#putter technique

[macrogolf12]

Advantages and Key features of Arm Anchor Grip

The Arm Anchor Grip has emerged as a vital tool in various sports and fitness disciplines, enhancing performance and supporting rehabilitation efforts. This innovative grip is particularly beneficial in activities requiring strength, precision, and stability, making it a popular choice among athletes, fitness enthusiasts, and individuals recovering from injuries.

What is Arm Anchor Grip?

The Arm Anchor Grip is designed to help users maintain control during exercises while promoting proper form and reducing the risk of injury. Its unique features cater to a wide range of applications, from pole dancing and weightlifting to rehabilitation exercises.

Why Choose Arm Anchor Grip?

Key Features

Ergonomic Design - It typically includes adjustable straps and ergonomic handles, providing a secure yet comfortable fit. This design allows users to perform a variety of exercises without discomfort.

Robust Locking Mechanism - The grip secures the arm in place, ensuring stability during movements that require a strong grip. This characteristic is important for maintaining proper posture and technique.

Versatility - One of the standout features of this grip is its adaptability. It can be used for lifting weights, supporting push-ups, enhancing pull-up techniques, and more, making it suitable for various workout routines.

Portability - The compact design of this grip makes it easy to transport, allowing users to incorporate it into their workouts at the gym, park, or home. This convenience is especially valuable in today’s fitness landscape, where home workouts are increasingly popular.

Impact on Performance

This Grip has garnered widespread positive feedback for its ability to provide stability without sacrificing flexibility. Users report experiencing a newfound sense of control during exercises that challenge their grip or posture. Whether it’s weightlifting or resistance training, the grip enables them to maintain form and enhance workout effectiveness, even during high-intensity movements.

Therapeutic Benefits

Beyond its athletic applications, this grip is an essential tool for rehabilitation. Regular use can help promote a functional sitting position, increase head and upper trunk strength, and improve control. This makes it an ideal choice for individuals recovering from injuries or those seeking to enhance their overall physical capabilities.

Why Choose

The Arm Anchor Grip is much more than just a training aid. Its ergonomic design, versatility, and therapeutic benefits make it a key asset for athletes and fitness enthusiasts alike. By improving grip strength, offering stability and support, and reducing the risk of injury, it plays a critical role in enhancing performance and promoting muscle growth across a range of activities.

Whether you’re a seasoned athlete or just beginning your fitness journey, incorporating this grip into your routine can lead to significant improvements in your performance and overall well-being. Fitness professionals endorse this grip for its role in strengthening underused or weakened muscle groups.

[pitlanepeach]

Radio Silence | Chapter Twenty-Four

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren’t quirks, they’re survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, some small time jumps, Lando being the perfect BF, so much fluff (are we surprised?) Amelia’s fixation on Oscar continues.

Notes — I couldn’t fathom not giving you guys an update, so I decided to split this chapter in half, which actually makes it more enjoyable anyway!

Want to be added to the taglist? Let me know! — Peach x

December 2021

Light streamed in through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Amelia was sat cross-legged on the floor in one of Lando’s shirts, hair still mussed from sleep, watching him tear through wrapping paper like an overactive toddler.

He held up a pair of novelty socks. “These do not say ‘fastest fiancé’. Did you have these custom made?” He laughed. 

Amelia sipped her coffee. Smiled. “Yes.”

He laughed, leaned over to kiss her temple, and then spotted one last final, wrapped in silver paper with her usual precision. His name in sharp, all-caps handwriting. Pushed all the way at the back of the tree. 

“Wait, what’s that?” He asked, genuinely confused. “I thought we were done.”

“We are,” Amelia said. “That one doesn’t exist, technically. I bought it with my bonus money for winning Max the championship — so it was basically free.”

His brow furrowed. “What?”

“Just open it.” She urged, her stomach fluttering. 

He went at it with a lack of any kind of decorum. 

Inside was a car key, nestled in a velvet-lined box. Lando stared at it. Blinking. Then he saw the envelope beneath. He opened it, slowly, and pulled out a photograph — glossy, high-res, obviously taken without him knowing. A sky-blue Fiat Jolly, sitting on a Monaco street. His dream car. “I’ve always wanted a jolly,” he’d said.

It was his now.

He didn’t say anything.

“Lando,” Amelia urged, eyes narrowing on him. Lando’s mouth opened. Closed. His hands went to his face. “Are you—”

“I’m not crying,” he said instantly, voice breaking, eyes suspiciously wet. “It’s the… sea air.”

Amelia raised an eyebrow. “We’re inside.”

He launched himself at her instead of arguing, arms wrapping around her waist as he half-tackled her backwards into the couch. “You bought me a Jolly,” he whispered, holding her like she was the one wrapped in a bow. “You got me a blue jolly.”

“It’s a good colour,” she said, tone clipped. “There was a white one, but that would’ve been a pain to keep clean.”

He kissed her, sloppily and repeatedly, laughing into her mouth, nose brushing hers. “You’re ridiculous. A ridiculous genius. I love you so much it might actual be a crime.”

