#Golf Tees Plastic Pink Golf Tees

[elliesflower]

victory lap [ellie williams]

pairing; f!reader x ellie

cw; rich!ellie, plus-sized female!reader, degradation (kinda), mean!ellie, vouyerism, semi-public masturbation(kinda?), ellie and reader are both perverted ngl

an; syd's comeback??? and it's smut?????? i've had this in my drafts since like may and finally got around to editing it so here you go. and i swear i'm working on chapter 8. and also please don't ask why i didn't pick a sexier sport. like basketball or something. i don't know either. ok bye.

for my sweet babies @coeurify @bambiesfics @addisonnie @seattlesellie

It was yet another blazing hot day at the country club, the sun’s sweltering rays kissing the backs of your legs as you bent down to retrieve a fallen golf ball from the bright green turf, careful not to bend straight over so that your panties would be on full display for anyone who dared to walk behind you. You readjusted the visor on your head upon standing, before you wiped a speck of excess dirt off the white plastic with a perfectly manicured finger before passing it off to Tommy Miller. 

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he said, making sure to grab an unnecessary amount of your hand in his own as he took the ball. He winked at you before readjusting his own visor, and setting up the ball on the tee. After the first time you caddied for Tommy, he started requesting you by name. Of course, you knew it probably had a little something to do with the way you caught him staring at your full breasts that sat perfectly in your pink racerback, neckline so low everyone could watch the way small beads of sweat would dribble down your skin and disappear between your chest. 

The truth is, you didn’t mind that Tommy was a little flirty with you, or even handsy sometimes, for that matter—for two reasons. The main one being, Tommy had money. Like, different car for each day of the week money. And his brother, Joel, somehow had even more, you’d reckoned from the times you’ve gotten to chat with him. They were always talking about what new business venture they’d invested in this week, or what extravagant trips they were taking next week. To the average person, it might sound snobby and pretentious—because well, it was—but around the club, it was normal. But you didn’t mind, because the more money your club members made, the more money they could put in your pocket. And you had bills to pay. 

The second reason being, of course, you knew it wouldn’t get them anywhere. Not when you weren’t really into Tommy’s…type, if you will. 

“Of course, Tommy,” you smiled warmly at him, before stepping back to stand in the shade of the golf cart as you watched him line up his shot. Just as he was all set up, swinging his arms behind him to take the shot, his phone began ringing loudly from his back pocket.  

“Goddamn, piece ‘uh shit!” He exclaimed as the ringer clearly messed up his concentration. You had to hide your smile as he shot you an apologetic look before tucking the club under his arm and pulling out his phone to answer. The club was a little high and tight, with people talking like they’d just stepped off the set of an eighties classic film, but Tommy was a little…different. Coming from Texas, the money he’s made never quite washed away his potty mouth, nor his laid-back attitude.

“What is it Joel? Oh, you’re here?” Tommy glanced at you before dropping his gaze to the ground, rolling the golf ball around with his foot mindlessly. “Yeah, yeah. Okay. No, I’ll have her come pick you two up. Yep. Alright, see ya in a bit.” 

You straightened up against the cart as he approached you, ready to do whatever it was he’d ask. 

“Joel’s here?” You asked, sliding into the cart preemptively. 

“Yeah, that sonuva bitch decided to stop by after all. Him and Ellie are waitin’ at the clubhouse, would you mind swingin’ to pick them up?” 

“Ellie?” You cocked your head slightly, but slid through to the driver’s seat nonetheless. 

“Ah, forgot you haven’t met ‘er yet,” Tommy said, and you didn’t miss the way his eyes trailed down to where your thick thighs spilled out onto the seat, your panties just barely covered by the white pleated golf skirt that rode up when you sat. You immediately averted your gaze, turning the key to the cart and feeling it rumble to life. “Ellie’s Joel’s daughter. I think she’s about your age…she’s great n’ all, honors student in college, yadda yadda…y’all might actually hit it off.”

“We’ll see about that,” you said playfully. If only he knew what he was actually implying to your sapphic brain. He just smirked at you, tapping the hood of the cart twice before walking back to the tee. “See ya in a bit,” he called over his shoulder as you drove away. You weren’t too far from the clubhouse, as Tommy had barely gotten started on his round, so it was a quick little drive over. The warm breeze tickled the baby hairs peeking from beneath your visor, and helped to cool the bare skin of your arms. 

Joel was waiting for you in the cart-turnaround at the back of the clubhouse when you arrived, and gave you a little wave as you turned around the corner. You waved back, putting on your best smile and doe eyes as you pulled up in front of him standing alone with two golf club bags at his sides. He smiled politely when you came to a stop, jumping out quickly to retrieve his bags when he started trying to put them on the cart himself. 

“Joel, you know you don’t have to worry about all that. Not when I’m around, at least.” You smirked at him as you picked up the two bags of heavy clubs with ease, loading them onto the back of the cart.

“C’mon now, I can’t even attempt to be a gentleman?” He joked, tipping his visor at you playfully. You giggled, exaggeratedly. 

“Oh, but of course, Mr. Miller. My apologies.” You pretended to curtsey for him, just barely lifting the hem of your short skirt as to not completely expose yourself—but surely you didn’t miss the completely conspicuous way his eyes traveled down the expanse of your curves, from the way your breasts practically spilled from your tank top, to the small patch of exposed skin at your midriff, all the way down to the way your white skirt flowed as you crossed your legs. I mean, who wouldn’t look, honestly? He huffed out a laugh and you took that as your cue to slide back into the driver’s seat, and Joel leaned a strong arm against the roof of the cart. 

“Tommy mentioned your daughter? Is she—” 

“Ready, Dad?” You could only assume Ellie, his daughter, suddenly appeared behind Joel, effectively shutting you up and quite literally taking your breath away. You at least had the decency to choke quietly, using Joel’s surprise as an excuse to turn your head away, bringing your fist to your mouth for a moment as you cleared your throat and tried to regain your composure. You felt the cart dip to your right, so you turned back, expecting to see Joel sliding in next to you—but no, it just had to be his daughter. His beautiful, angelically-built daughter with a perfect smile and perfect jade eyes and somehow even more perfect hands, which she was using to grip the stability bar at the front of the cart as she slid in next to you. 

You felt stunned, could do nothing but pathetically stare at her with your mouth slightly agape as you heard Joel’s phone ringing distantly, somewhere in the back of your mind, even though you knew he was sat right behind you. A half smile made the corner of Ellie’s lip twitch ever so slightly, but she looked away quickly, leaving you practically lusting at the sight of her side profile. 

“You gonna take us to Tommy? Or just sit there and stare like you ain’t got nothin’ in your brain?” Her voice was like pure sex; rich and modulated, no real Southern accent like her father, but his vernacular had definitely rubbed off. It was really hard to not show that her words were heading straight to your lower half, your thighs pressing together just inconspicuously enough that you’d probably be able to play it off if she really noticed. You had to at least look embarrassed, averting your gaze so that you could turn the small engine over. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Ellie. Tommy speaks very highly of you.” You chose to ignore her little comment, focusing instead on trying to treat Ellie just like every member you’d had the pleasure of serving. 

And oh boy, would it be a pleasure to serve Ellie. 

“M’sure he does,” Ellie all but laughed, leaning back so that her legs spread apart across the seat, her left knee getting dangerously close to your legs. You swallowed thickly, trying to watch the movement of her tattooed arm from your peripheral as she slung it over the back of the seat. You could tell it was a natural response, that she probably man-spreaded like this everywhere—but some sick and perverted part of your mind wanted to believe that she was doing it for you, that she wanted you to see her act so…

“Eyes on the fucking road, sweetheart,” she said, and it was quiet. But the weight of it made you nearly squeak—how long had you been looking over at her?—narrowly avoiding a decently-sized rock that would have gotten easily stuck in the small tires of the golf cart. “This your first day on the job or somethin’?” 

And Ellie was so fucking casual with it. Like she hadn’t even meant to degrade you. You stammered a bit, and you swear you could feel her eyes burning a hole into the side of your face. Tommy appeared suddenly as you reached the small summit of the course hill, and all you could do was huff quietly as you approached, again choosing to ignore the way she taunted you like it was second nature. Luckily, she either didn’t hear or chose to ignore you, but she didn’t say another word as you pulled up near Tommy, just as he was taking a long swing with his driver.

“You see that shit, Joel?” He asked as he squinted out at the ball flying through the air with impressive speed. “Might actually beat ya this time, whatcha think?” 

“Yeah, yeah, you just got a head start, that’s all.” You could hear the smile in Joel’s voice as you quickly jumped out of the cart and ran to grab his clubs for him, and Ellie’s, too. He was finishing up his phone call as he took the bag from you, giving you a small nod before you turned to face Ellie. Now that you were standing practically face to face, you had to stop yourself from looking her up and down. Or you at least had to find a way to be discreet about it…and that was one thing you were, was quick on your feet. 

“These are some nice clubs,” you praised, using it as an excuse to look down at her, playing it off like you were examining them. Her feet were clad in an expensive pair of golfing shoes, her toned calves running into thighs covered in a simple, black, five inch inseam short. You gulped inconspicuously, as your eyes quickly moved past her crotch. Surely, you were hallucinating that…bulge. 

“Aw, so you can be helpful when you wanna be,” Ellie snickered, taking the bag away from you with such quickness that your arm was left hovering in the air. You shook your head slightly as if to shake the thoughts away, and dared to look her in the eyes once more. 

“I sure do try my best,” you said, and it wasn’t meant to be bratty, it really wasn’t—but Ellie’s smirk quickly soured, and she huffed and slung the bag over her shoulder. 

“Get me some water, will you?” She jutted her chin toward the cooler attached to the back of the cart, and you could only nod, instantly following her blunt command like you were a puppet on her string. What was she doing to you?

Ellie wasn’t always an asshole, you see. No, no, society made her this way. Have you ever noticed how rich kids aren’t friends with the poor ones, or vice versa? It’s because they can never find any middle ground, no similarities, no common interests. The kids going to public school were happy with a day trip to the city as a vacation; meanwhile, Ellie was missing weeks of her prissy private school education to fly halfway around the world on a business trip with her dad. 

And now, she was a rich girl going to a pretentious university. But she didn’t like the fact that people saw her this way: an asshole with her nose always pointing up; getting clocked as a rich girl as soon as anyone with eyes looked at the way she was dressed; never knowing if someone liked her for her, instead of just for her money. People were going to look at her and see ‘rich, pretentious asshole’ painted on her forehead no matter what—so why not embrace it? Why not put on this stupid little act that everyone else in her social class seemed to? 

And that’s where the soul-sucking began, Ellie realized. That’s how the bratty, entitled kids from her high school ended up just like their evil, entitled parents. She didn’t want to be this way. It just…happened. 

Nevertheless, Ellie pulled the Nike-swooshed visor off of her head for a moment to run her fingers through her reddish-brown tresses, trying to shake away the heat of the sun. You couldn’t help but to let your eyes linger on the way her tattooed arm flexed as she did so, nearly tripping over your own feet as you brought her a completely unnecessary plastic bottle full of water. 

“You know, they make reusable water bottles, nowadays,” you blurted out, your sarcasm taking over momentarily, the heat nearly making you forget where you were. You were at work. Of course rich people don’t care about using plastic water bottles. Ellie raised a curious brow, perfectly groomed with a small scar parting the arch. She didn’t even have to say anything—she just stood there, giving you that…look, and your eyes widened in surprise. She snatched the water bottle from your hand with such force that you flinched, the plastic crinkling almost louder than the sound of Tommy and Joel’s banter.

“I’m sorry, Miss,” you found yourself saying, eyes immediately falling to the ground. As she took a swig of water, Ellie couldn’t help but to notice this, and file it away in her brain for another time—the way she didn’t even have to say anything to you, and you were already so…

submissive. 

“Don’t call me Miss,” she said simply as she screwed the cap back on. You nodded, folding your hands together in front of you before looking back up to catch her gaze. 

“Yes, Ellie,” and her name came out like a drawl naturally…swear. The syllables rolled off your tongue and straight to your lower half, took you to a place so heavenly—your panties were growing wetter by the second, the press of your plush thighs getting tighter as you watched her expression. Her eyes darkened momentarily (or did she just squint at the sun?), and her posture shifted (maybe she got a cramp?). It was like she was trying to read your mind, and you were pretty sure she practically could as you watched her pretty pink tongue dart out to catch the wetness that remained on her lips—you found yourself salivating at the sight, having to quite literally force your jaw to stay closed. 

She was an asshole, sure—but that doesn’t mean you still don’t want to fuck her. 

“My clubs?” Ellie broke you out of your little fantasy by invading your presence, so close you were suddenly overwhelmed. She had set her clubs down in front of her when she took a drink of water, and it was now suddenly your job to hand them to her. “Do we need to clean out your ears or somethin’? Jesus.” She was shaking her head, feigning disappointment, and you stammered. No, no, you’ve never had an unsatisfied member and you weren’t going to start now. Especially not with Ellie. You felt the urge to please her, go above and beyond and make sure she never had to lift a finger—but she was scoffing and reaching to grab her clubs before you could get out another word. 

“No, no, no Mi-” You caught yourself before you made yet another embarrassing mistake. For the second time. “Ellie. My apologies, I’ll follow you.” It was a bit proper, maybe a bit much…but you had to make it up to her, you had to. Whatever it takes. 

“I want my driver first. You do know which one that is, right?” And she was nasty, voice laced with venom as she called over her shoulder. When did she start walking away? And should your pussy be throbbing over that? You didn’t even respond as you lugged her bag over your shoulder, trailing behind her to catch up to Tommy and Joel. They were still bantering away when you approached, cursing and laughing and hitting each other, like brothers do. 

“Look who finally made it,” Ellie’s eyes rolled when you caught up, so quickly you almost missed it. You were like, fifteen steps behind her, there’s no way that was called for. You stayed silent as you unloaded the clubs off your shoulder, doing your best not to show any hint of negative emotion on your face, propping the bag up before pulling Ellie’s driver out. It was long, and heavy, like all the other expensive ones you’ve seen. All of her clubs looked shiny, you noted, like she had either never used them, or just got them polished. Either of which could be possible, as you’d yet to see her play. She grabbed it from you hastily, and you felt that familiar throb beneath your skirt. Get a fucking grip.

“Gotcha’ all set up here, kiddo,” Joel said enthusiastically, and Ellie didn’t even fake a smile. So, you just watched her take the shot. Boy, did you watch her take the shot. 

Watched the way she got so serious—okay, somehow more serious than before—the way she shuffled her feet behind the tee as she lined up her shot, the way her arms flexed and veins popped as she straightened out her arms, prepping to take the swing. The way she took a split second to glance back while she rotated her body to shoot you the most sickeningly devious wink before sending the ball flying across the course.

Tommy whistled and Joel offered a few strong claps. 

