his wife Maureen at the family's farmhouse near Kidderminster, Worcestershire. The first phone call said his son was sick, and within the next two hours later, she informed Robert that Karac had passed away. Earlier Karac had felt ill and been ordered to bed by the family doctor, but his condition deteriorated. Maureen called an ambulance but he failed to respond to treatment and died on the way to Kidderminster General Hospital on Tuesday 26 July 1977. Robert Plant was shocked and devastated. An autopsy held on Monday 1 August 1977, revealed Karac had died from natural causes. Only a week earlier Carmen had become ill with the same stomach enteritis which affected Karac. Karac's funeral and cremation was held in the first week of August 1977.

[Robert Plant and his extended family, including (L-R) his then girlfriend Jessica Jupp, his son Logan Romero, Maureen, 2 grandchildren, Carmen, her husband and child?, Shirley Wilson and son Jesse Lee aka Jordan Plant.]

The 1980s and beyond

Logan Romero Plant was born on 27 January 1979. His birth hardened Robert's resolve not to tour the United States for any length of time.

Robert and Maureen divorced in August 1983, but they have remained friends.

Maureen Plant dated Ian Hatton, guitarist for Jason Bonham around 1991.

In October 2010, she attended a number of UK shows of the Robert Plant and the Band of Joy European Tour 2010.

[Maureen in 2008 with a friend/fan]

*CHECK OUR MAUREEN PLANT PHOTO ALBUM HOSTED AT GOOGLE PHOTOS*

[msboookesh]

Echoes in farewell - lc

Pairing: idol!dino x gn!reader

Genre: gut-wrenching angst, exes, hurtful breakup, longing

Synopsis: Amid a glamorous event celebrating achievements, a chance encounter with your ex, Lee Chan, reveals a more mature and polished version of him, igniting a wave of nostalgia and unspoken regrets as old wounds are reopened over drinks and bittersweet conversation.

୭🧷✧˚. ᵎᵎ 🍨

The grand hall buzzed with energy, filled with the clinking of glasses and muted conversations. A grand event celebrating the achievements of various celebrities, the venue was a kaleidoscope of flashing cameras, elegant gowns, and sharp tuxedos. Yet, amidst the glamour and applause, you felt a wave of nostalgia and unease wash over you.

You had come here to support a friend who had recently won a prestigious award. The night was supposed to be a celebration, but your thoughts were consumed by one person—Lee Chan. You hadn’t seen him in years, not since the end of your disruptive relationship.

As you navigated through the crowd, you saw him. He stood by the bar, engaged in conversation with a few other guests. Chan looked different. More mature, more polished, yet undeniably handsome. His tailored suit accentuated his lean frame, and the confident air around him was a stark contrast to the boyish charm you remembered.

He seemed more knowledgeable about the world now, his conversations marked by a depth that hadn’t been there before. Your heart ached as you watched him, a thousand questions swirling in your mind. Did he still have trouble sleeping, struggling to find rest after nights out drinking with the members? Did he still need someone to wake him up after those long, reckless evenings? Did he still separate cucumbers from his meals, grumbling under his breath as if they were the greatest inconvenience?

You found yourself wanting to know if he missed you as much as you missed him. But as you tried to steel yourself, every longing stare you cast in his direction only deepened the pit of pain in your chest.

Suddenly, his eyes met yours. Chan’s expression shifted from casual interest to something more complex—surprise, recognition, and a hint of something softer. You could see the wheels turning in his mind, processing the sight of you after all this time.

"Hey," you heard him say as he approached, his voice carrying a mixture of warmth and hesitation. "It’s been a while."

“Yeah, it has.” You managed to reply, trying to keep your voice steady. The casualness of the conversation felt almost surreal, like a façade hiding the stream of emotions.

He studied you closely, his gaze lingering on your face. “You look… different. Better, though. More at ease.”

You forced a smile, though it felt tight and unnatural. “Thanks. And you, you look good too.”

“Still adjusting to this new phase of life, I guess,” Chan said, his tone light but carrying a note of sincerity. “Life’s been… a ride.”

You nodded, feeling the weight of his words press down on you. “Yeah, I can imagine.”