“Lando,” she protested, giggling against his lips. “Merry Christmas.”

He held her tighter. “You’re never allowed to leave me. I’ll keep you tied up in the Jolly.”

“I’ll engineer my escape.” She warned. “And then I’ll run you over with it.” 

“God, you’re so hot.” He breathed, and then he was kissing her again. “I got you a cookbook.” He said, after a beat, sounding all upset. 

“You got me a diamond ring.” She reminded him. “And three Chanel dresses.” 

His eyes brightened again. “Oh yeah! We’re equal then?”

She decided never to tell him how much she’d spent on the car.  

Instead she just nodded and let him kiss her again. 

—

The little Fiat Jolly puttered along the winding road just above the Monaco coastline, its tiny engine buzzing like a contented bee. The sun was dipping low, washing the cliffs and water in warm light. 

Amelia had her bare feet on the dashboard, oversized hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands, a half-eaten gingerbread cookie resting in her lap. Her dark hair whipped gently in the wind, and her face was set in that rare, fully relaxed expression Lando had come to love.

He was at the wheel (obviously), winter scarf flapping around his neck. Sunglasses on. Driving like he was in a slow-motion Italian rom-com. He was also butchering Mariah Carey. “AAALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS—IS—YOUUUUUUU—!”

Amelia winced. “Not one since correct tune. Like, you’ve been aggressively wrong for the entire song.”

“It’s called passion, baby,” he shouted over the wind. “You wouldn’t understand. You sing like a metronome.”

“It’s called being in tune.” She argued. 

He reached over to squeeze her knee. “Still love you.”

“You’re lucky you’re cute.” She glared at him. 

He glanced at her, just a quick look, and he was pouting. “I’m adorable.”

She rolled her eyes and let her head loll toward the window. The sea looked endless tonight. Peaceful. “I can't believe you’re allowed to drive this thing on public roads. Feels like a safety hazard. And sounds like a cheap hairdryer.”

“It’s completely safe,” Lando said cheerfully. “A sexy, blue, historic, safe little thing.” A beat passed. Then he added, quieter, “This is gonna be one of those memories, you know?”

She looked at him.

“In ten, twenty years. I’ll remember this. The Jolly. Us, Thelma and Louise’ing on Christmas Day because we were rebels and decided to snub both sets of parents. You, looking all pretty. Wearing a ring that means you’ll be mine forever. Proper core memory, innit?” 

“I’m not very sentimental,” she said, but her voice had gone soft.

“I know.” He said. “Don’t worry. I’ll remember it for both of us.”

She turned her head to him then, something gentle and fond settling in her chest. “You’re such a romantic.”

He leaned over at the next stop sign and kissed her quickly. “Yeah. Whatever. You love it.”

She sighed. “...Yeah. I do.”

And the Jolly carried them on, down the hills of Monaco, all the way home. 

January 2022

The January light filtered in pale and calm, exactly how she liked it. Amelia stirred in bed, already aware that something was… off. Not in a terrible, uncomfortable way. Just different.

Lando was gone. But in his place on the pillow beside her was a small stack of neatly folded paper, warm from the radiator.

Her name was written on the top in his handwriting, big, messy loops, the pen pressed down too hard on the edges.

She picked it up.

Hi, baby. Don’t panic. It’s your birthday so I have a surprise for you, but everything is going to be soft, quiet, and exactly how you like it.

Here’s what’s happening:

Step One: Breakfast. Check the kitchen. Step Two: Follow the yellow thread (yes, I taped it to the walls, no I can’t promise that the paint will survive) Step Three: I love you.

Amelia blinked, then got up slowly, grounding herself with a hand on the dresser. No loud music. No shouting. No sudden “SURPRISE!” the way people sometimes did and she hated. Just a yellow string, trailing from the doorknob like a breadcrumb trail.

The kitchen smelled like cinnamon and strawberries. Her usual breakfast, oat toast, berry compote, and the one tea blend she was currently hyper-fixating on, was laid out. Her iPad was already charging on the counter. Her stim toy was beside her mug. Everything… in its place.

The yellow thread led down the hall, looping gently through the apartment. Amelia followed it barefoot, her fresh baby-pink manicure sparkling prettily in the morning sunlight.

The thread ended at the den. Inside, the lights were low. A weighted blanket was spread across a pillow fort made of sofa cushions and chairs. The projector hummed gently, and paused on screen was a playlist of exactly her comfort movies — colour-graded and subtitled, just how she preferred.

Lando was sitting in the middle of it, wearing her favourite hoodie of his, criss-cross applesauce on the floor, nervously picking at the hem of a cushion.

“Hi,” he said softly, standing when she entered. “You okay?”

Her eyes were wide, her expression unreadable at first; and then she moved forward quickly and wrapped her arms around him, face tucked into his chest. He let out a breath, hugging her back tightly. “I just wanted you to feel… like, loved,” he mumbled into her hair. “And safe. Didn’t want to make anything too stressful.”

She didn’t cry. Not quite. But she went very still in his arms. “You did it perfectly,” she whispered. “Everything.”