You couldn’t be quite sure that you wouldn’t melt into a puddle right here in the middle of the course. What is it about Ellie, your favorite member’s niece, that was getting you so worked up? For fucks sake, golf isn’t even a sexy sport! It couldn’t have at least been basketball, or something a bit more…normal that did it for you?

Instead, you got Ellie, in all her glory. Strong calves turned away from you as she watched her ball cut through the air, higher and faster and better than you’d ever seen Tommy or Joel hit. Not that they’d ever admit that. 

Your thoughts were getting dirtier by the minute as you watched Ellie play. You felt like a baby deer following her around the course, knees wobbling every time she barked another command at you. 

“Um, my water, please?”

“I said five iron, not six.”

“My ball is dirty. What ‘er you even good for?

You were slipping by the minute, letting your eyes linger over her frame a little longer each time you glanced her way. No way she wasn’t catching on. 

“Take a fucking picture, Princess, it’ll last longer.”

Oops.

And when you pulled back up to the clubhouse, it took everything in you to not just run off. Your heart was beating out of your chest, panties completely ruined with your slick, oh my god you were fucking perverted. You carefully helped Tommy, Joel, and Ellie load up their gear into their respective cars, keeping your mouth shut so as to not squeak out an embarrassing sound. In fact, you couldn’t be quite sure you wouldn’t just moan out loud if Ellie so much as even glanced in your direction unprompted. 

“Great game today, guys.” You smiled sweetly at Joel and Tommy who were now both leaned up against the side of the building, taking refuge from the sun. 

“Well thank ya, sweetheart! Glad you got a chance to meet Ellie today, too,” Joel smiled at you, reaching out to squeeze at your shoulder. “Ellie, why don’t you say thank you to our lovely caddy girl today?” He didn’t use your name, because why would he? You were a convenience to them. Now that you thought about it, Ellie probably didn’t even know your name. Let alone care. 

Her green eyes bore into you for a moment before she grunted out something that sounded suspiciously like a thank you, before tipping her head back to swallow the last of her water. The sight of her throat contracting had you practically running away to do something so devious, you might have to get down on your knees and pray before you went to sleep. 

And Ellie was only human, after all. She was curious, about a lot of things. But more specifically? At this moment? She was wondering where you were scurrying off to. Of course, you weren’t as good about hiding what physical reactions you’d been having to her for the past hour as you thought—the way you’d squirm whenever she caught you staring at her, or how your mouth opened ever so slightly, ever so submissively when she berated you. 

So wherever you were going must be good. 

And oh, was it good. 

Ellie couldn’t believe her eyes, as she trailed behind you. Each time you’d look back, she’d be sure to hide just perfectly out of your view around corners, behind tables….she couldn’t let you know how curious she was, no. Because you see, she was actually good about hiding these sorts of things. She was an asshole, but it wasn’t for no reason. She just couldn’t let you know how the sight of you practically drove her insane—the soft curve of your hips beneath that skirt, the rolls on your belly that led to the plush skin of your breasts that bounced so perfectly with every step you took. That would just ruin the fun of it. My god, were you a sight for Ellie’s sore eyes. 

So now, Ellie watched as you were slipping into a supply closet. Okay…? Perhaps, you had just forgotten something, then. Needed to grab something for another member, or left your bag in there before you started your shift. Nothing interesting. 

But no, Ellie was close enough now that you were safely behind the door, that she could hear the lock ‘click’ softly from inside the supply closet. 

Oh. Oh— she thought. 

And she couldn’t believe her ears, when she heard the faintest sigh. One that couldn’t be mistaken for anything other than relief. 

And yeah, you were relieved. 

You couldn’t take it anymore—the last hour you spent with Ellie was absolute torture. Letting her talk down on you, and treat you like you were nothing to her…it shouldn’t have turned you on. You should be upset, embarrassed, angry, furious even. But you were wet. 

Holy fucking shit, you were wet. Your fingers trailed down your tummy as you leaned against the wall in the dark closet, barely illuminated by a tiny window at the top of one wall. Your breath was shaky, eyes closed as you lifted your short skirt, shoving your panties to the side before you felt the top of your fingers graze past your clit, sliding further and further in between your slick folds, so easily, so so easily. 

“Oh!” you caught yourself gasping as you played with yourself, drawing your bottom lip between your teeth as a sickly, obscene wet sound began to fill the space of the small closet. This was so wrong…touching yourself at work, thinking about Ellie, so fucking desperate that you had to run away and relieve even just an ounce of the tension you felt inside. 

It only got worse when all you could think about was Ellie’s long fingers, the way they gripped the golf clubs so tenderly, and how you wished so badly that you could replace yours with hers as they slipped inside of you. Your head fell back against the metal rack behind you, and you had no right mind to react to what should have been pain. Instead, you pictured Ellie standing in front of you, and how her eyes would darken with lust as she pressed her body against yours, her hot breath fanning across your face as she fucked her fingers up into you…

And Ellie was going crazy, couldn’t help herself from getting closer and closer to that supply closet door. There was no one in this wing of the club, surely no one would walk by and see her with her ear pressed against a supply closet door…right? It mostly didn’t matter, as something deranged and perverted was consuming her brain. She found herself quite literally pressed against the door, she couldn’t help herself, she had to hear the way you moaned softly and gasped while you worked yourself closer and closer to your release. 

“Oh…oh Ellie!” You breathed wantonly, and Ellie could have cum on the spot. The wet sounds of your ministrations were getting faster and louder as your fingers pressed in and out of you with such force the rack behind you was beginning to rattle. Had you been in your right mind, you should have been mortified. You should have stopped right then and there, pulled yourself together and went home to the privacy of your own home and taken a long, cold shower. But all you could see was that stupid fucking smirk on Ellie’s face as she’d whisper: 

Just fucking cum for me, baby. 

And so you did, slapping your free hand over your mouth to muffle what surely would have been far too loud of a noise as you reached your peak, your body trembling almost violently as the high washed over you. 

Ellie was positively reeling, her ear still pressed to the door almost comically as she listened to you come undone. If anyone were to walk by at this moment it would look utterly suspicious, her all alone in the long hallway, surely looking suspect in her current position. Not to mention she should probably pull away before you had a chance to swing the door open, as she would have absolutely no excuse as to what she was doing here. 

Instead, Ellie continued to listen to your labored breaths as you came down, her pink lips parted softly as she felt her own wetness growing more and more unbearable beneath her shorts. Hell, had the purple silicone she had strapped to her hips been real, there would be absolutely no hiding what your sounds had done to her. She should move away, racing thoughts of oh my fucking god, and I wonder how easy it would be to make her sound like that again, but also to go back to Dad and go the fuck home, goddammit, this is absolutely sick, even for you and— 

“Ellie?!” 

She nearly fell forward from the weight of her body on the door when it swung inwards to reveal your absolutely mortified face, and even more terrified voice. Her eyes were like saucers, surely mirroring yours as you gaped at her, one hand still on the door to leave the possibility of slamming it right back in her face in humiliation. No, no no no no no way this was happening to you. 

Ellie’s mouth opened and closed a few times as she staggered backwards in her surprise, leaving you both just staring each other down in what was surely the most awkward encounter either of you had ever had in your entire life. Her eyes quickly shifted downwards and she took another step back. 

“I- I was just- yeah, okay. Bye.” 

And she was gone. 

-- 

pt 2??????

[obxparadise]

Last Friday Night

JJ Maybank x Reader 

Word count: 5,548

~A fic in which JJ helps you recount the memories of your wild Friday night~

Warning: Mentions of alcohol, weed, and implied sex.

A/N: This is my longest fic yet!! It’s a combination of a story and flashbacks. Flashbacks are in italics! I hope you enjoy it as much as I did. Leave a comment and reblog if you liked it :) I also recommend listening to Katy Perry’s “Last Friday Night” while reading :)