There was a brief silence between you, charged with unspoken words and old memories. Chan’s eyes never left yours, and you felt a surge of longing rise within you. You wanted to reach out, to bridge the gap that had formed between you over the years. But every time you considered speaking, the old fears and mistakes held you back.

“Do you want to grab a drink?” Chan asked, breaking the silence.

You hesitated, then nodded. “Sure.”

The two of you moved to a quieter corner of the venue, away from the throngs of people. The atmosphere here was more intimate, and the noise seemed to fade into the background as you sat across from each other.

Chan took a sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving yours. “How have you been? What’s new with you?”

You took a deep breath, trying to steady the emotions swirling inside you. “I’ve been… doing alright. Busy with work, as usual. Touring then some acting gigs at the side.”

“That’s good,” Chan said, nodding. “You always were driven. It’s adoring actually.”

There was a pause as you both contemplated what to say next. The easy banter you used to share now felt distant, replaced by the weight of what you’d been through together.

“So,” Chan said after a moment, “I’ve been meaning to ask… how are you? Really?”

The sincerity in his voice cut through the tension.

You looked down at your drink, feeling a lump form in your throat. “I’m… trying to move on. It’s not always easy, but I’m getting there.”

Chan’s expression softened, and for a moment, you saw the old Chan—the one who used to hold you close and share your dreams. “I’m sorry for everything that happened. I’ve thought about us a lot, about the mistakes I made.”

You swallowed hard, the words you wanted to say stuck in your throat. You wanted to ask if he missed you, if he ever thought about the things you used to share. But the fear of reopening old wounds kept you silent.

Instead, you forced a smile. “It’s in the past now, Chan-ssi. We’ve both moved on.”

Chan’s eyes flickered with sadness, and you could see the struggle within him. “Yeah, I guess we have.”

The conversation shifted to more mundane topics, but the weight of what was unsaid lingered between you. Every glance, every smile felt like a bittersweet reminder of what you once had. Chan’s laughter, though genuine, seemed tinged with a sadness that mirrored your own.

As the evening wore on, the event started to wind down. The crowd thinned, and the music softened to a gentle hum.

Chan stood up, his gaze lingering on you.

“It’s getting late,” he said, his voice carrying a note of reluctance. “I should head out.”

You nodded, feeling a pang of regret. “Yeah, I should probably get going too.”

Chan hesitated for a moment, then took a step closer. “Can I ask one more thing?”

“Sure.” You replied, your heart racing.

“Do you ever think about us? About what we had?” His voice was barely above a whisper.

The question hit you like a punch to the gut. You wanted to tell him everything, to pour out the pain and longing that had been building up inside you. But instead, you swallowed hard and forced a smile.

“I think about the good times,” you said, your voice trembling slightly. “But it’s best to let the past stay where it is.”

Chan nodded, a shadow of disappointment crossing his face. “Yeah. I suppose you’re right.”

There was a finality in his words, a sense that the chapter between you was truly closed. As you both moved toward the exit, Chan reached out, gently touching your arm.

“I hope you find what you’re looking for, (y/n).” he said softly. “You deserve that.”

You nodded, feeling tears welling in your eyes. “Thank you. I hope you do too.”

Chan’s smile was tinkle with sorrow, and you could see the pain reflected in his eyes. He turned to leave, but not before giving you one last, lingering look—a look that spoke of regret, longing, and an ache that neither of you could fully articulate.

As you watched him walk away, the weight of everything you wanted to say pressed down on you. The longing to reach out, to be held in his arms one last time, was almost unbearable. But the fear of repeating the same mistakes held you back.

You swallowed your emotions, forcing yourself to remain composed as you turned to leave. The pain of saying goodbye was sharp and unrelenting, a reminder of the love you once shared and the distance that had grown between you.

[sundasystems]

4. The Cabin in the Grove

Eden Springs is aptly named.

Just outside of town is a small overlook where you can pull your car off the road and get a good look at the place from above. You can even almost see the Sunda campus poking up from behind the far hill. It's beautiful. I have no problem seeing why anyone would want to live here. More mysterious, however, is why a massive multi-national conglomerate like Sunda would choose a place like this for their headquarters. Ninety minutes from any airport. No major interstate access. It's not especially inaccessible, but it's not easy either.