“Okay, good.” He kissed the top of her head. “There’s also banana bread. And I got your mum to send me the birthday plate. It’s in the kitchen. Please don’t be mad.”

She pulled back, eyes slightly glassy now. “You stole the birthday plate?”

“I borrowed the birthday plate,” he said with a grin. “International shipping, for love.”

Amelia’s laugh was quiet but real.

“I also made you a visual schedule of the day,” Lando said, a bit too proud of himself. “I colour-coded it. I used tabs.”

She stared at him. “You did not.”

“I absolutely did. And there's an hour blocked out for ‘no talking, just decompressing.’ I figured you'd want it.”

She kissed him. Without overthinking it. Without preamble. Just reached up and kissed him full on the mouth, like gratitude in motion.

When she pulled away, she said simply, “This is the best birthday I’ve ever had.”

Lando’s grin went a little crooked. “Yeah? Better than the year your dad bought you the model McLaren MP4/4?”

“Marginally,” she said, with a tiny smile. “But only because of the yellow thread.”

February 2022

The office was quiet, save for the dull hum of the heating system and the rhythmic tapping of Amelia’s pen against her notepad. She sat across from Jos and Max, her expression unreadable, jaw set. The sea glimmered outside the floor-to-ceiling windows — too calm for the tension in the room.

Jos leaned forward, hands clasped on the table between them. “Five years,” he said simply. “You’ll have control over every technical arm of Verstappen Co. We’ll build the next era around you. You want to be a legacy name? This is it.”

Max sat beside him, less intense but no less focused. “We want to keep you. You know that. You made me better, helped me win my first championship.”

Amelia blinked, slow and deliberate. “I know what I’m worth.”

“Then stay,” Jos said, voice firm. “Let’s do this long-term. No games.”

She was quiet for a long moment. Then, “I won’t sign anything past this season. Past 2022.”

Max blinked. Jos’s face twitched.

“Why?” Max asked, more confused than angry.

Amelia shifted in her seat, finally setting her pen down. Her voice didn’t waver. “Because. I think, in 2023, I’m going to go to McLaren. Officially.”

Jos exhaled sharply through his nose. “Is this about Lando? Your father? Are they pressuring you—”

“No,” she said quickly, too quickly. “This has nothing to do with Lando. He doesn’t need me to win.” Her tone softened, just a fraction, as she turned to Max. “Neither do you. You’ve already proven that.”

“So what is it, then?” Max asked, frowning. “More money? I can give you more. We can… Anything you want, Amelia. Just name it.” He told her. 

Amelia didn’t look away. “You can’t give me Oscar.”

Jos blinked.

Max furrowed his brows. “Oscar… Piastri? The F2 driver?”

She nodded. “Alpine reserve in 2022. And then…“ She trailed off with a shrug. 

Jos was frowning. “What interest do you have in Piastri?” 

“I want to make him a champion,” Amelia said simply, as if it were already a fact. “I see what he’s capable of, and I want to build something from the ground up. I want to guide it all the way. That’s the only deal I’ll ever sign for five years.”

A long, tense silence fell over the room.

Jos shook his head in disbelief. Max, meanwhile, just leaned back slowly, watching her. There was no bitterness, there never could be between them. There was a quiet understanding though. He’d been there, of course. He’d been the one to drag her to that F3 race in 2020, the first time she set her sights on the Aussie. 

Finally, he smiled. “So,” Max said quietly. “You’re going to do for him what you did for me.”

She nodded. “Yeah. And I want to see it through.”

Jos grunted. “You’ll regret it — leaving Max.” 

She shook her head. Smiled. “No I won’t.” 

—

Their apartment was dimly lit, the soft blue glow of the kitchen light spilling into the living room. Lando sat on the floor, back resting against the couch, legs stretched out, a PlayStation controller loose in his hands. Amelia was curled in the corner of the sofa, barefoot, knees drawn to her chest, fingers tapping rhythmically against the fabric of her — well, his — joggers.

He watched her. She wasn’t avoiding his gaze, but she wasn’t quite meeting it either.

“So,” Lando said eventually, voice quiet, teasing on the surface — but not fully joking. “Why not me?”

Amelia blinked. “As opposed to Oscar?”

He nodded once.

She hesitated. “Because you don’t need me.”

He sat with that, chest rising and falling with a slow breath. “But I want you.”

“I know,” she replied softly. “And you have me. Every day. Every night. For everything that matters.” Her gaze flicked to his then, sharper, steadier. “But if I’m the one calling your tire strategy… watching your telemetry… telling you what lines to take, we cross a boundary we don’t get to come back from.”

Lando’s mouth twisted, like he wanted to argue, but couldn’t. He looked away.

“I want to be your wife,” she added, quieter now. “Not your race engineer.”

Silence stretched between them. Then Lando gave a breathless, slightly bitter laugh. “Lucky bastard.”

Amelia tilted her head. “Who?”

“Oscar.” Lando’s grin was small, lopsided, but genuine. “Kid’s fast. Quiet. Works hard. And now he’s about to get the cheat code of a lifetime.”

“You like him,” she observed.