*Picture was found on Google. Credit to the owner.*

~~~

There’s a stranger in my bed

There’s a pounding in my head

Glitter all over the room

Pink flamingos in the pool

I smell like a mini bar

DJ’s passed out in the yard

Barbie’s on the barbeque

This a hickey or a bruise?

Sunlight shines through the window curtains, brightening up what was once a dim room. Tired eyes squint against the light as you attempt to roll on your back, groaning as an unimaginable wave of discomfort shoots across your skull. Hands find their way to your head, kneading your temples to try and ease the pain of a growing headache. The heavy weight of your hangover keeps you from moving, although you desperately need a water and aspirin. Maybe something greasy too.

As your eyes flutter open slowly, they readjust to the light in the room. Heavy breaths leave your mouth, tongue darting out to wet your awfully dry lips. The rancid taste of liquor is still on your breath, and you decide the first thing you need before medicine is a toothbrush.

Movement beside you urges you to freeze in bed, heart beating quickly. Turning slowly to the side, your eyes meet with a pair of tired, baby blue eyes and a mop of messy blonde hair, sticking up in every which way. The image of the boy doesn’t register quickly enough in your head as you shriek, heaving him off the side of the bed, cringing when he lands on the hardwood floor with a thud. Whoops.

“Ow! What the hell was that for?”

Crawling to the other side, your heart stops when you realize who had been your bed mate. “JJ? What the fuck?”

Out of all the boys who could have been lying beside you, JJ Maybank was the very last one on the list of people you would have expected. Luckily for you, JJ was no stranger. Sure, he was more of your sister Sarah’s friend, as Sarah’s boyfriend John B was JJ’s best friend, so you didn’t mind him, but over the last week or so, you’d grown closer to the group, JJ especially. He was chill, funny, unpredictable. Extremely handsome, too.

“What the fuck me?” He asks incredulously, rubbing his now sore elbow. A tiny laugh escapes as you watch his brows furrow in confusion. “What the fuck you! Why did you push me?”

“JJ, what the hell were you doing in my bed?”

He stretches, bare, tanned abdomen exposed for your viewing pleasure. Well, you definitely could’ve been stuck with someone a lot worse. No complaints, though.

“Well, I was sleeping peacefully,” he grumbles, grabbing onto the end of the bed to pull himself up. Pink sparkles litter his body, and you watch in amusement as he vigorously attempts to brush them off. Eyes scanning the room, they land on a confetti cannon. And if you had to guess, Sarah replaced the confetti with glitter. Great.  “Oh, and by the way, you steal all the blankets in your sleep. I was freezing my balls off trying to wrestle them from you last night.”

Running a hand through your hair, which is somewhat damp and undoubtedly tangled thanks to alcohol, you try to connect the dots as JJ glances at you, lips curved, delight on his face. “What happened last night?”

How much did you have to drink that you couldn’t remember a single detail? To be completely hungover and forgetful the next morning is extremely unlike you, and if you were being honest with yourself, you were truly embarrassed.

“Only the best fucking night ever,” JJ grins, happily slapping your leg, giving it a squeeze. “I’ll tell ya, you and Sarah sure know how to throw a party. Best Friday night I’ve had in weeks.”

And that’s when it hits you. Your parents are out of town, your brother Rafe is away at a three-day golf tournament, and little sister Wheezie had spent the night with a friend.

Jumping out of bed, you run to the window and peel back the curtains. Your mouth drops in horror as you absorb the sight of your nearly destroyed backyard. Flamingo pool floats are crowding the pool, some full of air, and well, some had seen better days. Pong tables and plastic lawn chairs are flipped and broken. Red solo cups litter the patio, many still filled, others crushed and empty. Rubbing your temples, you cannot imagine how it could get any worse, but a dark figure between the bushes has you pressing your face against the screen, squinting to get a clearer look. For the love of God, the DJ is passed out in the grass. Is he dead? Shit.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

JJ appears beside you, looking over your shoulder. His eyes widen as he takes in the catastrophe that is your backyard. “Whew,” he whistles. “What a night.”

You elbow his ribs before stepping back, sucking in a breath as you realize how much cleaning you’ll have to do. Peeling off your clothes, you quickly change into a fresh pair of sweats and a cropped half tee shirt, making sure to throw on a few layers of deodorant after JJ’s teasing comment.

You catch him staring as you fix yourself in the mirror, smirking at a spot on your abdomen. Glancing back to the mirror, your mouth drops as your fingers brush over a deep red mark. “What is this? Where did this bruise come from?”  

You jump at JJ’s cool touch against your warm skin, and he smirks before pulling back. “That’s a hickey, Y/N.”

“A what?” Open palms slap against your forehead in disbelief. “From who?!”

The only thing JJ offers is narrowed eyes and a slight close-lipped smile.

“It was you!” The realization hits you like a freight train. “Oh my god. We fucking slept together didn’t we?”

JJ’s body shakes with laughter as you frantically search your body for more marks, exasperated sighs leaving your lips as you find a few more dotting your neck. Thank God you had just bought a new concealer because you were going to need it. “We spent the entire night together, Y/N. Do you really not remember anything?” He’s pouting, and his voice comes out almost…offended.

“Okay, you know what?” Throwing your hands in the air, you turn back to JJ, whose hands are clasped together in front of him. “I need to remember what happened last night. No more surprises.”

JJ cocks his head to the side. He considers you for a moment before hopping back into bed, patting the place next to him. Hesitantly, you join him in bed, unsure if you’re ready to recount one of the craziest nights of your life. “Where do you want to start?”

Pictures of last night

Ended up online

I’m screwed

Oh well

“Kiara Carrera!”

Squeezing your way through the various partygoers, a relieved sigh leaves your chest as you spot the feisty brunette sitting by the pool, legs dangling in the water as she listens to Pope ramble on about the season finale of The Walking Dead while simultaneously spinning in a pool float.

“What’s up?” Kie says, grinning as you bend down to hug her around the neck.

“Any chance I could borrow your Polaroid?” Right away, you see the hesitation in her brown eyes. She’s not stupid. Giving a drunk girl a camera probably wouldn’t be the best idea, but you’ve been known to be quite persuasive. “Aw, please Kie? I’ll take really good care of it, I promise.”

Sarah may have had problems with Kiara in the past, but there was never any bad blood between the two of you. Frankly, you’d been pissed when Sarah pushed Kie away. Her insecurities ruined a great friendship. Kiara had always been a good friend to your sister. It was nice to see them finally getting along again, now that Sarah and John B were officially together. I guess they really didn’t have a choice, but you knew them. Time would pass, and they would be thick as thieves again.

Kiara reaches into her bag and pulls out a light blue Polaroid camera, holding it out for you. Squealing, you eagerly take the camera, excited to document a night of memories. “Be careful with that thing. It’s brand new.”

Kiara rolls her eyes as you cradle the camera to your chest, rocking it like a child. The alcohol is finally settling in your system, so you squeeze the camera tight to your chest, saluting her before holding the camera to your eyes. “Pope, come in closer.”

He rests his arms on Kiara’s thighs, and they both flash a smile your way. Collecting the picture, you wait for it to appear on the printed film, smiling at the two happy faces. Hm. They’d make a pretty cute couple.

“Alright, I’ll be back!”

Kie and Pope send you off with a final wave as you begin snapping photos of people dancing, people drinking, people swimming. Sometimes memories fade, but with pictures, you could relive them, bring yourself back to that very moment.

Teenager years are the most important. It’s a time filled with adventure, embarrassment, growth, love, friendships. After high school, everyone goes their separate ways. It’s a part of life. Not everyone stays together. But the pictures would remind you of simpler times. Times when you were happy and carefree without a worry in the world. Times where you were surrounded by old friends. Times that would only be relived through photos.

~

The pictures are spread in front of you on the kitchen counter. Chin resting in your palm, you smile down at the photos, fingers delicately tracing the outline of the film as your body drunkenly sways to whatever song the DJ is playing in the yard. In one picture, Kiara is throwing up the peace sign while Sarah leans her elbow on Kie’s shoulder. Another shows Pope and John B, both curled in a cannon ball as they launch themselves into the pool. JJ and John B throw up the middle fingers in a third picture, and Sarah and Pope laugh at a drenched Kiara, who had alcohol spilled on her moments prior.

“Well these are pretty cool,” a voice slurs beside you. A ringed hand reaches out to touch the pictures, and you recognize the rough, bruised knuckles right away. “But there’s something missing.”

Hand on your waist, you stare up at JJ, brows raised. He leans his hip against the counter, hazy eyes trained on you as he lifts a beer to his lips, tongue slightly darting out to collect the excess. You don’t even want to know how much he’s already had to drink. “And what’s that?”

“You’re not in any of them,” He notes, motioning to the pictures. You follow his fingers as they point to each photo, and sure enough, you’re nowhere in sight.

“Huh. I guess I was so busy taking pictures of everyone else I forgot to include myself. Well then,” Grabbing the Polaroid from the counter, you hold it out in front of you. JJ watches you curiously until you nod your head toward the camera. “What are you waiting for? Get in the picture.”

He leans in close to you, his cheek centimeters from yours, hand resting gently on your hip. You smile brightly while JJ opts for a half smirk, his trademark.

“Do something silly,” You tell him, plucking the first photo from the camera. “Make me laugh.”

You joke with JJ the most out of all of Sarah’s friends. JJ’s sense of humor is unmatched, even when he’s not trying. He thinks for a moment, only briefly, before you feel his tongue flat against your cheek. It startles you but you laugh, a real, genuine laugh, just as your finger presses the shutter button.

The picture is perfect as you lie it alongside the others, gazing down at what would soon become mere memories. Head tilting to the side, you examine the photos as does JJ, and he speaks up, “We should date them.”

It’s as if he read your mind. Rummaging through the cabinets in your kitchen, you locate a black sharpie, pulling the cap off with your mouth before scribbling the date in the bottom left corner of each photo.

You smile triumphantly until JJ plucks the marker from your fingers, scrawling more words on the pictures of you and him. Grabbing the photo of JJ licking your cheek, which oddly enough was super attractive, you roll your eyes as you read the hashtag. “TGIF? Really, JJ? How old are you?”

“Thank god it’s Friday,” his smile is lazy and all you can do is shake your head and return the grin. “Come on,” JJ offers you his hand and you take it as he leads you through a swarm of people before you eventually find yourselves back in your yard. “Let’s get someone to take a group picture.”

You nod in agreement, clutching the camera to your chest, scanning the yard for the remainder of your friends. You spot them on the other side of the pool, Sarah and Kiara cheering loudly for John B and Pope, who are engaged in an intense game of one-on-one flip cup.

“Hold up, J, let me get a picture of this.” Glancing through the viewfinder, you shake your head as you find yourself to be too far away. Keeping the camera to your eye, you pace forward a few steps, oblivious to the circular pool float just inches from your feet.

“Y/N, watch out!” But Kie’s voice falls on deaf ears as you trip over the float, toppling into the water with her pristine Polaroid.

Resurfacing with a deep gasp, you rub the water from your eyes, blushing a deep red as laughter bubbles around you, but the only one with a sour expression on her face who is indeed not laughing, is Kiara.

Chuckling nervously, you hold up the drenched camera before shrugging. “Oops?”

~

“Oops?” You stare at JJ in astonishment, almost as if you don’t believe a word he’s saying. “I said oops?!”

You groan as JJ nods, burying your face in your palms. Kiara’s brand new, one-hundred-dollar camera and you just had to fall into the pool.

“God, how mad was she?”

JJ shrugs. “Eh, she was pissed for about ten minutes. But hey, she got her payback, though.” He wiggles his brows and you shrink back into the bed. “Do I even want to know how?”

“You didn’t see the Instagram pictures? Kie took them on her phone since you know, you killed her camera.” Heart hammering in your chest, you snatch JJ’s phone from his hand, mouth falling open as you scroll through and find Kiara’s Instagram, her latest post an assortment of pictures from the night before.

“Oh. My. God.”

Each picture of yourself made you squirm more than the previous as you scroll through, cringing in embarrassment. There were pictures of you with your tongue out, looking drunk and ridiculous. Pictures of you and JJ dancing on tables, flailing your arms dramatically, also made the post. Pictures of you puking in the grass and slumped over the toilet made the cut as well. And when you read the caption of the pictures, the bile rose to your throat.

“Thanks for ruining my Polaroid. #Revenge.”

Scrolling through the comments wasn’t the brightest idea either, as your eyes nearly rolled out of their sockets at the first two comments.

@rafecam19: So, this is what my sister does when no one’s home.

@wheeziebee: Wait, Sarah and Y/N had a party without me? Well, I know where these pictures are going. #momanddadsnewfavoritechild

“I am so screwed,” Your head hangs in shame, already picturing in your brain the tongue lashing from your parents when they find out. Grabbing JJ’s phone once more, you scroll to the picture of you two on top of the dining room table. Your back is pressed against his chest while his crotch is dangerously close to your ass, palm gripping your hip.  Cheeks heating, you turn the phone around, holding it out for JJ to see. “Okay, what the hell are we doing here?”

Last Friday Night

Yeah we danced on tabletops

And we took too many shots

Think we kissed but I forgot

“Y/N, you’re going to fall! Get down!” Sarah yells over the music, a beer in one hand while her other hand is firmly planted on her hip. Sarah, Pope, and JJ watch from below as you expertly climb onto the dining room table, careful not to spill the two shots in your hand.

Flashing your paranoid sister a smile, your body begins to sway to the music. Cheers are aimed your way, egging you on even more. “Oh, lighten up, Sar. Come up here and join me.”

“You’re insane,” Pope says, flashing Sarah a nervous look. “And very drunk, might I add.”

“Not drunk enough,” You answer, throwing back one of the shots. As soon as the liquid hits your tongue, you’re filled with a rush of energy.

“JJ, do something,” Sarah urges, shaking his shoulder to pull his attention from your body. You’d changed out of your wet clothes after the pool incident, and your body was now clad in tight jean shorts and a black off the shoulder shirt. The more he stared, the more he didn’t want to tear his eyes away. “Talk some sense into her.”

He watches you with a playful smirk before peering back at your sister. “I have a better idea.” Much to Sarah’s dismay, JJ gathers three more shots in his hands before heaving himself up onto the table, placing one of the shots in your hand. “For you, beautiful.” JJ winks and you gladly accept the shot, toning out your sister’s pleas. The shot glasses clink together before you and JJ down the liquid. JJ finishes the last two before chucking them to Pope, who has difficulty catching them, as he’s not the most coordinated of the bunch. Too much time on the math team does that to a man.

The music changes from rap to throwbacks, and the crowd of teenagers flooding your house erupt into loud cheers as they recognize some of the songs from their childhood. “Last Friday Night” blasts through the DJ’s speakers, and even Sarah, originally annoyed with your shenanigans, eases up and pulls Kiara and Pope away to dance.

You’re left alone with JJ who is trying his damn hardest to dance smoothly and not make a fool of himself. You laugh heartily at his amateur dance moves before moving closer to him, gripping his wrists to steady yourself. You turn yourself in his arms, jumping slightly as his hands grip your hips, lightly squeezing.  He’s gentle with you now as your bodies tangle together, his lips calmly brushing your neck, and it’s a different side of him. While most of the time he’s calm, you haven’t been around JJ enough to see him let loose. The alcohol definitely helps.

His lips brush against your ear, sending a slight quiver through your body. “Is this okay?”

The feel of his front side against your backside, his hands on your body, rubbing, squeezing, and his lips dusting against your neck, jaw, ears, it’s exquisite. Blood rushes throughout your body, down your legs, up your arms, through your cheeks, in your head, and the sound of it pumping blocks out the surrounding noise. You’re the only two people in the room. At least, it feels that way.

Before your brain has time to process your body’s actions, you face JJ in his arms, hands on either side of his neck. His lips are parted slightly, breathing even, and his eyes are calculated, focused, scanning your face.