As I drive through down I see smiling faces and hear light laughter coming out of the various storefronts. Some preliminary research showed that, while the majority of residents here work for Sunda, there is also a thriving small-business culture in the down town. That appears to be true. I pass a movie theatre and a general store. There's even a French bistro! Le Jus... something? I make a note to go back.

I find it oddly peaceful here. I could live here. I could move here and feel like I'd never have another care in the world. I wave at someone on the sidewalk who waves at me. I return their smiles. My left hand drops into my lap and I sigh softly.

I slip out of the city limits on the other side of the main drag and I see the first sign that reminds me why I'm really here.

Sunda Systems Eden Springs Campus 1.5 miles

I put both hands back on the steering wheel and rezip the fly of my jeans.

The drive here is deceptive. As soon as you leave town it feels like you've driven back into the wilderness. For a few moments, there's only mountains and trees. Then you round the corner and its like driving into the world of tomorrow. Several tall white buildings shoot up from the ground surrounded by an army of smaller buildings. There are parking lots everywhere, but most sit empty, and I remember seeing a sign in town for the Sunda Shuttle.

I park in a spot marked for visitors and take a deep breath. I remind myself that no one here knows who I am or what I want. I'm just a tech nerd here for a tour of the facility. This is one of the only places around where a fair number of cars are parked. So I won't be the only person who doesn't "belong" here. I open my car door and begin to walk toward the visitor entrance.

I'm greeted inside by warm smiles and "Welcome to Sunda Systems!" There's a sign that says the next tour of the campus leaves in 15 minutes. I'm left to stand in a group of other people who are waiting. They look largely like you'd expect them to look: mostly men, mostly in their mid to late 20's, mostly stereotypically nerdy. Not that I'm one to judge. I've never been one to be considered a heart-throb. That was always more Emily's job.

One of them approached me and says hello. We chatted briefly about what brought us here to take the tour and what we were hoping to see. He seemed harmless enough. Eventually, a guide emerged from behind a counter and greets us all. He was a skinny, nerdy looking guy. He introduced himself as Glen before handing out a campus map and beginning the tour.

We weren't allowed up in to the offices in either building that flanked the main entry foyer. Instead, the tour guide led us out the back into the campus commons. It really was a beautiful place.

We first entered through the Laser and Optics Research building. We were shown an admittedly very cool demonstration of a high power laser cutting straight through a steel beam. I tried to keep myself from being impressed and remind myself why I was here, but it was hard not to get sucked into the presentation and the results. Cutting edge (pun intended).

Then across the courtyard we entered the Crystallography lab. The entrance hall here was lined with minerals and gemstones on display. We didn't get to see much here. The guide led us into a dark room with a single display case. Inside was the largest sapphire I've ever seen. The lights in the room seem to dance on its surface and somehow inside it's depths. And what depths it has! Deep blue and flecks of violet that seem to shimmer and move as it rotates on its turntable so slowly... and lazily...

I don't know why I didn't think to try to take a photo of it. I guess I was just very distracted.

Walking out into the sun after being in that dark room was disorienting. My head felt a little strange for a few minutes afterward, but the tour continued and I got over it. As we entered the audio labs I was feeling quite good again. Almost eager to continue. Music thrummed constantly here. The guide told us it was in an attempt to drown out the sound-based experimentations going on inside the facility. They tried their best to soundproof the rooms, but some sound still bled out into the main building. We should do our best to ignore it.

For some reason, the whole group managed to say "Yes, Glen" at the same time, which made us all chuckle for a few minutes. This was a good group.

Finally, we arrived at the section of the tour I'd been waiting for. The living quarters. Unfortunately, Glen didn't take us very close. He pointed out the Education Center and the Hall of Worship, but said they were closed to visitors. Further back was the cabins, where some staff had decided to live "on-site." Staff like John Delphine, former COO of Lotus Clinical Research.

The tour group began to head back toward the main entrance. Part of me wanted to follow. To be a part of Glen's group and be led around. But Emily was counting on me. So with great effort, I pulled myself out of the group and stepped behind a small statue as they rounded a corner. Just like that, I was free.