He nodded. “I do. He’s good. Still figuring himself out, but… I think you’ll make him into something fucking class.”

She studied him for a moment; her Lando, all hoodie and messy curls and ridiculous socks, a little salty from their day at the harbour, skin a little tender from the sun, but entirely hers. And proud of her, even when it stung. “I’m still yours, Lando,” she murmured.

“I know.” He reached up and tugged her hand gently toward him. “Doesn’t mean I’m not allowed to be a little jealous that some 20-year-old Prema nerd is going to get your full genius mode while I’m over here fighting you for the last of the ketchup.”

She smiled, then climbed into his lap. He caught her easily, arms slipping around her waist as she tucked herself under his chin. “I’ll save some genius mode for you,” she promised. “You’ll still get the car. I’ve got plans — good plans. Might take a couple years to make them work, get the engineers to actually understand what I’m trying to do, but…” She looked up at him, grinning. “We’ll get there. And when we do, it’s yours.”

“You’re still Max’s for 2022,” Lando reminded her.

“Mmhmm,” she hummed. “Maybe 2023 too. Depends on whether Oscar gets the Alpine seat or not.”

“You’re seriously not willing to come back for me and Daniel?” His voice was quieter, tinged with something close to hurt. “Not this year?”

She leaned in, kissed the freckle under his eye, and said, “No. When I come to McLaren, it’ll be for Oscar. Only Oscar. And everyone will know that. You understand why?”

Lando sighed. He didn’t answer right away. Then, “Yeah. I get it. No whispers. No accusations. No one saying I get preferential treatment because my wife’s in my ear.”

“Fiancée,” she corrected.

His lips twitched. “You’ll be my wife by the time you’re wearing papaya, baby. Trust me.”

— 

Amelia was halfway through untangling a knot in her headphones when she spoke. “We should tell people we’re engaged.”

Lando, sitting on the floor surrounded by half-open Amazon boxes, looked up from the chaos of bubble wrap and a suspicious number of USB-C cables. “I thought we were telling people.”

She blinked. “We haven’t told anyone.”

He squinted. “Babe, I’ve told, like, fifty people.”

Amelia’s head snapped toward him. “What?”

Lando lifted his hands like it was obvious. “The Quadrant boys! Carlos knows. Daniel definitely knows. Charles asked if he was invited to the wedding even though we didn’t have a venue yet, and I panicked and said yes. Oh, and this girl at the bakery down the road—”

“Okay, okay, stop.” Amelia cut him off, eyes wide. “Then how the fuck has my dad not found out? Or Max? I’d know if they knew. Max would be blowing up my phone and my dad… Oh my god, my dad, Lando. If my dad found out we were engaged through somebody else—.”

Lando froze. “…Wait. Oh no. Oh no.”

“What?” she asked slowly, watching his face fall like a slow-motion disaster.

“I thought you were telling your dad. Like, had already told him! I was trying to be respectful and give him time to process, yanno! I was waiting for the all-clear to go and give him a handshake or something!” 

Amelia blinked at him. “Lando. You’re telling me that the woman at the bakery down the road knows that we’re getting married before my dad. And my mom. Max! Your parents!” 

“I didn’t think!” He flailed. 

She stared at him, slightly horrified. “We need to tell them now. Right now. Everyone.”

“Yes, agreed, immediately.” He scrambled to his feet, stepping over a pile of cardboard like a man preparing for battle. “Do we FaceTime your dad first or Max? Who's the bigger threat? What about my mum? Oh my god…” He moaned. 

“Max,” Amelia said without hesitation. “My dad will probably have a heart attack and pass out, but Max might threaten you with bodily harm.”

“Great,” Lando muttered, already reaching for his phone. “I love that I’m scared of one of my best friends because I want to marry his pseudo sister.” He paused. “Wait—can I not just say it in the group chat?”

“Not before Max knows.” She cried. 

He groaned. “Fine. But I’m posting on Instagram the second your dad gives us the green light. I need it on the record that I landed you.” He said. 

“Landed me,” she repeated. “I’m not a bloody plane, Lando.” 

—

Lando was pacing.

Well, it was more like bouncing, phone in one hand, the other tugging at the collar of his hoodie like it was suddenly too tight. Amelia was still sat on the couch, legs tucked under her. “You don’t have to be this nervous,” she said flatly.

“He’s a very intense guy,” Lando hissed. “He might want to kill me, Amelia.”

She arched an eyebrow. “No. He likes you. I think.”

Lando grimaced. “Great. That makes me feel way better.”

Before she could say anything else, the FaceTime call connected.

Max’s face filled the screen, a close-up angle that immediately suggested he hadn’t meant to answer that way. He grunted, adjusted it, and suddenly there he was, in a too-big t-shirt, hair slightly damp. “Why is Lando calling me? Are you okay?” He asked Amelia, completely ignoring the fact that Lando was holding the phone.

“I’m fine,” she replied. “But he has something to tell you.”

Max’s gaze sharpened. “What did you do.”

Lando blinked. “Why is that your default assumption?!”

“Because when you look that twitchy, you’ve usually done something dumb.”