“You’re not seeing anyone, right?”

The air around you is thick, almost restricting your breaths, but JJ remains collected, eyes steady on your face. One hand situates on your hip while the other rests easily on your back. “Fuck no,” he breathes. “I only see you, baby.”

“Thank God.”

You lean in the same time JJ pushes forward, lips finally connecting in a soft but urgent kiss. Does time stop? It feels like it. And there’s no way this is your imagination, either. Weak knees, fluttering heartbeat, small gasps for air, rosy cheeks. All products of a real, sensual kiss.

JJ controls the kiss. He captivates you, and you go along with the feel of his lips, letting him guide you. The light strokes of his fingers on your back are a reassurance. Reassurance that the kiss is genuine. Reassurance that you’re safe with him. Reassurance that he wants this just as much as you do.

The adrenaline pulses within your veins.

His tongue brushes against yours.

Your head spins.

It feels like you’re floating.

You want it to last forever.

A low whistle breaks the kiss and you’re reluctant to pull away. “Shit, bro,” The voice belongs to John B who stands below you, staring with upstretched eyebrows. You’re still perched in JJ’s arms, steadying your breathing, coming down from the high. “Didn’t expect that.”

“Get out of here, man,” JJ bends down, hand slapping the backside of JB’s head. John B flinches, careful not to spill the two solo cups in his hands, before sending a wink your way. “Get a room.”

~

You blink rapidly, almost as if you can’t believe the story JJ is telling you. He watches your puzzled expression, waving his hand in front of your face. “Earth to Y/N. You okay?”

“I’m…yeah,” you breathe out quickly, fidgeting with your fingers. Your eyes scan JJ’s face, eventually falling on his mouth, and your own lips tingle. You can almost feel his lips on yours.

“So that’s how we ended up having sex,” You finally begin to connect the pieces of the puzzle, blushing deeply when JJ howls with laughter. “No, not exactly. Well, I mean, we did fuck, but not until later. Twice, might I add.”

“Twice?!” It comes out as a screech. Dragging a hand through your hair, your eyes dart to the floor, unable to look JJ in the eye. “When was the first time?”

Last Friday Night

We went streaking in the park

Skinny dipping in the dark

“Aw, not this fucking game,” JJ whines, pulling up a chair beside Pope, blunt hanging from the corner of his mouth. The party has settled down a bit, but many drunk teens are still going, laughing, dancing, and chatting up a storm. Off to the side in the lawn, your friends are gathered in chairs, each with a unique smile on their faces. After three hours, they’re all either drunk, high, or both.

You grab a chair for yourself, but JJ’s voice catches you off guard, halting your movements. “Uh uh, princess,” When he rubs his thighs, John B hollers with laughter. “You can sit right here.”

His tone is raspy, almost as if he’s challenging you, waiting to see how you react. The electricity between you is crackling strong, and it pulls you toward him until you’re comfortably settled in his lap.

Kiara clears her throat. “Okay so I don’t know what that is,” her finger points in your direction and your body tenses up from the feeling of numerous sets of eyes on you and JJ, “But don’t let it distract you from the fact that Pope still hasn’t told us when his first kiss was.”

You silently thank Kie for bringing the attention back to the game. Pope whines childishly, taking another sip of beer for courage. “Fine, fine, if I must.” He glances around the circle sheepishly, sighing, “My first kiss was the end of sophomore year.”

“No way.”

“Shut up!

“That late?”

“Pfft. Prude.”

“Alright, alright, relax,” Pope’s hands fly up in defense. “John B, truth or dare.”

“Easy. Dare.”

Pope thinks hard for a moment, and then the lightbulb goes off. “I dare you to go streaking around the yard.”

You stifle your laugh as John B’s face scrunches together. “Aw, come on man! Have some respect, my girlfriend’s here. I don’t want anyone else seeing my balls.”

“Hold ‘em,” JJ pipes up. “They’re small anyway, wouldn’t be covering much.”

John B flips off JJ before quietly cursing Pope to hell. Placing his beer on the ground, JB sheds his clothes, cheeks reddening as he shields himself from wandering eyes.

Your yard is big, spacious, and it takes JB a full two minutes to run around the backyard, weaving in and out of trees and bushes. Some are recording, like JJ and Kiara, while others like you, Pope and Sarah, try (and fail) to contain your laughter.

John B’s cheeks are flushed red as he stumbles back over to your group, and you desperately try to hide your laughter as JJ replays the video.

“Think that was funny, Y/N?” John B asks, pulling his clothes back on. He settles back into his chair and takes a long swig of beer. “No worries. I have one for you. Truth or dare?”

Normally you’d opt for truth, but tonight is different. You’re feeling bold. “Dare.”

He doesn’t even need to think. “You still have that hot tub on the deck, right?”

You nod, curious as to where he’s going with this.

“I dare you to go skinny dipping in the hot tub.”

“That’s it?” You ask, shocked your dare wasn’t anything raunchy. “I mean, that’s a pretty easy dar-“

“With JJ.”

You freeze.

And suddenly, you feel sober, although your BAC levels suggest otherwise.

“Damn you got her good,” Sarah mutters, supplying her boyfriend with a high five. “She won’t do it, though.”

“Oh, no shot,” Kie agrees with a nod.

JJ shifts underneath you, hand brushing your hair from your ears as he leans in to whisper, “What do you say, baby girl?”

That fuels you. Determined, you stand in front of the group, fingers going to the hem of your top, pulling it over your head, and tossing it to the ground.

Left in only your bra and the tiny shorts that barely cover your ass, you direct your eyes to JJ, smirking at the shit eating grin plastered on his face. “You coming?”

~

You danced with him. No problem.

You drank with him. No problem.

You kissed him. No problem.

Getting naked with him? Problem.

The lights on the deck are dim, hiding the bright color on your cheeks. The jets in the hot tub whirl beside you, taunting you, screaming at you to complete the dare.

Opposite you on the other side of the hot tub, JJ stands coolly, eyes drooping, lazy smile, taking long drags of his blunt. You watch as his lips form an ‘o’, blowing the smoke into the air. He’s calm, and you want that same tranquility.

He smirks as you pluck the blunt from his fingers, taking a long drag yourself. You feel dizzy, lightheaded, and cough out a puff of smoke.

“Easy, princess,” He cocks a brow, studying you. “Nervous?”

It’s amazing how quickly alcohol fucks with your emotions. One minute, you’re having the time of your life, dancing and kissing a boy way out of your league. And then a minute later, you can barely look at him. “Little bit.”

JJ takes another pull. “Tell you what. You turn around and I’ll change first. Then when I’m in the tub, I’ll turn around so you can change.”

You agree and turn your back to him, providing him with privacy although your head is screaming at you to sneak a peek. A splash in the tub has you turning around, swallowing as JJ rests his arms on the outside, blunt hanging from his smile. He’s effortlessly sexy, and you’ll make sure to thank JB later for the dare.

He winks before turning around slightly, awarding you with the same privacy you supplied him. Your shorts go first, then your thong, followed by your bra. Breathing deeply, you cross your arms over your breasts, thankful that JJ couldn’t see.

But unbeknownst to you, JJ had turned back around. “Sweet ass.”

Yelping, you struggle to cover yourself as JJ chuckles, holding up his arms to block the water as you tumble your way into the hot tub, letting the water shield your body. “Shit, JJ. You weren’t supposed to turn around!”

“And you thought I’d listen, why?”

Rolling your eyes, you settle deeper into the steaming water, moaning slightly as the jets massage your back. Across from you, JJ observes you with a smile. “You don’t need to be shy around me, you know. We’re friends, after all.”

“I’m not shy.”

JJ snickers. “Please. You don’t think I notice how your body tenses up whenever I’m close to you? You think I don’t see when your cheeks get that little pink color when I look at you?” His head hangs, tilted to the side, blunt held between his thumb and forefinger., lowering his voice. “You think I don’t know how much you wanted to kiss me tonight?”  

There’s no way he can read you that easily, so you play it off. “Alcohol changes a person.”

His grin irritates you. He doesn’t believe you. Why doesn’t he believe you?

Drawing in a breath, you decide to go for it. You swim over to him, watching as his eyes widen, now alert, and climb into his lap, palms flat against his tanned chest. One hand goes to your hip, holding you in place. “What are you doing?”

“I’m not shy,” you repeat, brushing your lips over his. JJ’s chest rises and falls with harsh breaths, and for a second, you believe you misread the signals. He takes a quick pull of the blunt and you cover his mouth with your own, dragging the smoke back into your mouth, titling your head back, releasing it into the air.

“Fuck, that was hot.”

The blunt, now finished, falls from JJ’s fingers as his hand slides around to the back of your neck, pulling you in, kissing you hard. Your mouths mesh together, igniting a fire in your bones. Fingertips dig into his flesh, marking him. JJ’s hand on your waist pushes you further against him, impossibly close to his skin.

The sound of your heart is loud in your ears as you try to focus on moving your lips in sync. JJ’s hands roam your body, squeezing your hips, the curve of your ass. His fingers dance over your neck, your throat, and down the center of your breasts.  

The tip of his dick rubs against the inside of your thigh, causing your mouth to open slightly. JJ takes advantage of the opportunity, slipping his tongue in your mouth, exploring, claiming.

You find yourself not wanting to stop. All of the nerves leave your body with each kiss JJ presses to your swollen lips. He’s hungry for more and so are you, but for something different.

He freezes when your hand disappears beneath the water, gripping his length in your palm. His wrist flies to your hand, stopping you, as his other hand runs through his hair, considering. “Listen, princess, as much as I really want to do this, I don’t think--.”

A finger to his mouth cuts him off, a sly smile playing on your lips as you shake his hand from yours. You reposition yourself over him, breasts peeking out from the water, as you slowly sink yourself down onto him.

With every groan that leaves his lips, and with each new swirl of your hips, you feel waves of confidence wash over your body. You’re drunk, he’s high, and you both feel alive.

This Friday night

Do it all again

The ceiling in your room distracts you from JJ’s face, which, if you know anything about him, has a wide grin on it. Heat bubbles in your chest as you replay the story in your head, ignoring JJ’s teasing comments about the color rising in your cheeks.

Sitting up abruptly, you turn to face him. He’s leaned back on your pillows, arms behind his head. “After that, we fucked right here,” JJ pats the bed proudly. “And that, baby girl, was your Friday night.”

Well, it could have gone much worse.  

“Sounds like I embarrassed the ever-loving fuck out of myself.”

JJ laughs, holding out his arms. You send him a look before complying, hooking your leg over his waist, resting your head against his bare chest. His one arm lazily wraps around you, the free hand skimming over the skin on your thigh.

“I am never having another party ever again.”

JJ cringes. “Yeah, about that…you might want to check your phone.”

You snatch it from the night stand, crossing an arm over your chest as you read messages from a very large group chat. “JJ…why’s everyone talking about a party?”

But he doesn’t get the chance to answer as you scroll to the very top, phone falling between your legs as you read the message you drunkenly sent before you passed out at three in the morning.

Party at our house this Friday night! Let’s do it again, bitches.

You stare at JJ, palms flat against your head as he falls off the bed in laughter.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

[radstronaut]

Take a Breath | Teuvo Teräväinen

warnings: n/a word count: 1730 note: hi yes i more or less created this blog to post this fic specifically so here we are, this is pretty much for @lulucanwrite who i love dearly, and also technically beta’ed this fic so ♡

Why you agreed to stand in the heat and watch a group of unruly boys in their twenties swing pieces of metal at plastic-covered rubber balls would be completely beyond you if you weren’t completely smitten with Teuvo Teravainen. It’s nearly ninety degrees--this is North Carolina after all--and despite your magical sweat-wicking shorts and tank top, you’re definitely sweating through your clothes. If Petr weren’t the sweatiest human you knew, this would probably embarrass you. Coupled with Martin bouncily seeking approval for everything he did and Teuvo and Sebastian’s banter with each other, you were okay with just about anything-- your complete inability to play golf included.

It was hard to say why the group had invited you along. Maybe because you took great photos they could share on Instagram, or because you were known as “the person who always brought bomb food to parties”, or maybe just because you were easy to get along with. You’d spent so much of your life feeling like you were weird and unlikeable, but somehow you’d found solace in a group of professional hockey players from Europe.

Ha. Just thinking that sentence makes you snort a little to yourself. 

“Are you laughing at Sebastian?” Teuvo asks, peering over your shoulder. You’ve got your phone clutched in hand, a boomerang of Sebastian swinging back and forth looping on your screen. 

“Nah, just thinking about how weird I am,” you reply, hitting ‘post’ and clicking your phone off. 

“Why won’t you take one of me?” he asks, a pout on his face. 

“Because,” you answer, voice breezy and light, “You’re not my favorite.”

Your response sends Teuvo into a spiral of “whats” and “buts” that secretly gives you life force. You float away, sashaying up to Martin and Petr, who are talking about clothes of all things, and look at you like you’ve just interrupted the single most important conversation in the entire world. 

“Please tell me you don’t think this is cute, too,” Petr says, shoving his phone in your face. 

It’s a non-offensive, baby-blue suit, and you’re not sure what to say, other than, “I think it’s fine?” To which Martin grins gleefully, waving his arms around to show off his little victory. 

“You cannot be serious,” says Petr, like it’s the most obvious thing. “It’s ugly! Who wears suits this color?”

“I would!” Martin exclaims, eyes wide and eyebrows raised. “Light blue is totally cool.”

“Maybe for a springtime pinterest Easter wedding in Alabama,” Petr says.

There are a lot of references here to popular American culture going on here that you weren’t even sure he knew, but you laugh nonetheless. 

These dorky, soft boys always made you laugh. You look up, watching Teuvo as he winds up and swings his club. It makes the satisfying sound that metal swung fast makes, and you watch as the golf ball flies through the air for what seems like forever. Even for somebody who knows nothing about golf, you can tell he’s got an amazing swing. Every muscle in his body moves with intent; his follow through is gorgeous. He even has the cute little golf foot thing at the end, something you are sure has a proper name, but you’re ignorant of it. 

“Careful, you’re drooling,” Petr says, squeezing your shoulder.

You all but jump where you’re standing, and raise a hand as if you’re about to play-swat him. You’re flustered, and it shows on your face as you try to play it off. “Come on,” you hiss, making a face. “I’m not drooling.”

Petr shrugs as Teuvo makes his way back to his bag to retire his driver. You watch, crossing your arms over your chest almost in defense. 

“Your turn!” Teuvo calls, and Sebastian snickers from where he’s sat in the one square foot of shade that the golf cart provides. He turns and points at him, frowning, “You better stop laughing!”

Sebastian rolls his eyes, and hands you the driver that he’s been holding since his turn. You don’t own a set of clubs, so Sebastian graciously agreed to share his with you. “You know how to do this, right?” he asks you with a cheeky smile. 

“Shut up.” 

All eyes are on you as you stroll up to the tee and set down the golf ball. They’re hungry for your failure. You can feel it. It’s like the four of them have gathered here exclusively to watch you wind up and whiff so they can have a laugh and get back to actually playing golf after their comedy break. You take the club in hand, holding it just like you were shown one time forever ago, with your thumb and fingers interlocked, and steady your position. 

It’s not that hard, you remind yourself, trying to calm yourself down. You know that making it out to be a big deal will only make you more nervous, so you take a deep breath in as you wind up, and exhale as you swing--

And stop right before you hit the ball. Ugh. Getting nervous is honestly worse than whiffing, you think, and so you decide to set yourself up again. You spread your feel the right distance apart and try and settle in place. You’re just about to hype yourself up again when you feel a hand rest warmly on your shoulder, and you let out the breath you’d been holding. 

It’s Teuvo, who looks at you with gentle eyes and a calm smile. “Let me help you.”

Normally you’d be way too prideful to admit you needed help from any of these clowns, but it’s Teuvo, and he looks so genuine that you don’t really mind. “Okay,” you breathe as he stands behind you, resting his hands over yours.