I knew I'd have to be quick. I didn't have an employee ID that I'd seen on people around so I may not have much time to explore away from the group. That being said, I couldn't sneak in broad daylight. So I put on my best "I belong here" face and strolled back toward the living area.

In the courtyard there was a bulletin board of notices for the residents. Three in particular caught my attention.

One:

Renew your Vows and sing Vivian's Gospel House of Worship each Sunday at sundown

Two:

Seeking resident beta-testers for the new Mirrorball Program. Must not have been exposed to any previous optical inductions. Inquire at Office LOR 4-19.

Three:

New Radio Sunda available through Re:Mx. Enter code S2R0-F885-GG78 into the code stream to gain access.

This last one had tabs at the bottom with the access code on them like old flyers you'd find in the city. I tore one off and pocketed it to test out later.

I moved deeper into the campus toward the trees and the cabins. There were many more cars in the lots back here. Presumably the vehicles of the residents that don't have to drive from town.

A man looking like a security guard was approaching from the cabins. I decided to cut and run before I could get caught. I stashed my camera as I walked back toward the research area of the campus and managed to slide back into the tour group as they came back out of radio building.

Many of them had happy - if slightly vapid - smiles on their faces as they listened to Glen speaking. It didn't seem like any of them had noticed I had snuck away. It wasn't really clear if they'd noticed anything except Glen that whole time. Though, I could hardly blame them. He was pretty cute. A flush ran through me, and I cleared my throat softly as we finished the tour.

But before I could leave, Glen approached me. I thought he was going to scold me for sneaking off, but I was very wrong. He asked if I was in town for long and if I'd like to get dinner with him that evening. I think my entire body turned red. It was an ethical violation to go on a date with the subject of an investigation. But it would be a good way to get some inside information.

And he was very, very attractive.

[hotluncheddie]

🍞

Rated: E | tags: objectification, dehumanisation, chubby Eddie Munson, funnel feeding, they’re in love

( This is very self indulgent & inspired by lovely talks with @scoops-aboy86 ;3c )

//

Eddie lays on their big kitchen island - Italian marble counters or whatever it was Steve and Robin decided would be best to furnish their LA home. Which Eddie bought for them after his third album went platinum and he decided he wanted a break from touring, and from being in the public eye so much.

Steve needed it for cooking, which he’s always been good at but his now endless time, a calm mind and a preference for cooking classes along with his yoga means that he’s Michelin grade for all Eddie can tell.

And taste, because everything Steve makes for him tastes amazing and Eddie, if he can, and especially if he’s told to, always eats all of it. And some.

So he’s laying on his back, on the kitchen island, and is considering how much longer until they can’t do this anymore, or can’t do it in this position, because his stomach is starting to encroach on his breathing, laying prone like he is. Maybe he could lay on his side, or they could do it on the couch so he can be propped up. Although, that might ruin the whole, vibe.

Eddie’s stomach rumbles gently as he lets his mind slowly filter away anything that isn’t Steve or Steve’s food. Which he gets to do because he’s good, and he earned it. So he knows he’ll get Steve’s food, because he always does, but he also gets extra special treatment because he’s good.

He gets to be Steve’s thing for the evening, which is why he’s on the kitchen island.

‘Dough always needs kneading until it’s smooth.’ Steve mutters, sinking his fingers into Eddie flesh, a small frown between his eyebrows.

There’s an apron tied around Steve’s slim waist, his sweater rolled up his forearms. His fingers dipping into soft flesh and Eddie watched through fuzzy eyes as the muscles in Steve’s arms flex when he manoeuvres chubby arms and legs this way and that. Squishing and squeezing Eddie’s rolls as and when he pleases. Making little grumbling noises as if it isn’t quite right yet.

Eddie’s wholes body is slack, and he’s panting slightly.

Eventually Steve must decide Eddie is properly kneaded and he turns to wash his hands in the sink. This sends a shiver down Eddie’s spine.

‘Oil and leave a warm dry place, let the dough rise until it’s around twice the size it was originally.’ Steve recites, pouring oil over his fingers and letting it dribble across Eddie’s skin.

Steve’s wide palms smooth across the pale expanse, over his tattoos, faded scars and stretch marks, some old and silvery, others pink and fresh with new growth.