Amelia sighed. “Max. We’re engaged.”

Max froze. “Like… for real?”

Lando, still holding the phone like it was radioactive, lifted Amelia’s left hand into frame. The ring, clearly chosen with painful care, glinted in the light.

“Oh,” Max said after a beat. His tone was unreadable. “Oh, fuck.” There was silence. Then Max grinned. “You absolute idiots,” he said fondly. “That’s amazing.”

Lando let out a breath that came out halfway to a squeak. “So you’re not going to kill me?”

“No,” Max shrugged. “Not unless you hurt her. Then I will, of course, murder you and ensure that nobody ever finds your body.”

“Okay,” Lando agreed quickly.

“I’m serious,” Max told him. “I’ll make it look like a freak disappearance.” 

Amelia rolled her eyes. “You done?”

Max’s grin widened as he turned his focus back to her. “You’re sure about this? I mean. It’s Lando.”

“I know,” she said dryly. “I picked him out myself.”

Max pointed at her through the screen. “Can I be your maid of honour?” 

“No,” she frowned. “Max, you are not a maid. I don’t understand—“ 

“We’re going to tell the rest of the grid now,” Lando cut her off, giving her leg a squeeze. “You’re officially the first.”

“Good,” Max said. “I can’t wait for you to tell Charles. He will owe me twenty euro.”

Amelia blinked. “You bet on us… getting engaged?”

Max just smiled at her. “Have you told Fernando yet?” 

Lando paled. 

Amelia grinned. “Nando completely slipped my mind! Oh, he’ll be so excited! He loves weddings.” 

Lando just kept getting paler. 

Max started laughing. 

— 

The terrace of a quiet little restaurant tucked above the harbour. Fernando was already halfway through a glass of red wine, sunglasses still perched on his head, even as the sun dipped behind the hills. He looked up as Amelia and Lando approached, his face brightening for her, and cooling a few degrees when he clocked who she was holding hands with.

“Mi niña,” Fernando said, standing to kiss Amelia on both cheeks. “You’re late.”

“She made me change shirts,” Lando muttered. “Four times.”

Fernando didn’t even glance at him. “Good. They were probably ugly.”

Amelia smiled faintly and sat. “We wanted to tell you in person.”

That made Fernando pause. He raised an eyebrow, slowly sitting again, eyes narrowing slightly. “Tell me what?”

Lando rubbed the back of his neck. Amelia glanced at him, then reached into her pocket and quietly placed her hand on the table, the ring catching the low light like a spark.

Fernando blinked once. Then again. “What is that?”

“It’s a ring,” Lando offered.

“Do not start with me.” Fernando’s voice was flat. His gaze snapped back to Amelia. “You are joking.”

“No,” Amelia said simply. “We’re engaged.”

Fernando leaned back in his chair, staring at the two of them like they’d started to speak a foreign language. “Engaged,” he repeated, deadpan. “To him.”

Lando shifted, trying to smile. “Yes. To me.”

There was a long pause.

Then Fernando looked at Amelia and said, with total sincerity, “You are too young. He is too stupid.”

Amelia’s mouth twitched. “He’s not stupid, Nando.”

“Well—”

Lando held up his hands. “I know I’m not, like, the best or anything. But I love her. Like… so much. Sometimes it’s scary, ‘cause, like, I love her more than my job, which is crazy and I didn’t think that would ever happen, but… It did, so.”

Fernando studied him, silent.

“And she loves me,” Lando added, quieter. “So that’s… that’s kind of it, right?”

Another beat passed.

Fernando finally reached for his wine, took a long sip, then exhaled. “Mi niña,” he said softly, turning to Amelia. “If you are happy, then I am happy.”

Amelia gave a little nod, calm and sure.

“But I will still be watching him,” Fernando added, pointing two fingers at his own eyes and then at Lando’s.

“I’d expect nothing less,” Lando exhaled slowly.

“And if he hurts you,” Fernando continued, his voice still mild, but his eyes not. “I will make sure every brake marker disappears before Eau Rouge.”

Lando paled slightly. “Cool. Yeah. Good chat.”

Fernando finally cracked a small smile. “Good. Now. Tell me the story. Did she propose? Of course she did. You would’ve messed up halfway through, I imagine.”

Lando grunted. Amelia beamed.

—

WhatsApp Groupchat — 2022 F1 Grid

Lando N. everyone shut up for a second me and amelia are engaged 😎💍

Checo P. Congratulations! Young love is beautiful! 🥂

Daniel R. For the record I knew before like anyone else also: called it in Bahrain, 2020

Esteban O. CONGRATULATIONS!!!! That’s amazing 💍🥳

Lewis H. I saw the ring. It’s very Amelia. Good job, mate @Lando

Max V. Very happy for you both!

Fernando A. Mi niña deserves only the best, but Lando is the best we have, so I digress.

Carlos S. Is this the part where I pretend to be surprised even though I called this at Silverstone in 2019

Mick S. You guys are adorable 🥺 Happy for you both!