Your heart jumps into your throat as he steadies your grip. His chin hovers right above your shoulder, his face so close you can feel the breath on your neck. 

“You’re so tense,” he says, voice light and private. “Relax your shoulders.”

How you’re supposed to relax with his body practically pressed flush against yours evades you. You let out a shaky breath. “Okay.”

“Good,” Teuvo says gently, but with authority. “Swing your arms back and forth and let the club’s weight lead.”

You listen. 

“Now,” he says, “When you feel ready, wind that back a bit more, keep your eyes on the ball, and swing.” 

You’re having a hard time focusing on feeling ready when his hands leave your hands and he takes a step back, making the air touching your arms feel even more empty than it had before he was there. Your skin misses his immediately. You sigh softly to yourself. 

Then, you wind up and swing. 

The driver hits the golf ball with a satisfying sound and you watch as it seems to float through the air and land across the course-- much further back than your friends, but still, further than you thought it would go. 

You turn back, seeking Teuvo’s approval, but he’s already clapping his hands and grinning from ear to ear. “That’s really good!” He cheers. “That’s really really good!”

You beam with pride. 

“It’s going to be your turn again,” Sebastian teases from his seat, “Since you barely hit it at all.”

“Come on, Sepe, let it go!” Teuvo defends, waving his hand in front of Sebastian’s face. 

“You just want an excuse to get all up in Y/N’s space again.”

He doesn’t protest, but rather hands you a club from Sebastian’s bag and, with a hand on the small of your back, ushers you out to where your ball has just landed. 

This is very forward of Teuvo-- very, very forward. He typically wasn’t so outwardly flirtatious, but maybe it’s Sebastian’s comments that embolden him as you make your way down the green.

“Is this okay?” He asks after a moment, dropping his hand from your back to make eye contact with you. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

You smile simply, grabbing his hand and placing it on your back again. “It’s perfectly fine,” you say. 

Once you arrive, Teuvo hands you the club and looks at you. “Do you want my help again?”

“Please?” You ask coyly, practically batting your eyes at him. Whoah. Maybe you’re feeling emboldened by his flirtatious energy as well. 

With a grin, Teuvo steps behind you, chest against your back, and rests his hands atop yours again. This time, you relax into it-- you feel less nervous, more loose this time, feeling much more confident than before. His lips brush your ear as he leans forward, and reminds you to keep your eye on the ball, and not to worry how far it goes. The hairs on your arm stand up. 

You’re about to pull back and swing when you hear the golf cart whir past you, and from the driver’s seat, Petr yells with a shit eating grin: “kiss her!” 

Sebastian and Martin echo the sentiment with a chorus of “kiss her! kiss her!” 

Pink creeps across your cheeks, and you tilt your head to look at Teuvo over your shoulder. Time completely stops. The humid air hangs still and heavy between you with heat and energy, and you feel his lips inches away from yours. You aren’t sure how long you stand there, moments away from each other, thinking about what it would feel like to close that distance and feel his lips against yours.

And then it happens. Teuvo’s arms wrap around your waist, and he twirls you around, pulling your chest flush against his and kissing you, hard, all in one fell swoop. You feel your entire body tense up and then relax, your heart racing as you melt into him, kissing him back with the same fervor. His arms wrap around your waist, and yours twist around his neck, fingers grazing the sweat-damp hair on the nape of his neck. 

The boys are cheering behind you. Cries of “yes!” and “finally!” fill the air as Martin whoops and hollers, and Sebastian even gives the little golf cart horn a celebratory toot as you both smile into your kiss, toothy and wide-grinned. 

“Finally,” Teuvo breathes against your lips, and you can’t help yourself from bursting into laughter, leaning your forehead against his. “Finally,” you agree, giggly smile splayed across your face.

He leans in and kisses you again.

[golfpromo]

!@#*^ NEW Martini Golf 3 1/4" Pink Plastic Tees 4 Packs of 5 Tees (20 Count) https://ift.tt/2S7fSm9

[remember-wim-faros]

Episode 1 - Are You Listening?

[voice echoing] When a tree falls in a forest and no one’s around to hear it,

it makes a sound!

[birds chirping] Ladies and gentlemen. We have found the music! It had been lost, as so many things are lost. Missing, disappeared, misplaced, vanished. Every day, what falls into obscurity without anybody noticing? Without anybody paying attention. What is locked in the attic?

I mean, let’s talk about some things that have been found in an attic, or spaces like attics. Did you know that Van Gogh’s “Sunset at Montmajour”, that beautiful painting, was found in an attic? Or that the original handwritten manuscript of “Huckleberry Finn” was found in an attic? The “Venus de Milo” was, well no it’s no-not an attic but, buried in a farmer’s field, unearthed by a peasant who came across some stubborn soil.

Did you know that the only copy of the pilot of “I Love Lucy” lay under the bed of Pepino the clown for 30 years, until it was swept out by his widow when she finally cleaned up around the place and taught to herself, this is pretty funny.

All these masterpieces just a broom sweep away from history’s dustbins.

And today, today! Recovered from a neglected attic of a suburban townhouse, one cassette tape destined to be sold in a garage sale, containing what is likely to be the first recorded concert of Wim Faros.

So.. who is listening? Hello? I’m Deirdre Gardner, and I welcome you to my new show. “It Makes a Sound”. [thumping, windchimes] It’s the first and only show in the nation dedicated to Wim Faros, native son of our Rosemary Hills. Where together, we’ll be part of a musical legacy. We will prepare to receive the genius that is Wim Faros. And to return him, like a prodigal son, to this deprived land. I will be the one to provide you up to the minute news and information about the artist, as I discover it. The name – Wim Faros. The subject – genius. And its location? Where us extraordinariness, I ask myself, don’t you? Don’t you ask yourself that? Extra..ordinariness, where I it today? Where are the truly exceptional ones who, out of our sheer proximity to them allow us to glimpse the intersection of our little lives, with the profound? Who walks among us? Is there anyone? Who walks among -us-, all the little uses? [chuckles] Uses… eh, eh, rolling lint off our pants. Uses, squeezing avocados in the grocery store and never picking the ripe one. Uses um, driving up and down the side streets to work because highway frightens uses. Uses um, drinking chamomile, attempting inverted yoga poses, popping melatonin and crossing our fingers as we slink into bed for the night. Where can we look here, in this vast wearied landscape of Rosemary Hills? Where our weathered old water tower reminds us in fading letters of past town mottos. Such as “golf capital”. Or “Rosemary Hills is alive with the whirr of commerce.” Or “Let’s tee in the hills.” But where now, the best boast we can master is “easy access to the highway”.

Well. Here, amidst the now abandoned golf course and its neglected grass, amidst the shuttered strip malls and these potholed streets, the extraordinary has tread. And the footprints, they linger. If you know how to look for them. And I think I do.

My fellow people of Rosemary Hills, citizens of the world, what have you forgotten? What treasures have we hidden under cobwebs and dust? What beauty awaits us on the other side of that drywall, as we wrestle fitfully in our sleep? What life lingers on these old fairways? What wonders just passed us by, as we bowed our head towards.. uh, a brightened 3-inch screen? Our necks hurt, our brains are zapped from too much screentime, our souls ache, and suddenly decades have past us by. Like poof. What are we missing?

Do we remember what used to be held in the delicate folds of our heart? Do we remember how things used to sound? Smell. Feel. Taste. I want to.

It’s time to unpack the attic! Today, we have a mind-boggling discovery. A confirmed to be authentic tape containing what is known to be Wim Faros’ debut public musical appearance here in Rosemary Hills, in the year 1992. And so we are not going to rush this moment, like we rush everything. We’re gonna slow down, we’re gonna savor. We are going to consider the tremendous significance of this relic. In order to fully appreciate it.

And thus, it is my privilege on this day of days to hold in my hands this freshly discovered tape. It’s an ordinary-looking cassette tape. But.. it’s possible some of you have never held a cassette tape. I will explain. Because, though it contains the stuff of wonder, to the human eye it is just a 3,5 by 2-inch clear plastic rectangle with two holes in the middle. And these holes, they have six little black teeth. Non-threatening teeth, so that you could feasibly uh, insert a pencil or a pinky finger, should sometime go [wry] [0:10:09]. Like if the delicate tape needs your manual assistance.

Now that tape is a very thing, translucent gray strip, of course containing some magnet um, magnetic properties. So and it’s spooled around the left hole, and as the tape plays in the cassette tape player, the tape will run along the bottom edge of the rectangle across a tiny magnetic strip. And the magnets pull the music out, with magnetic force, until it is fully spooled around the right hole, which means the tape is finished and you have heard the music. And that’s how a cassette tape works.  

I’m Deirdre Gardner. This is “It Makes a Sound”. I am describing a cassette tape.  Perhaps the most important cassette tape there ever was.

No won this particular model, we have a yellow sticker that covers the smooth section of the cassette. Nad written on that cover in purple felt tip pen, in bubble letters, is “Wim Fa”, but a waterspot has obscured the “ros”, leaving a purply pink splotch. It’s very pretty, like a watercolor. And underneath, with that same pen and font: “1992”. Crudely drawn stars in uh, multiple colors of pen, speckle the entire sticker. I mean… it’s great. it’s really incredible that one small object can capture so much of an entire era, even just aesthetically. We all seek the soundtrack of our lives, don’t we? And we wish to be privy to the voices of our generation. Yet it its a profound rarity that an artist like Wim Faros crosses into your limited sphere of existence. It’s like an alien prophet touching down on a ordinary Tuesday afternoon in a chain store called The Last Topper. Suddenly making the universe crack open to reveal infinite shards of meaning barely comprehensible to you. Standing there in cargo shorts, holding a casserole dish. Yes, yes. it’s hard to determine the full effect on Wim Faros’s music on this simple town of Rosemay Hills in the early-to-mid 90’s. it’s difficult to quantify the extent of – sacred devotion he inspired in his earliest fanbase.

How do you hold a moonbeam in your hand? That was a time without social media and its um, incessant public proclamations to hashtag, trending desires of the moment. Yesterday’s youth had to be more – intuitively united in our common affections. Had to keep the faith that even in a friendless existence, for instance as an example, living in an inherited furnished townhouse on the edge of Rosemary Hills’ gated golf course community, there were kindred souls somewhere underneath that same blue sky, wishing and waiting for a connection, just like you. Though perhaps at times to love in solitude, from afar, in the most generic of settings, was lonely and painful. That melancholy was trumped by a feeling of purpose. The purpose that comes from knowing that if someone out there could so perfectly capture the nuanced secrets of your soul, there must be greatness and solace in this universe indeed. isn’t that why we listen to the music? Isn’t that why we listen to the music?

We must ready ourselves to listen to the music. But I will say, even without the ease and benefit of cached fan pages or blogs serving as testimony to the early Wim Faros effect, the artist did manage to be a catalyst of cultural awakening in the town zeigeist. If a town can have a zeitgeist, can – sure. And there is archival evidence of the first reactions to Faros’s artistry. In fact… I happen to be in possession of documents from a Rosemary Hills resident who encountered Wim Faros in his earliest musical phase. Now, some of these pages are enclosed within a purple velveteen diary that I now have in front of me. The writing appears to be by the0 hand of a 12-year-old, I would estimate. And the paper is white ruled. And I seem to have come across a lengty series of haiku. Perhaps I sould share just a few of thes with you, for the sake of research. it’s a segment.. [rummages around] We’ll call it – the poetry of a little us.

[bangs a cong] You have changed my life by allowing me to see even thought you don’t see me.

[cong] I am hard to see in a golf community with many sand traps.

[cong]

You have a blind spot for almost nothing. But one in the size of me.

[cong]

I am the catcher you are a rare butterfly that I cannot grasp.

[cong]

Butterflies upclose freak me out. But you fly free, beautiful and free.

[cong]

I catch butterflies, yes, but I am afraid too. A contradiction.

[cong]

Faithfully you come to the window of my dreams singing: la la la.

[cong]

What is this music? Like, I never heard music before you played it.

[cong]

Now, those are just a few haikus and there are lots more, [chuckles] written here in Rosemary Hills circa 1991-1992. Likely dedicated to one Wim Faros.

[pause] If you’re just tuning in, hello. Welcome. I’m Deirdre Gardner, and this is the first episode of my show, “It Makes a Sound”. A discovery has been made in the attic. it’s Wim Faro’s first live album. It’s the real deal, it’s not a hoax, and it’s so rare that he only known copy exists, recorded from some distance, on a cassette tape. There is nowhere else in the entire universe where you will be able to hear a 16-year-old Wim Faros shaping what comes to be known as the sound – of an epoch. E-P-O-C-H. Stay with me and you will hear it here first, folks, because I have the tape and you’re gonna get exclusive access.

So we’re discussing Wim Faros’ formative teenage years as a musician, right here in Rosemary Hills. We’ve just begun working towards a fuller understanding of the human behind the mu-

[static] [hoarse voice] Who’s there? Who?

Deirdre: Oh, Jesus..

[static] I know, I know.. I know you! I knew!

Deirdre: Are you asleep?

[static, snoring]

Deirdre: Are you? Who’s that? (It’s something). OK. OK.

OK. Everything is good. I’m back. And i’m excited to introduce a new oral history segment of the show, based on town legend and lore around Wim Faros. It’s called – a portrait of the artist as a young man.

[music box plays] A light in the window of the second floor. The only window on the second floor, means Wim Faros is in his bedroom. And almost always when he is in his bedroom, he is drawing on the wall. What was on that wall? Everything was on that wall. The winds of change blew on that wall. The.. unfettered scrawl of technicolor wonders. The rainbow, a paltry container for the variety of colors applied to that wall. New color names would have to be invented. The ongoing overlapping shifting images and symbols, muraled, frescoed, appliqued, on that wall. All these ideas spewing forth from the eclectic multitudes of a single creative mind. In a blue and tan flannel shirt, his right arm braced against the drywall in an L-shape above his head. The bottom of his sleeve ripped and hanging down, he looks like he’s whispering secrets in a confessional. But he is drawing. There’s a lava lamp somewhere, out of view of the window, and it casts blobby spots that climb up and down the room, catching Wim’s distorted shadow when he’s out of view of the window frame. His left hand moves delicately or scribbles furiously. He is left-handed, as statistics prove that most geniuses are. If you’ve been watching, over the course of several months, you would have seen – his fantastic mural take shape.

In the center, a five-foot tall octopus, with the uncannily rendered face of Diane Sawyer. Her arms spread open, Christ-like, with magnolia blossoms and spiders dripping from her fingers. A flock of owls flying over a forest of pine trees. Each face of the moon, paired with a pizza pie of different toppings. Eight personalized pan pizzas, for eight different moons. A ninja army battling a family of squirrels throwing sharp acorns. Pages falling from a Gutenberg Bible into the gaping mouth of a Native American chief. Snoop Dogg. Scully riding a Mulder centaur as Ross Perot hoverboards over their heads! He was getting political.

As the seasons pass, the wall incrementally becomes and intricate map of his fertal, fertal inner life. Repetitions of hummingbirds and starfish, cans of beans, nunchucks. Later, peacocks. A dragon breathing fire, melting the iceberg just before it sinks the Titanic, which passes into clear skies. Dracula playing video games in front of a television set, flickering with an image of outrage from the Rodney King riots. And toaster strudels flying out of toasters into the rings of Saturn! Kurt Cobain offering an origami swan to a sobbing River Phoenix. And hundreds of other elegantly drawn details, too small to make out from a distance, that create a constellation of.. enlightened connectivity across the peeling beige wall.

And almost every night, after all the lights in the windows of the bungalow go dark, if you cared enough to pay attention, you would see the single beam of a flashlight splice a path behind the house, pointed towards a lopsided shed some 40 yards away. And if you were standing right up against the fence that separates Rosemary Hills’ gated golf course community from the unincorporated land that stretched out behind the scattered houses on Chamelia Road… you would hear a soulful strum of guitar, and a crescend of drums. Because in that decaying shed, surrounded by the loneliest darkness that is suburban darkness, is where young Wim Faros made the music. It was that music that pulsed through this town, permeated the air, pumped through the water.