His eyelashes flutter as Steve massages him, brain empty to anything other than the feel of his weight being moved. Tended to like the lump that he is, something to work, to help grow.

‘20 minutes should do it.’ Steve mumbles, draping a towel over Eddies torso. It covers him from neck to bellybutton, a thin cotton more like a kitchen towel than bathroom one. It used to cover him to the top of his thighs, but, with Steve here to knead him and prove him and nurture him in that kind way he treats his things, Eddie’s grown so much.

He revels in this as Steve leaves him, shuffling over to the kitchen table to read his book. Eddie left to do his only job, which is lay here until Steve deems him ready for more.

Eventually Steve returns, his slippers padding across the tile and rousing Eddie from his floaty daydreams; fuzzy pictures of Steve using him like as a cup holder or pillow or coatrack. Nice things, warm and pleasant. Taking off parts of him to tuck away in the wardrobe or between the linens. Leaving him in the draw with the cutlery for a while. ‘Think it needs a little longer.’ Steve says, and Eddie cracks an eye open.

The funnel they bought attaches to a stand they had to get custom made so it could be easily wheeled and taken apart. Stainless steel and lightweight, but sturdy for the wide black funnel and attached pipe.

Steve takes something out of the fridge and sets it on the counter with a thud. Then the pipes nozzle is placed gently but firmly between Eddie’s lips.

He blinks slow, tilting his head back and focusing on Steve’s face.

‘The best dough doubles in size after proving.’ He whispers, eyes soft. He checks the placement of the nozzle again and strokes the tips of his fingers feather light across Eddie’s cheek.

Eddie nods.

Cool thick shake hits his tongue and he breaths deep through his nose as his senses light up.

Swallowing slowly and methodically Eddie drinks the shake as it comes, as Steve gives it. He’s just starting to feel the cool liquid lining all four corners of his stomach when Steve pauses, returning the jug to the counter and lifting the towel, poking a finger into Eddie’s belly.

His finger must sink in more than he wants because no sooner had he stopped does the feeding continue.

It goes like that for Eddie doesn’t know how long. All he knows is swallow what Steve gives and keep breathing slow. But once the second jug taken from the fridge is nearing its end, breathing slow becomes more of a challenge, and he can feel how little Steve finger is able to press in. Can feel how the towel has ridden up and is fighting to stay put on the crest of his belly, gathering slightly at his chubby neck.

Finally though, the jug is set aside and Eddie opens his sleepy eyes again. Steve taking the nozel from his mouth and wiping his chin clean.

Slowly the towel is removed and Steve smiles down at Eddie, stroking his hair, and all over Eddie feels sun warmed and sanctified.

‘A perfect rise.’ He whispers and Eddie beams from deep in his chest.

His mind is a gooey expanse, moving slow as warm honey. But he manages to wiggle his fingers and toes just to check they’re still there. His stomach is a dull ache of imense fullness and he registers for the first time his hard cock leaking hot and heavy against his thigh.

‘Now we bake.’

Steve squeezes Eddie’s fingers, moving down the counter and out of sight. He feels hot wet lips kiss his cock head and shudders all over.

Buried deep in Steve’s throat Eddie keens, unable to see him over the rise of his full belly. Eddie lays still because he’s good, only moving his hands in order to grip his own soft sides.

He cums with a whimper and a sigh, everything easy and slow under Steve’s watchful care.

Then Steve is lifting himself onto the counter and straddling one thick thigh. Grinding his exposed cock against Eddie’s underbelly. Hips moving steady and deep, using the soft body that he built. Steve’s eyes are blown and half lidded, Eddie can’t help but stare at the pretty pink of his tongue where it sits over his bottom row of teeth. Steve’s lips parted and panting.

And as Steve spills over, as he groans his release across soft rolls, Eddie’s chest swells. He feels so useful. So needed and good. He got Steve there, to the hight of pleasure, simply by being Steve’s. By letting Steve make him perfect.

‘Fresh bread, my favourite.’ Steve smiles, leaning his chin between Eddies soft pecs and tracing the pink stretch marks on his inner arm.

Eddie giggles. Steve sucks a nipple into his mouth and bites gently.

He sighs, he loves being Steve’s favourite thing.

//

Wg tag list: @wheneverfeasible @victorclays @cheesedoctor