Zhou G. I have so many questions. Mainly… aren’t you both literally 22

George R. Congrats! Big step But seriously, best wishes to you both 🙌

Yuki T. I WANT TO BE FLOWER BOY AND EAT CAKE

Sebastian V. Wishing you both a lifetime of balance, patience, and compostable confetti. 💚 Also Lando: remember marriage is a team sport. 

Pierre G. Wait are we invited

Alex A. Ok but is there an open bar And can Lily and I bring a karaoke machine?

Nicholas L. Congrats guys! Can’t wait to see what kind of ceremony Amelia plans

Valtteri B. Congratulations! Finland approves of this union. Also, Lando: do not mess this up. I’ve seen the way Amelia holds a torque wrench.

Kevin M. Congrats! Hope there’s beer at the reception.

Lance S. Woah wait you’re getting married?? Like… proper married? Omg congrats ig

Fernando A. I am still not convinced of this union. But I will tolerate this if she is happy. Call it… conditional support.

Charles L. I owe Max 20€

Daniel R. Let me officiate the wedding or I’ll cause problems on purpose.

Lando N. You’re all invited Except Fernando. Unless he stops calling me “this boy” in that tone

Fernando A. This boy.

Yuki T. I ALREADY BOUGHT A SUIT IT’S ORANGE

Alex A. you know what I’m so proud. Amelia saw that twitter troll saying "neurodivergent girl getting her himbo" and made it canon

— 

They hadn’t told their families yet.

Lando came in from the balcony, sleeves pushed halfway up his forearms, curls windblown and face sun-warmed from the morning light. He leaned down to kiss Amelia’s temple, pausing when he saw the tight set of her jaw, the rhythmic tapping of her thumb against her knuckles — not agitated, but bordering on it. “You’re spiralling,” he murmured.

“No, I’m… spiralling-adjacent,” she said flatly.

His brow quirked. “That’s not a thing.”

“It is now. I have to call my parents today.”

“Okay,” Lando said gently. “After breakfast.”

She nodded, but didn’t look up.

“And yours too?” she asked, quieter now.

Lando grimaced, but only a little. “Yeah. Them too.”

They didn’t do it together.

Amelia needed quiet. Needed space to rehearse her cadence, choose her words, predict possible emotional responses and prep herself for them. The emotions of others were difficult terrain; especially when hers were already on high alert.

So she took her call into the bedroom, alone.

Lando stepped back onto the balcony, phone already in hand.

— 

She called their home landline, because that was the number saved in muscle memory. Her father answered, voice warm and brisk in that familiar, booming tone. “Hi, sweetheart!”

“Hey, Dad. Is Mom there too?”

A pause. “Let me grab her.”

She could hear his footsteps, the muffled exchange in the background. Then her mother’s softer voice — always a bit more cautious. “What’s going on, love?”

Amelia sat on the bed, toes curled into the edge of the comforter. “I’m engaged,” she said.

No preamble.

Just the truth.

The line was silent for half a second — and then her dad gave a low, choking cough. “To Lando?”

“Yes.” 

Her mother exhaled, not quite a gasp, more of a soft whoosh of air, as if bracing for something. “That’s… fast, Amelia.”

“I know,” she said simply. “But it’s not impulsive. I’m not impulsive. We planned it. We talked about it. We’re sure.”

Her dad spoke again, voice quieter this time. “You… Amelia, you’re both so young—?”

“Yes,” Amelia agreed. “But this is the safest I’ve ever felt with another person, and I love him, and we live together anyway, so… Why not marry him?” 

Another pause. Then, from her mother, gently, “Then we’re happy for you, honey. All we care about is that you’re happy.”

Amelia blinked quickly, her mouth tightening.

“So… You’ll be a Norris soon enough, then,” her dad said, still sounding like he’d had the wind punched out of his lungs. “Wow. Sorry, I think I need a second.” He wheezed, and she heard him stumble away from the phone. 

Her mom sighed. “He’ll be fine, honey.”

“I know,” she nodded, quieter now. “He likes Lando too much to hold a grudge.”

— 

Lando paced the length of the balcony twice before he hit the video call button.

His mum picked up first, her hair pulled back, makeup-free and warm-eyed in her kitchen. “Hi, darling.”

“Hey. Is Dad around too?”

She called for Adam, and a moment later, both parents were onscreen, side by side.

Lando grinned nervously, scratching the back of his neck. “Okay, so, um. Big news,” he said. “You ready?”

His mum narrowed her eyes. “You’re not switching teams, are you?”

“No!” he laughed. “No — nothing bad. Just, um… good.”

He lifted his left hand, turning the camera slightly to show Amelia’s engagement ring sitting neatly on the kitchen bench behind him, where she’d left it after taking it off to untangle her headphones.

His parents blinked.

“Me and Amelia,” he said, “we’re engaged.”

His mum covered her mouth with both hands.

Adam blinked, then broke into a tentative smile.

“I KNEW IT,” his mum said, voice muffled behind her palms. “I knew you two were heading that way. I told your grandmother at Christmas! She said you were both too young to be thinking about it, but I knew, Lando! I knew Amelia was the one!”