Did everyone hearken to the call? No. If a tree falls in a forest and no one’s around to hear it wall, does it make a sound? Well. I’m here to tell you: trees have fallen. Trees are falling. And you may listen, but do you hear?

People of Rosemary Hills, it is time to hear. It is time to hearken. Hearken. I believe in your ears. Wim Faros sang for you. You didn’t know, but he will sing for you again. He has been lost in the attic, but now he is found. And maybe, [sighs] I don’t know. Maybe… maybe you’ve been lost in the attic too. There was greatness in our midst, transcendence, eccentricity, nuance. I’m Deirdre Gardner, and I believe that when a tree falls in a forest, it makes a sound. And i’m inviting you to try, to truly hear, and to remember. So stay tuned for my next episode when that music, lost but now found, will be born again straight into your ears. When you hear the first track from Wim Faros’ debut concert. The first track, perhaps, of the rest of your life.

This has been the inaugural episode of the first and only show in the nation dedicated to the music and legacy of Wim Faros. Thank you for listening. If you have any information about Wim Faros that you think should be shared with our listeners, or if you own a working cassette tape player, do not hesitate to contact me. Um, I, I guess for now you shoud just ca- um email me at ddg at.. no let’s not do that um, i’ll create, I’ll create a new, yes you can contact me at wimfaros@aol… Actually no. please contact itmakesasound@aol.com. Thank you. I’m Deirdre Gardner. Til next time.

 [windchime]

“It Makes a Sound” is created and written by Jacquelyn Landgraf. Co-directed by Jacquelyn Landgraf and Anya Saffir. Sound design and engineering by me, Vincent Cacchione. Original music Nate Weida. With Jacquelyn Landgraf as Deirdre Gardner and featuring Annie Golden as the voice from downstairs. It Makes a Sound is a Night Vale Presents production. For more information on this show and other Night Vale podcasts, go to nightvalepresents.com. We hope you’ll rate and review “It Makes a Sound” on Apple Podcasts, and that you’ll tell your friends and all sorts of other humans to listen to the show, to hearken to the trees. And remember Wim Faros.

[my-fanfic-soul]

Niall-- Dancing in the Moonlight

“I’ve got it handled, don’t I Doodle Bug?” Niall said, tickling at his little girl who squealed and ran off, a giant grin on her face.  He turned back to his wife, love and adoration naturally slipping into place as he looked at his best friend.  “Go have your girl’s night, love.  You deserve it.”

And as far as Niall was concerned, she really and truly did. He had been doing promo and then touring for months which left his loving and strong wife to take care of their house and child by herself, all while still working and following her own dreams. She never once complained about all of the weight on her due to the rigors of Niall’s career, but he knew she needed a break and that she wouldn't take one if he didn't push her to.

It had been Niall’s suggestion that she take a day to spend with her friends and sisters.  It had been four months since she had done anything just for herself, not with their daughter or Niall in mind, and he was determined she would relax.  He had let her sister and best friend plan out a day full of spa treatments, nail appointments, a few nice meals, a movie, and shopping at her favorite mall, all funded by his credit card.

She was grateful for his thoughtfulness, but she couldn’t help but be uneasy.  “Are you sure you’ve got everything under control?  She’s going through a bit of a phase and you’ve only been home a couple of days…”

“Hey,” Niall whispered, cupping her chin in his hand.  “I love you, but you’re overthinking things.  I’m her dad, remember?  We all win today.  You get to rest, she gets to hang out with her daddy, and I get to spend time with my little princess.  Don’t worry about us, go enjoy yourself.”  Lots of kisses for Niall and their daughter ensued, but he could see how grateful she looked as she slipped into the front seat of her best friend’s car.  It was hard for her to turn off the full time mom part of her brain, even while she was at work, but that made it all the more important for her to get away.

Niall locked the front door and turned around to see his three year old daughter looking at him curiously.  “Daddy, where did Mommy go?” she asked, her thumb slipping into her mouth. 

Seamlessly, like he hadn’t been traveling for months, Niall reached down and pulled her hand out of her month and smothered it with kisses, making her laugh.  They had opted for a gentler method to keep her from sucking her thumb.  “She’s having a day with just your aunties, so I get to hang out with you.  Does that sound like fun?”

“What’s she doing?” she asked and Niall scooped her up into his arm, carrying her to the kitchen to set her down at the bar.

Niall kissed her head and said, “She’s gonna get a massage and her nails painted and spend time with your aunties.  Do you want eggs and bacon for breakfast or fruit and oatmeal, Doodles?”

“Fruit and eggs,” she responded prompting a grin from Niall.  She had become more independent and opinionated while he was on tour and he honestly loved it.  She knew what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to tell you about it.  “I like getting my nails painted.”

Niall chuckled as he started cutting up fruit.  “Oh, do ya now?”

She nodded enthusiastically.  “Uh huh.  Mommy painted them for me.”  The incident in question had been when her mom had painted them with a clear coat while she was doing her own nails.  Doodle Bug had been excited to be a “big girl” that day.  She let out a dramatic sigh and said, “I wish my nails could get painted today.”

Niall glanced over and while her head was ducked, he could see her big, round eyes looking up at him through the fridges of her hair; she was about to go into full emotional warfare mode.  “How about I paint your nails for you later?”  She got excited, her head shooting up as she danced in her seat.  “Careful, you don’t want to fall,” he warned her.  “We have things to do before I can paint your nails, though.  First of all, you need to eat this yummy fruit and then Daddy needs to drop by his manager’s office to fill out some paperwork.”

Her little shoulders drooped.  She didn’t like doing “boring stuff” with either of her parents.  “Buuuuut… guess what we’re doing after we get done at the office?”

“What?”

“We’re gonna go play golf with Uncle Bressie and eat lunch at the golf club with that jello you like and then we’re gonna come home and just hang out, just the two of us.”  She looked at him, trying to keep a glum look on her face but Niall knew she was fighting off a smile.  Just like her daddy, Doodle Bug loved to play golf.  “Does that sound like fun?” he asked, eyeing her knowingly.

Slowly her face split into a grin.  “Yeah,” she answered quietly.

Niall grinned back; he loved going to play golf with his little girl.  “Good.  Here, start on your fruit while I make the eggs.”

---

An hour and a half later, she was dressed in khaki shorts, a purple polo shirt (her choice), little white shoes, and a white bow in a ponytail Niall wasn’t ashamed to be proud of, and they were pulling into the golf course parking lot.  As soon as he got her feet on the ground, she was running across the parking lot screaming, “UNCLE BRESSIE!”

“Hey, no running near the cars!” Niall yelled, but she was ignoring him as she flung herself into Bressie’s arms.  Bressie chuckled as he picked the girl up, giving her a tight hug as he swung her around to loud laughter.

“Did you miss me?” Bressie asked his honorary niece who nodded enthusiastically.  “Are you ready for me to beat you in a round of golf?”

She thumped him on the shoulder, her tiny body completely dwarfed by his muscular frame.  It probably felt like nothing more than a mosquito bite to Bressie.  “No!  I’m gonna beat you, Uncle Bressie!”

“Well, you’ve certainly already started.”

Niall shook his head as his best mate carried his daughter back across the drive to where he was standing at the back of his Range Rover.  “Doodles, are you supposed to run away from me in the parking lot?” Niall asked her and she shook her head shyly.  “I know you’re excited to see Uncle Bressie, but we’re gonna be with him all morning.  You’ve got to be safe, right?”  She nodded again and Niall said, “Good.  Get your bag, now.”

Together, the three of them made quite the group as they walked over to get their golf cart.  Bressie towering over all of them, both men prompting double glances from people who weren’t used to seeing them around but thought they recognized them from somewhere, and then Doodle Bug, hauling her tiny pink club set along with her.  

Niall knew a lot of people hated for little kids to go to the golf course, but he felt like it was the best place for Doodles to learn a love for the game.  He always made sure she was as safe as she could be (an adult was always with her in the covered golf cart while the other adult was swinging) and she was only allowed to play with plastic balls up until the point they had either been at a hole for ten minutes or if someone came up behind them.  He also only took her to quiet courses that didn’t have much activity on days when it typically wasn’t very busy.

The thing about Doodle Bug was that she was an old hat, even at three years old, to being on the golf course.  She knew how to sit really still and hold on as tight as she could as her daddy drove the golf cart around.  She knew to be respectful of all of the other golfers and to never get too loud while watching someone else swing.  She knew to always keep a lookout for stray golf balls, one of her favorite activities to yell “Fore!” whenever one went off its intended path.  She was also a very, very, very serious golfer.

“No, no, Daddy.  I got it,” she said like she was 70 years old, not three.  Niall and Bressie had to fight not to grin as she pushed Niall away and put her ball on the tee.  When Niall tried to help her get into the right stance, she pushed him away once more.  “No, Daddy.  I got it.”

Bressie whistled softly as she made contact with the ball.  “She swings better than you do,” he told his friend with a wicked grin.

“Shut up,” Niall muttered, but he was grinning with pride.

A few holes later, Niall heard from the golf cart, “Now, see what your daddy is doing?  He’s definitely not going to get what he wants from this swing.”  Niall glared at Bressie, who was grinning conspiratorially with Doodle who was in his lap and grinning as well.  Sure enough when he made contact with the ball… it went nowhere near where he wanted it to go.

Doodle Bug giggled and said, “Daddy, I think you need to go back to lessons.”

Around 1 o’clock they finally called it a day and headed back to the clubhouse to have lunch.  Once their food had arrived, Bressie asked, “Are you having a good day hanging out with your dad?”

She nodded enthusiastically, a roll balled up in her hand.  “Daddy’s gonna paint my nails later!  So I’ll match Mommy!”

Bressie raised an eyebrow at Niall who shrugged and explained, “Dads of little girls do what they have to do, mate.  Besides, I got pretty good at it when I had to do the wife’s toenails while she was pregnant and couldn’t reach ‘em.”

Her uncle turned back to her and asked, “Did you know you have the best daddy in the entire world?”

Doodles grinned and said, “Yeah, he’s the best.”

---

Several hours later they were safely back at home with Doodle Bug asking about Niall remembering he was supposed to paint her nails and Niall wondering where the heck his wife’s nail polish was.  “Do you know where Mommy keeps it?” he asked her as he opened drawers on her vanity.

“No,” she replied sadly as she leaned against the counter.  “Mommy says that little girls don’t get to know where she keeps dangerous stuff. How is it dangerous, Daddy?  It’s just nail colors.”

Niall opened another drawer and tried to explain, “Just because something’s pretty doesn’t mean its safe.  Nail polish can be very dangerous.  You should never use it or even open a bottle without one of us, ok Doodles?  Aha!  There it is.”  He pulled out the clear polish and said, “Ok Doodle Bug, sit on the floor and put your hands on the towel so Daddy can paint your nails.”

He had just barely touched the little brush to her finger when she squealed and pulled her hand away.  “Daddy, it tickles!”

“I’m sorry sweetie, but you gotta hold your hand still, ok?”  This was more Harry’s territory than his, but he’d been determined when he had a daughter that he wouldn’t be a useless parent.  That he’d be the dad that had tea parties and knew how to dress her and do her hair so people would never say, “Oh, is the wife out of town?” when they saw her.  For Harry it was natural, but Niall had to work at it.  It was easier now that she was older and he saw how she reacted to his undivided attention and he’d seen how other little girls wilted when their dads refused to do something with them that they deemed to be “too girly.”

She’s three, at this point she doesn’t care about what’s girly or not because she hadn’t been taught that being a girl was inferior, and Niall intended to keep it that way.  All she knew was that she had a mommy and daddy who loved her to pieces and that was far more important to Niall than being a manly man.

Niall examined his handy-work and said, “There we are, they are all painted.  I’m gonna blow on them so they’ll dry faster, ok?”  She nodded and then proceeded to giggle like a little fiend as he blew on her nails.  Once he was sure they were just tacky and not truly wet anymore, he left her blowing on them as he cleaned up the supplies from the floor.

They spent the afternoon hanging out and watching a soccer game on the television and talking about her life.  He loved talking to her about the things that were happening; from preschool to playgroup to which of her toys were her current favorites.  They seemed so small, but he knew to her they were huge and he had always made a point of letting her know her life was important to him.  He wanted her to come to him with the small stuff now so she’d come to him with the big stuff later.

Dinner was a giggly affair, with Niall making her pesto chicken and pasta and letting her help him in the kitchen.  She used the spoon to spread the pesto over the chicken and she sprinkled the cheese over the top of them before Niall put them in the oven.  She inhaled all of it and even helped him wash the dishes, which was just as giggly as they splashed each other with soapy water.

After dinner, things were supposed to start calming down, but even as Niall tried to read her books she was a bundle of energy dancing across the living room.  Even the soap that claimed to be “calming” at bathtime had no effect on his very much awake little girl.  Finally, he said, “Doodle Bug, you’re supposed to be calming down so you can go to bed.”

She frowned and whined, “Where’s Mommy?  Why isn’t she home yet?”

Niall sighed and glanced at the clock. It was 7:30, this little girl’s bedtime, and his wife wasn’t due home until 10.  “Mommy is still out with your aunties.  She’ll come in and kiss you when she gets home.”

That wasn’t what Doodles had in mind.  “No, I want Mommy here!  Mommy puts me to bed!”

“Mommy isn’t getting home until late tonight, Doodle Bug.  It’s your bedtime now.  I promise she’ll be here when you wake up in the morning.”  Her lower lip started trembling and Niall suppressed a groan.  They should have expected it.  Her mom hardly ever missed the night time routine and she had been gone all day.  

His options ran through his mind.  He could force her to bed and listen to her cry herself to sleep, but that didn’t seem fair knowing that her mom would be home in a few hours.  That would make more sense if she wasn’t coming home at all.  He could let her stay up until she got home, but that was entirely too late for a three year old.  He could have her call her mom to say goodnight, but that wasn’t fair to his wife who was enjoying her first child free day in several months.

Finally, he settled on trying to exhaust her into falling asleep.  He tried racing with her through the house and encouraging her to jump around to burn off some energy, but it had the exact opposite effect he was hoping for.

“Daddy!” she giggled as she jumped towards him.  “Can you sing for me, Daddy?”

“What do you want me to sing?” he asked her as she kept jumping.

“The good stuff!” she proclaimed and Niall couldn’t help but laugh.  The good stuff meant the oldies that he played for her around the house and in the car.  He had always exposed her to a variety of music, but one time he put on his older music playlist and informed her that this was the good stuff.  She had called it that ever since.

Niall flipped to the playlist and hit shuffle.  The first song that came on was Sugar, Sugar and Doodles immediately started begging Niall to stand up and start dancing with her.  He wasn’t one to say no to his little one’s favorite way to enjoy music so he made a big show of getting up off the couch slowly and dramatically.  Doodles giggled and pulled at him, trying to get him up faster.

By the end of it, they were both dancing and Doodle Bug was laughing her little head off.  The next song that came on was All Shook Up.  When Niall pointed at Doodles during “I’m actin’ wild as a bug” she squealed happily, grabbed his hands and he moved her around the living room, shaking her at various points to make her laugh.  At various points through the song he made signature Elvis moves and Doodle Bug would try to imitate him to humorous results.

The next song was Elvis again with Blue Suede Shoes.  This resulted in them taking turns chasing each other around the living room as they tried to step on each other’s feet.