Lando laughed, loosening with the rush of their joy. “We decided in December, after Abu Dhabi. I just — we didn’t want to tell people too fast.”

“We are so proud of you,” his mum said. “She’s a brilliant girl. We love her.”

“She’s the best,” Lando said, meaning every word.

“And you didn’t cry when you proposed?” Adam added, mock skeptical.

Lando looked away, dramatically defensive. “We don’t have to talk about that.”

— 

Later, after both calls had been made, Amelia found Lando sitting on the couch with a bag of crisps and a smile on his face.

“How’d it go?” she asked, sitting beside him.

“My mum may have screamed. What about yours?”

“She was a bit worried, but happy for us. My dad, uh…”

Lando winced. “Did he go mad?”

Amelia leaned into his side. “No. Just, mentioned something about my last name becoming ‘Norris’ and then sent himself into a spiral, I think.”

“Like father like daughter,” he teased. Then leaned in and brushed his lips against her cheek. “Amelia Norris. Sounds sexy.” 

She looked up at him, deadpan. “Sexy?”

He smirked, fangs flashing. “Very sexy.”

—

ameliabrown just posted . . .

ameliabrown My 2nd Instagram Post 👍🏻

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landonorris my gorgeous fiance 😍 ❤️ by ameliabrown

user29 naurrrrrrrrrr im crashing out im crashing out

user62 MIND YOU THEY ARE 22 YEARS OLD

user82 THIS IS INSANE I CANT BELIEVE THIS IS ACTUALLY HAPPENING ARE THEY INSANE??????!!!!!!!!!!!!!

oscarpiastri Wow! Congratulations

ameliabrown Thank you, Oscar!

maxverstappen1 My biggest congratulations to you both!🤩

user39 IM SO JEALOUS IM ACTUALLY SHAKING BUT ALSO IM SO OBSESSED WITH THEM OTGETHER I DONT KNOW HOW TO HANDLE MYSELF RN AHHBHBHB

user54 oh girlllll same this is a valid crashout bc wtf ?????

fernandoalonso Congratulations!

ameliabrown Thank you!!!!!!!!!!

user81 HARD LAUNCHING YOUR ENGAGEMENT ON YOUR 2ND EVER INSTAGRAM POST AND IT GETTING OVER 2M LIKES IS INSANE

maxfewtrell this is absolute madness but im proper happy for you guys! 🧡

NEXT CHAPTER

[r-memberme]

technique | k.m

⎯⎯Then Klaus, in the most delighted tone imaginable, says, “Sweetheart, I do believe you just murdered an innocent shrubbery.”

warnings: fluff

part I part II

She never should have agreed to this.

Not because she dislikes mini golf, but because Klaus Mikaelson is the most competitive man on the face of the earth, and now she is stuck watching him take this ridiculous game as seriously as if he were waging war.

And worse—he is winning.

“Focus, love,” he drawls from behind her as she lines up her shot. “Or must I remind you of the tragic fate of your last attempt?”

She exhales through her nose, resisting the urge to throw the club at his head. “It wasn’t that bad.”

Klaus hums, far too amused. “No? Shall I fetch the poor, lost ball from the parking lot, then?”

She glares. He smirks. The infuriating part is that he’s not even lying. The last hole had resulted in a truly spectacular failure, the ball bouncing off a rock, skittering past the windmill, and vanishing into the abyss beyond the course.

“I don’t need your commentary,” she mutters.

“Oh, but darling, I am merely providing moral support.”

She scowls, taking a breath, adjusting her grip. She will not let him get to her. She will—

Klaus steps forward, far too close, his voice a wicked thing in her ear. “You’re holding the club wrong.”

She startles, nearly dropping the club entirely. “I am not!”

He tuts, shaking his head, before bracketing her with his arms, his hands ghosting over hers. “Here,” he murmurs, his breath warm against her skin, “Let me show you.”

She stiffens. Not because it’s unpleasant—oh no, that would be too simple. No, she stiffens because he is doing it on purpose, taking every possible opportunity to fluster her. And judging by the barely-contained laughter in his voice, he knows it’s working.

“Better?” he asks, all false innocence.

She exhales sharply, trying very hard to ignore how solid he feels pressed against her back. “Just move, Klaus.”

He chuckles, stepping back with an infuriating slowness, as if he’s already won whatever game he’s playing.

Which, considering her current state, he might have.

She shakes it off, re-centers herself, and finally swings.

The ball ricochets off the rock, bounces off the windmill, then—impossibly—flies off the course entirely, disappearing into the bushes with a soft thud.

Silence.

Then Klaus, in the most delighted tone imaginable, says, “Sweetheart, I do believe you just murdered an innocent shrubbery.”

She groans, dragging a hand down her face. “I hate this game.”

Klaus is grinning like the devil himself. “No, love, you just hate losing.”

She turns to him, expression flat. “Oh, you think you’re so good, don’t you?”

He flourishes his club like a sword. “Darling, I am the Michelangelo of mini golf.”

She snorts, incredulous. “Michelangelo was a painter.”

“A sculptor, actually.”

“Not the point.”