Little Bitty Pretty One started with Niall clapping and moving towards her goofily one step at a time.  He started humming along with it and Doodle Bug tried to join but couldn’t quite get it right, not that Niall cared.  Finally, Niall scooped her up in his arms and danced with her as she held onto his shoulders and giggled as he sang every word.

When Dancing in the Moonlight came on, Niall kept her in his arms as he danced her across the living room some more.  During the chorus, he switched to holding one of her hands in his and pretended to do a silly impression of the tango, even leading her over so they were standing in a window looking out at the moon over their house.

It was when he turned back around to take her back to the middle of the floor that he looked over and saw his wife leaning against the back of the couch, an amused look on her face.  “Did you lose track of time?” she asked as Niall and Doodle Bug both froze.

“Mommy!” Doodles yelled and Niall let her down to go hug her mom.  He had a string of apologies ready to go, but she just shook her head and gave him a knowing look. He knew he loved that woman.  She just picked up their daughter and carried her upstairs as she chattered on and on about the day she and her daddy had.

Niall was coming back in from taking the trash out when he was met by his wife.  “Our little party girl is in bed but she’s asking for a special song from her Daddy.”

“Of course she is,” Niall sighed.  This was one of her favorite tactics to avoid going to sleep yet.  He got upstairs and found her lying in bed, looking far more tired than she had downstairs.  He supposed that now the adrenaline was dying off, she was crashing quick.  “Hey, Doodle Bug,” he said quietly as he sat down on the edge of her bed.  “Mommy said you wanted me to sing for you.”

She nodded sleepily and said, “The world one, please.”

Niall smiled at her softly at what she referred to What a Wonderful World as and said, “Of course, baby girl.”

As gently as he could, he started singing, “I see trees of green, red roses, too.  I see them bloom,” Doodle Bug grinned as Niall touched his chest and then her nose while he sang, “For me and you. And I think to myself, what a wonderful world.”

Niall started brushing her blonde hair off her forehead as he sang, “I see skies of blue, and clouds of white.  The bright blessed day, the dark sacred night.  And I think to myself, what a wonderful world.”  Her eyes started drifting shut as he kept singing, “The colors of the rainbow, so pretty in the sky are also on the faces of people going by.  I see people shaking hands saying ‘How do you do?’  They’re really saying, ‘I love you.’”

Doodle Bug was asleep now and Niall felt himself choking up, looking at his little girl as he continued, “I hear babies cry, I watch them grow, they’ll learn much more than I’ll never know.  And I think to myself, what a wonderful world.  Yes, I think to myself… what a wonderful world.”

Niall had never doubted the world could be a wonderful place, but his little Doodle Bug had changed how much he appreciated it. And truth be told, the more time he spent with his intelligent and beautiful little girl… the way she giggled, took on challenges, and moved through the world like she was confident with every step she took, the more he realized just how truly wonderful the world could be.

Master List

[topcellulardeals]

ANJUNIE tops Women's Blouse,Summer Rainbow Block Striped Crop Top Casual Girl Teen T Shirts

https://topcellulardeals.com/product/anjunie-tops-womens-blousesummer-rainbow-block-striped-crop-top-casual-girl-teen-t-shirts/

♠♠ladies dress collar women’s jeans jacket black cool red primary fashion women’s women’s cheap design jacket work fashion Christmas turquoise orange fancy beautiful daily dress silver brown gold evening dress silver navy sexy blue shirt purple beautiful Spring White Burgundy Brown Small Women’s Silver Top Dress Up Christmas Tops Casual Dress Rhinestone White Fashion Work Summer Short Women’s Sweatshirt Women’s Women’s Black Women’s Cotton Top Chiffon fabric dim pink white ♠♠below buttons deal jean denim north face camo calvin klein patches motorcycle iron rock bands ear sterling moon gripper strap handbag unicorn 10-12 jojo siwa years 4t 7-8 fortnite carters 3t hanger car wall hangers wood mount door cubicle omni heat ski packable pants clips space saving trousers ended plastic ripped yoga palazzo joggers leg skinny rompers extender suits wooden duty no rack 12-14 pregnant extenders ♠♠Fightingrashguard Slim Weather Custom Tees Volt Champion xxxl ultimate hood body review item golf or sneaker for superman sport running small camouflage100 keep you blouses women on prime 3/4 girls button up clearance under special church dollars tape sided skin waterproof measure hollywood tapestry refill strips nova jeans dresses jumpsuit tops swimsuits sunglasses polarized tortoise mirrored cateye glasses men kids clear lens non prescription old fashioned

[zerevblack]

11 Best Practice Golf Balls: Your Easy Buying Guide

Golf isn't simple. It takes a ton of training to turn into a decent player. Be that as it may, you don't really need to whack a ball 200 yards to chip away at your swing. Probably the best practice golf balls are made of froth or plastic that just travel a short separation, which helps in case you're playing in your terrace or a territory with constrained space. It's tied in with idealizing your swing, regardless of whether you're utilizing your driver, irons, or wedges. It requires investment, however the outcomes will come.

So we've thought of a rundown underneath of the absolute most mainstream and utilitarian utilized golf balls to enable you to limit your choice. Investigate and see which is an ideal choice for you. The ones on the rundown beneath are for either indoor or open air use (much of the time, both), and there are possibilities for froth, plastic, and even a couple for guideline balls.

You could generally utilize shoddy golf balls, yet even those are more qualified for real play. In any case, utilizing ones intended for training are considerably more expense effecient, and, if froth or plastic, less inclined to breaking things around the house.

1. PrideSports Practice Balls

pridesports practice golf balls

Cost: $7.92

Amazon Customer Reviews

Shop at Amazon

Aces:

Delicate, dimpled froth balls are ideal for indoor or open air use

Can likewise be utilized to work on putting

You likewise have the choice of getting strong or punctured plastic golf balls

Cons:

Most likely not fit to use with a driver

Some felt the balls had conflicting thickness

Some felt the plastic ball choice were excessively light

These imagined PrideSports Practice Golf Balls are made of froth and can be utilized both inside and outside.

The solid froth development makes them helpful for hitting with all clubs, including golf drivers, without dread of breaking them. They won't travel excessively far, however you have constrained space, you should seriously mull over hitting them into a net, particularly in case you're utilizing a more extended club. The splendid yellow shading makes them simple to spot, particularly in case you're outside hitting them into grass.

You can likewise utilize these balls, which arrive in a pack of 12, on work on putting greens.

These PrideSports practice balls are additionally accessible in different alternatives — Orange punctured plastic, Orange strong plastic, White punctured plastic, and White strong plastic.

Discover more PrideSports Practice Balls data and audits here.

2. BirdieBall Practice Golf Balls

birdieball golf practice balls

Cost: $36.99

Amazon Customer Reviews

Shop at Amazon

Aces:

Has a constrained flight remove, yet feels and flies simply like a genuine ball

You can draw it and blur it

It comes exceptionally suggested by golf experts and instructors

Cons:

On the expensive side

Might take somewhere in the range of a short time to become accustomed to the shape

A few clients felt they weren't compelling drivers or woods

Exceptionally suggested by experts and golf mentors, these BirdieBalls are considered by numerous individuals as the absolute best practice golf balls available at the present time. Thing is, they're in fact not golf balls.

They're not molded like a standard ball, however progressively like an emptied out marshmallow. Be that as it may, it is intended to mimic the way and development of a genuine golf ball, including flight and direction. It has a restricted flight separate (40 yards, per BirdieBall), so you can do your normal swing as though you were on the course. You can even blur it and draw it.

It's made of a tough super polymer so they ought to be durable. It arrives in a 12-pack.

Look at the video underneath for more data on the BirdieBall.

Discover more BirdieBall Practice Golf Balls data and surveys here.

3. Crown Sporting Goods Polyurethane White Plastic Golf Balls

white plastic practice golf balls

Cost: $14.99

Amazon Customer Reviews

Shop at Amazon

Professionals:

Produced using tough polyurethane to shield from harm

Structured with symmetrical gaps so turn and separation can be precisely mimicked

In the event that balls do end up imprinted, they can undoubtedly flew out to the ordinary shape

Cons:

On the expensive side for plastic golf balls

Not perfect for putting practice

Likely not the best practice balls for chipping

The Crown Sporting Goods Polyurethane White Plastic Golf Balls arrive in a pack of 24 and are intended for indoor or open air use.

Made of sturdy polyurethane, these golf balls are built to ingest an abnormal state of stun on contact so they can be utilized with about each club in your pack on or off the tee.

Guideline estimate, they highlight symmetrical gaps that reenact the genuine turn and precision you'll get from standard golf balls, just with less separation — and harm, in case you're playing close to your home or vehicle.

Discover more Crown Sporting Goods White Plastic Golf Balls data and audits here.

4. Callaway HX Practice Golf Balls

callaway practice golf balls

Cost: $8.99

Amazon Customer Reviews

Shop at Amazon

Aces:

Each ball has Callaway's protected HEX dimple design

It mimics the genuine ball flight however they don't go as far

Made of tough froth, they're intended to have a delicate flight way

Cons:

Could be hazardous inside, except if hitting into a net

Lightweight, so the flight may be influenced by the breeze

A bit on the expensive side for training balls

On the off chance that it's an article about golf gear, you shouldn't astounded to see an item from Callaway on it. All things considered, they're one of the main makers of golf clubs, sacks, shoes, and innumerable more things. Also, obviously, probably the best practice golf balls.

The HX Practice Golf Balls highlight Callaway's protected HEX dimple design and are made of strong froth that advances a delicate flight. These training balls will reenact the real ball flight — turn, direction, draw, blur, and so on — just with less separation. Basically accept your swing as you would ordinarily do, however don't stress over hitting it 200 or so yards.

You can get these in 9-or 18-packs in 3 brilliant, simple to-see hues — Pink, Orange, and Lime Green. As a little something extra, it incorporates a work sack for straightforward conveying and capacity.

Discover more Callaway HX Practice Golf Balls data and audits here.

5. 100 Hit-Away Practice Golf Balls

utilized golf balls

Cost: $24.98

Amazon Customer Reviews

Shop at Amazon

Professionals:

Extraordinary for genuine play reproduction

Brilliant to help take a shot at putting and chipping

Ideal for course use for novice golfers

Cons:

Not the best quality on the off chance that you plan on utilizing them on the course

Most likely not appropriate for lawn practice, except if you have a net

Probably won't be entirely tough for exceptionally long

At times while rehearsing you need the genuine article, so utilized golf balls may be the best approach. Also, with these, you'll get 100 utilized golf balls from a portion of the top brands like Srixon, Callaway, Titleist, TaylorMade, and the sky is the limit from there. You'll likewise get a work sack for simple conveying and capacity.

Genuine golf balls will give you the most exact reenactment to play on the course, regardless of whether you're rehearsing on the putting green, driving extent, or chipping territory. You can surely utilize them at home, as well. Simply ensure you're hitting them into a training net.

Also, in case you're worn out on losing golf balls to perils on the course or in the forested areas and don't care for burning through cash on new ones, you can most likely take a couple of these along whenever out. Simply know, however, these are AA grade (practice quality) golf balls, which means there will be imperfections and likely a few scrapes.

Discover increasingly 100 Hit-Away Practice Golf Balls data and surveys here.

6. Paragon Practice Ball Combo

paragon practice golf balls

Cost: $12.95

Amazon Customer Reviews

Shop at Amazon

Stars:

36 all out golf balls (24 holed, 12 froth) for advantageous and spare practice (indoor/open air)

The dimple practice balls are made of sturdy froth and you'll get a decent recreation of a genuine golf

The reusable work stockpiling makes stockpiling and conveying simple

Cons:

Strength can turn into an issue (splitting, and so forth.)

A few clients said the pack configuration is imperfect and here and there hard to get balls in and out

Not the best balls for putting practice

Some should seriously mull over these the best practice golf balls since you get a combo pack of two various types — dimpled froth ones and empty stream balls.

You'll get 24 plastic golf balls with openings, which are perfect for patio practice — or inside — to take a shot at your stroke, and 12 thick froth balls, which will enable you to show signs of improvement reenactment of real ball flight, direction, and turn.

Nor are on the whole that incredible with regards to putting practice, yet you ought to have the capacity to take full swings with all your different clubs. However, I'd prescribe utilizing the dimpled golf balls for drivers, woods, and cross breed clubs.

Discover more Paragon Practice Ball Combo data and audits here.

7. AlmostGolf Point3 Practice Balls

nearly golf point3 practice balls

Cost: $20.70

Amazon Customer Reviews

Shop at Amazon

Stars:

The genuine flight qualities precisely reenacts your golf swing, ball striking, and finish

It is intended to reproduce genuine turn, direction, and exactness as you would on the course

The ball is intended to travel 1/3 to the extent a typical golf ball, making it safe to use in bigger open air territories

Cons:

On the expensive side

Most likely not the best ball for putting practice

You'll likely need an average measure of room in case you're utilizing a driver or wood

The AlmostGolf Point3 Practice Balls include imaginative innovation intended to mimic on-course play just with less separation for a definitive practice session.

The balls are built in a manner which will enable you to take a full swing and get quick criticism without stress of the ball voyaging far. The ball is intended to travel 1/3 of an ordinary golf ball with same club.

The outside of the ball highlights 1/8 mm dimples which enables it to get genuine flight, direction, and turn. The inside is made of a thick, solid froth and has a .32 Coefficient of Restitution (COR) rating, which confines the voyaging separation.

Discover more Al

[jimmydemaret]

Amazon Essentials Women's 2-Pack Slim-Fit Short-Sleeve V-Neck T-Shirt

Amazon Essentials Women’s 2-Pack Slim-Fit Short-Sleeve V-Neck T-Shirt

Check out Golf Junior Tees. Amazon Essentials Women’s 2-Pack Slim-Fit Short-Sleeve V-Neck T-Shirt.

Golf Junior Tees – Available at Promo Price [price_with_discount]

Fresh Stocks Golf Junior Tees, Amazon Essentials Women’s 2-Pack Slim-Fit Short-Sleeve V-Neck T-Shirt.

USD$10.89

  [ad_1]

Amazon Essentials Women’s 2-Pack Slim-Fit Short-Sleeve V-Neck T-Shirt

Today’s Discount Price. Amazon Essentials…

[thebathgolfclub]

The Golfer Who Died And Came Back To Life

Source: Golf Digest By Max Adler

Lightning won’t strike the same place twice, but what about a higher force? If one exists, it’d be hard to say it hasn’t taken some swings at the third hole at Kennett Square Golf & Country Club near Philadelphia.

There, during three months in 2012, a straightforward, slightly elevated tee box to a downhill par-3 green, framed by two bunkers and a backdrop of oak, transformed into a stage for the unfurling of all life’s tragedy and comedy. Vic Dupuis, now 57 and still playing to an 8, can’t get to the third tee without taking a moment. He just stares at the ground.

“When you tell people the story, they just look at you and say no way. But it’s true. I was there to witness all of it,” says Jeff Hollander, a member for 25 years and the father of the current women’s club champion.

It was a July Friday, and Dupuis—normally an outgoing and positive person—was harried from battling traffic returning from a business meeting in Harrisburg. He wolfed a turkey wrap in his car and ran to the first tee with shoes untied. His oldest daughter was moving to a new apartment, and he felt conflicted about not being there to help. But he’d committed to a partner, his neighbor Tom Henry, to play in The Devil’s, a much-ritualized club event featuring six holes of alternate shot, six holes of scramble and six of better ball (6-6-6). Dupuis apologized to his partner for his uncharacteristic state, for there was a not-insignificant pot up for grabs. But the agitated financial advisor appeared to settle, sinking a slippery 15-footer for bird on No. 2. In almost all other possible worlds, it would’ve been the last golf shot of his life.

Kennett’s halfway house is really a quarter-house, as the routing passes it four times. The first look comes after the second hole. You then cross a road to get to the third tee.

“The last thing I remember is walking out of the restroom, sweating,” Dupuis says. “My thought was, I’ve never been this hot on my golf course.” He sat in the cart’s passenger side, crossed the road, and at the third tee rested there while the rest of his group got out and gabbed, the logjam on the first par 3 predictable in events like this.

At first, no one noticed Dupuis die. When you stop breathing and have no pulse, the complete cessation of brain activity isn’t far behind. Henry glanced at the cart and saw Dupuis’ head back, his eyes oddly fixed.

“My first thought was, he was sleeping,” Henry says. After a good-natured taunt got no response, his partner’s earlier complaint of mild indigestion now clicked as a major harbinger. Henry, a burly man, immediately pulled Dupuis from the cart and began pounding his chest. Henry didn’t have CPR training, but his twin teenage boys had been recertified just weeks earlier. On the pick-up from the YMCA pool, they’d given Dad a decently thorough explanation. “I’m hitting hard, screaming at him to Come back! and all I can think about are his four kids,” Henry says. “Vic’s too young. They’re too young.”

Paul Dittmer—the remaining member of the foursome—called 911 as Hollander sped away in the cart. Back at the halfway house was a wall-mounted AED (automated external defibrillator) and the last sighting of William Ashton, M.D., whom they’d watched tee off on 17. Hollander delivered the AED, then went for Ashton. For more than a decade, in his car, at home and in his golf bag, Doc Ashton has stored a syringe of epinephrine. Not an EpiPen, but a more powerful dose for cardiac emergencies. He’d never used any of these. Never removed the box. It was just something an anesthesiologist like him did.

In the second fairway, Lee Russell wondered why play had stalled. He couldn’t see the crowd of 30 around the third tee, but did he hear shouting? A fistfight? That bizarre notion dissipated the moment he arrived and saw the row of stricken golfers relieving one another of the physical agony of compressing Vic Dupuis’ chest (effective CPR is performed at 100 beats per minute, or about the same tempo of the Bee Gees’ song “Stayin’ Alive”). Most onlookers were frozen, not knowing what to do other than maybe cry and say, “Vic’s gone.”

“His face was navy blue,” Ashton says. Speaking about the realities of medicine and statistics and death, you get the sense this doctor has never used hyperbole in his life. “By a traditional definition, he was dead. We were attempting to reverse it.”

Unable to find a vein, Ashton stuck the syringe under the tongue, the next-fastest way to infuse the drug. He repositioned the electrode pads of the AED on the chest. Each charge nearly lifted Dupuis’ 210-pound body off the third tee.

Kennett Square’s head pro at the time, Tom Carpus, had played a tournament that morning at another course and was driving back when he saw the ambulances and commotion. “When you consider the configuration of our course, it was very lucky it happened where it did. There are so many holes where he would’ve been a lot farther from the defibrillator, far from a spot where the ambulances could drive right up and, of course, Doc Ashton.”

That Dupuis took his first breath in 10 minutes, that his color changed from purple to red to dark pink, that he then opened his eyes and said, “What’s going on?” even though he has no memory of it, isn’t a miracle. That comes later. But for the story to make sense, we need to pick it up at Chester County Hospital, where Dupuis’ wife, Faith, was driving after listening to a series of increasingly frantic voicemails from Henry. What happened there is almost crushingly mundane. Dupuis didn’t report walking toward any white light or tunnels. Awaking a bit groggy to the familiar sight of his wife of 29 years, he asked her to call his assistant to cancel the appointment he’d intended on making after golf.

“I love you, too, honey,” she said.

A former nurse, Faith wasn’t surprised when the cardiac-catheterization test for her husband, who maintained a balanced diet and drank moderately, returned as only 10-percent blocked. As in, nowhere near clogged enough to cause a heart attack. Over the weekend, as the blisters on his chest caused by the waves of electric current began to subside, the prevailing diagnosis was that severe dehydration on a hot day had caused this golfer to faint. Faith wasn’t buying it, and on Monday morning she expressed her skepticism to fresh personnel. Dr. Clay Warnick agreed the case warranted more investigation and even suspected, correctly, a far rarer thing.

Sarcoidosis is a collection of inflamed white-blood cells that collect in little lumps called granulomas. More often they’re found in the lungs or skin, and just as often there are no, or only mild, symptoms. But when one migrates to the heart, it’s a deadly matter. At the Hospital of the University of Pennsylvania—where Dupuis was transferred by ambulance despite the mischievous and nearly successful attempt of a male nurse with whom he’d bonded over Penn State football to secure him a helicopter—he’d spend a week awaking each morning with a team of doctors and students alert at the foot of his bed. “We only ever get to study cardiac sarcoidosis in cadavers” was a line Dupuis heard too many times. He and Faith discussed laminating a synopsis of his account to show new medical staff who always asked, “Please explain to me how you’re alive.”

What most concerned Dupuis was the prohibition against swinging a golf club for 90 days, lest his newly installed pacemaker not settle right. Every country club has its “mayor,” and the gregarious Dupuis had earned the nickname at Kennett for making things happen wherever he stepped on the property, be it at the golf course, tennis courts, pool, and the men’s and mixed grills. Staying away in the glory of late summer was hard. As soon as he was able, he started coming to the club to chip and putt. He also went back to work, and five weeks after his cardiac arrest, he sipped one glass of cabernet.

Carpus, the head pro, felt for the guy. So he said, “Come on, Vic, let’s get you fit for a new set of irons.” Swinging isn’t the only requirement for a custom-fitting, so the two killed a playable afternoon paying extra-persnickety attention to lies, lengths and grips.

“It was important to capitalize on his excitement about playing again. Give him something meaningful to look forward to,” says Carpus, who recently became a rules official on the PGA Tour Champions. In all, he worked 20 seasons at Kennett Square, all of them close with Dupuis.

“Vic was the chairman of our junior golf committee for 19 years. He’s the kind of guy who’s always giving back and volunteering,” Carpus says. “When I tell Vic’s story, people think it ends there.” With a new set of clubs. Or with the dinner party Dupuis threw at a local orchard to thank everyone who had played a part in saving his life.

Dupuis returned to golf the first day he was permitted, which happened to be an unseasonably warm one in November. Unwrapping the plastic from his new set of Ping i20s couldn’t be performed without a sense of ceremony, but everything else about the day was loose.

Several of his closest golf buddies were playing in—ironically, if you choose to see it that way—a memorial paddle tournament for a former member. Despite that draw, the first tee was packed. So Dupuis and two others snuck off No. 10. Walking off this first hole, whom did they see teeing off No. 9? None other than Ashton.

“I had seen everybody since the event except Doc Ashton, so that was an emotional intersection,” Dupuis says. After a long hug, the doctor removed a syringe from his golf bag, raised it for them all to behold, and said, “Don’t worry, Vic, I’ve reloaded!”

Maybe because Dupuis was free from three months of negative swing thoughts, or maybe just because, he played a decent nine holes. At the turn, they picked up Hollander, who’d finished his paddle match early. Given the routing, Dupuis shouldn’t have been surprised for the reencounter. Still, it was eerie passing Ashton on the 17th tee as they drove across the road to the third. The doc back in place like it was all happening again.

Dupuis asks Hollander to show him. “Right here,” Hollander says, and points to a spot of rough on the bank of the box, a few paces up from dead middle. “That’s where you were lying.” Dupuis presses. He needs to know more. Needs to know everything. Who was standing where? What was the exact sequence of events? But more happened in that eternity than can be reliably relayed.

All Hollander can say is, “Your first breath was the greatest relief I have ever felt in my life. In my mind, I had just seen you die.” Hollander doesn’t dwell on what happened next, at least not in this first retelling.

Tom Henry will say it later. “The ambulance has taken Vic away, the crowd has dispersed, and the three of us are standing there. Vic is with the people he needs to be. For us, it’s either go drink all afternoon in the bar or keep playing. I told Jeff [Hollander] and Paul [Dittmer] I’d be their marker for the tournament. So we teed off.”

Everyone bogeyed the par-3 third, understandably, but then the duo of Hollander/Dittmer had a red-hot card the rest of the way and won The Devil’s. “I feel a little guilty about that,” Hollander can now joke, “but to keep playing was the right thing.”

Months later, all’s well that ends perfect: 162 yards with a slightly helping breeze, Dupuis knows it’s a 6-iron. Always better to be short than long on this green. Plus, he hasn’t hit the 6 yet. Not this 6. Ever.

When it’s in the air, Hollander says one word: “Perfect.”

Two hops and in.

“I should’ve retired that 6-iron then and there, because I haven’t hit it anywhere near as pure since,” Dupuis says.

There’s yelling. And expletives. Dupuis falls flat to his back, and from the obscured vantage of the 17th tee, Ashton has a dreadful thought: Not again. But it flips when he sees the high-fives. These shouts of “Oh, my God! Oh, my God!” are for something wonderful. They call the golf shop, and the word spreads. The remaining six holes are a blur. When the group reaches the 19th hole, there’s a crowd waiting unlike any other.

“It happened to be a busy day at the club, and so everyone is in there, yet we walk into a room of total silence,” Hollander remembers. “Everyone was in awe. People kept asking me, ‘Did Vic really get a hole-in-one on 3?’ “

As the hole-in-one insurance is claimed and reclaimed, again and again, the men’s grill turns boisterous. Doc Ashton, scotch in hand, gets a glint in his eye followed by a loss for words. “To come back for the first time to the hole he died on and make a hole-in-one, and with a brand-new club, well . . .”

Dupuis has attended church all his life. Sometimes it can be impossible to believe in God more than one already does. “He’s not a changed person. He’s just more himself,” Faith says. “He’s always been a glass-half-full kind of a person. Since the event, we both like to say his cup runneth over.”

“My belief is that the great fisher of men threw me back, and that he has an incredible sense of humor to add a hole-in-one,” Dupuis says. “But if I’ve come to realize anything, it’s that the people around me were most affected. They had to watch me die.” One witness quit smoking that day. Another had AEDs installed at each of his four business locations. More than 50 members have since taken CPR training. What can’t be counted is how many appreciate life with greater preciousness.

Every year on the last Friday of July, the anniversary of his “death,” Dupuis plays with the same foursome of Henry, Hollander and Dittmer. On the third tee, he has the club leave champagne on ice. The tradition started with one bottle and four glasses, but more and more members have requested to join the celebration, so now there’s a case.

If there is anyone who can raise a glass and not believe there is a higher force, then theirs is half empty.

Link to article: Click here

The post The Golfer Who Died And Came Back To Life appeared first on The Bath Golf Club.

[hamiltongolfcourses]

Gail shares a moment ..

Although summer seems to be coming to an end.....the golf season definitely has not! There is nothing like golf in beautiful fall weather, so still lots to look forward to!

We would, however, like to share some awesome Southern Pines summer golf stories with you....

THE “BENTHAM GROUP”....

We have had who I’ve named, “The Bentham Group” golfing here the past couple of years. You may have seen them in their matching golf shirts. The Bentham Group normally consists of Lyle Bentham, his brother, Paul Bentham, and Paul’s son, Lyle’s nephew, Mark Bentham. On occasion, they have a guest player to make a fourth.

I noticed them having way too much fun each time they came to golf....before golf, during golf, and even in the clubhouse after their golf game.... so I started “spying” on them. They would show up to the course with a bag, (usually Lyle, in addition to his golf bag), and after their game in the clubhouse, I noticed many “props” on their table....so I began asking questions, being the nosy person I am.

So, these “props” are what you’ve been carrying around in the bag? What are they for? How can all of you always be smiling and laughing? Isn’t there anyone in your group who ever has a bad game?

They shared the following:

The “props” are their awards they give out each time they golf. Here are some examples of their awards:

“The Lumberjack...AKA The Hatchet” – (plastic hatchet) - most trees hit in a game“The AquaVelva Man” (wooden fish) – most balls hit in the water“Golden Eyes” (plastic pirate’s telescope)- most balls found“The Midas Touch” (plastic putter) – most putts madeWooden Snowman.....I wonder?

The list goes on.

Now, not all the awards are negative you see—they also have the “Good Samaritan”, FROT (Fairways hit right off the Tee), etc.

Their very own customized stats sheet, “Golf Central Game Stat Sheet 2018” is very intricate and detailed....it shows “Oh No’s”, Hot Dog Hole, etc......all with a very comprehensive scoring system.

I can honestly say—I’ve never seen a group of guys have so much fun golfing. They award their bad swings as well as their good swings (although points are deducted). All in a day’s fun, I say. They even make their own banquet tickets for their mini banquet.

There are often new awards (usually purchased from Value Village). I believe one of their newest awards is called the “Pink Floyd” award.....something to do with hitting the wall (shed on #6 hole I believe!).

It is such a pleasure to watch their fun. If you are having a bad day, just sit near their table in the clubhouse after one of their games—I guarantee they will make you smile, as their fun is infectious. Thanks guys for sharing your fun with us!

This just goes to show you.....golf is what you make it:

It can be an individual game.

It can be a group game.

It can be a social game.

It can be so much fun!!

HAVE YOU GOLFED YOUR AGE??

Or, have you had a golf score UNDER your age??

Well, Lorne Rogers of Hamilton golfed 2 strokes UNDER his age here at Southern Pines on July 10th.

How cool is that!!!???

Congratulations Lorne!! Needless to say, he did beat his younger golf partner, Frank!!

Let us know if you’ve golfed your age or lower....we’d love to hear from you!!

Stories and Photographs by Gail and Terry

Brought to you by Southern Pines Golf Club

[jimmydemaret]

GoSports 3.25" XL Tour Tee Premium Wooden Golf Tees - 200 XL Tee Player's Pack Driver and Iron/Hybrid Tees, Choose Your Tee Color

GoSports 3.25″ XL Tour Tee Premium Wooden Golf Tees – 200 XL Tee Player’s Pack Driver and Iron/Hybrid Tees, Choose Your Tee Color

Unique Golf Tees Red. GoSports 3.25″ XL Tour Tee Premium Wooden Golf Tees – 200 XL Tee Player’s Pack Driver and Iron/Hybrid Tees, Choose Your Tee Color.

Golf Tees Red – Available at Lowest Price [price_with_discount]

Discounted Golf Tees Red, GoSports 3.25″ XL Tour Tee Premium Wooden Golf Tees – 200 XL Tee Player’s Pack Driver and Iron/Hybrid Tees, Choose Your Tee Color.

USD$9.99

  [ad_1]

GoSport…

[jimmydemaret]

PrideSports 500 Personalized Custom Wood Golf Tees - 1 Color Imprint

PrideSports 500 Personalized Custom Wood Golf Tees – 1 Color Imprint

Custom Custom Golf Tees. PrideSports 500 Personalized Custom Wood Golf Tees – 1 Color Imprint.

Custom Golf Tees – Now Promo Price [price_with_discount]

Limited Stock Custom Golf Tees, PrideSports 500 Personalized Custom Wood Golf Tees – 1 Color Imprint.

USD$59.95

  [ad_1]

PrideSports 500 Personalized Custom Wood Golf Tees – 1 Color Imprint

Today’s Lowest Price. PrideSports 500 Personalized…

[jimmydemaret]

Riot Society Womens Long Sleeve Graphic Fashion T-Shirts and Tees

Riot Society Womens Long Sleeve Graphic Fashion T-Shirts and Tees

From Amazon Golf Tees Japan. Riot Society Womens Long Sleeve Graphic Fashion T-Shirts and Tees.

Golf Tees Japan – Available at Sale Price [price_with_discount]

Free Shipping Golf Tees Japan, Riot Society Womens Long Sleeve Graphic Fashion T-Shirts and Tees.

USD$35.50

  [ad_1]

Riot Society Womens Long Sleeve Graphic Fashion T-Shirts and Tees

Buy Now for Promo Price. Riot Society Womens Long…

[jimmydemaret]

Senior Golf Tees with Large Head Size - 5 Pack

Senior Golf Tees with Large Head Size – 5 Pack

From Amazon 5000 Golf Tees. Senior Golf Tees with Large Head Size – 5 Pack.

5000 Golf Tees – Today’s Clearance Price [price_with_discount]

Discounted 5000 Golf Tees, Senior Golf Tees with Large Head Size – 5 Pack.

USD$7.99

  [ad_1]

Senior Golf Tees with Large Head Size – 5 Pack

Today’s Sale Price. Senior Golf Tees with Large Head Size – 5 Pack

Fresh Stocks related to 5000 Golf Tees, Discover…

[jimmydemaret]

Masters Golf Plastic Graduated Tees In Pink 2 1/4" Pack 25

Masters Golf Plastic Graduated Tees In Pink 2 1/4″ Pack 25

Unique Golf Tees UK. Masters Golf Plastic Graduated Tees In Pink 2 1/4″ Pack 25.

Golf Tees UK – Shop for Best Price [price_with_discount]

New Arrivals Golf Tees UK, Masters Golf Plastic Graduated Tees In Pink 2 1/4″ Pack 25.

USD$6.18

  [ad_1]

Masters Golf Plastic Graduated Tees In Pink 2 1/4″ Pack 25

Shop for Best Price. Masters Golf Plastic Graduated Tees In Pink 2 1/4″ Pack 25

This months…