Klaus, still smirking, steps up to take his shot. His confidence is infuriating, the way he moves so easily, as if the universe itself would never dare let him fail.

Of course, the ball rolls smoothly into the hole on his first try.

“Oh, come on!” she groans, throwing her arms in the air.

Klaus twirls the putter between his fingers, utterly pleased with himself. “It’s all in the technique, love.”

She considers, for a brief but passionate moment, pushing him into the nearest water hazard.

Instead, she crosses her arms, scowling. “I don’t even know why I’m still trying. You’ve clearly made a blood pact with the mini-golf gods.”

He laughs, stepping closer, eyes bright with mischief. “Perhaps I have. Or perhaps you simply require further guidance.”

She narrows her eyes. “If you try to ‘fix my form’ again, I will swing this club at your head.”

Klaus grins. “Ah, but then how will you ever stand a chance at beating me?”

She exhales. “I’m not beating you. This is impossible.”

He hums, thoughtful, before tilting his head. “How about a wager then?”

She raises a brow. “A wager?”

“If you win the next hole, I’ll grant you one favor. Anything you desire.”

She eyes him suspiciously. “And if I lose?”

Klaus’ smirk turns slow, wicked. “Then you owe me a favor.”

She hesitates. This is dangerous territory. Wagering with Klaus is always dangerous.

But then she thinks of the potential reward—the sweet, sweet possibility of wiping that smug look off his face.

“…Fine,” she says, gripping the putter. “You’re on.”

Klaus inclines his head, looking entirely too pleased. “Then by all means, love. Show me what you’ve got.”

do tell me if you want a part 2 of this one <3

taglist: @ohapple@myworldrightnow@deactiveblogx@witch-of-letters@xtwistedchaosx

[brucewaynehater101]

When the others inevitably find out about the warped dynamic between Tim and Bruce they decide to completely take advantage of it and tell Tim that they’re planning on going out

And tim sees them as his siblings or distant relatives so he doesn’t really think that he needs to give them permission or that he has any authority over them so he just nods and tells them to be safe

When they get caught by Bruce they just immediately throw Tim under the bus by saying that he said they could go and Tim is realizing that his siblings are exploiting the loophole that is Tim and must work his way out of this blunder

Alright. Brilliant. However, here's how I'm imaging the scene to play out:

~~~

Damian has been glaring at Tim for the last thirteen minutes. Tim has been steadfast in ignoring whatever weird intimidation technique the kid is trying to pull with him. As he's taken to most of the batkids, he sticks to the motto, "it's not my business until it is."

The best part about that motto is how vague it is so Tim can shape it to whatever aim he pleases. It works for him, and it works against everyone else (unless it's Duke. The teen ruthlessly utilizes the loophole of making whatever situation he needs Tim for into Tim's problem).

Regardless, Tim has been clacking away at Neon Knights paperwork while Damian stares at Tim without blinking. An idle thought of Tim's almost makes him navigate to LoA servers to check their training programs (thirteen whole minutes without blinking???), but his willpower is strong enough to ignore it.

"Timothy."

Tim immediately closes his laptop and whips around to Damian.

Did the little gremlin actually refer to Tim by his first name?

Tim's fingers twitch with the urge to perform an injury check on the kid, but he refrains. Damian seems fine.

Well... besides the unblinking stare for thirteen minutes and the first name. Maybe Tim should perform tha-

"Colin and I would like to go to the zoo on Saturday, Timothy."

Tim's thoughts snap back to present at the confusing series of events that are playing out. He clocks the kid's clenched teeth, his hesitancy to even utter any words, the delayed conversation, the first name usage, the way Damian's eyes betray irritation and anticipation, his strict posture, and the way Damian's hands are clasped behind his back. It's a confusing set of clues laid out before Tim, and he can only come to one conclusion.

Damian is reaching out and offering an olive branch. He's offering random information in his socially stunted way of bonding.

Tim allows a soft smile to appear on his face as he nods. "Are there any animals in particular you want to see?"

Damian's eyebrow furrow, but he does answer the question. "Richard has prattled on about the elegance of elephants. Colin is partial to the tigers."

While that didn't necessarily answer the question, Tim offers him a nod. "I particularly enjoy their bird enclosures. They allow you to walk inside some of them as they fly around you."

Damian's eyes gain a concerning gleam to them, but Tim just hopes this bonding exercise brings them closer together. It's been hectic in the Manor ever since the other Bats found out about the true nature of his relationship with Bruce. It's not as huge of a deal as they seem to be making of it.

Tim grabs his laptop, places it on his lap, and pries it open again. "I hope you guys have fun at the zoo."

By the soft and intentional putter of feet, Tim can hear Damian walking away. "Thank you, Timothy."

"You're welcome, Dames."

Tim finds out Saturday night, when the batcave is filled with 3 tigers, 6 elephants, and so many birds, what Damian actual meant by him going to the zoo. Bruce is furious, several of the Batkids are laughing, and Tim is quietly hiding his amusement as well.

Or he was until Damian explained that Tim had given him permission to do it and even told him to grab all the birds.

[kangshxrtie]

ch. 31 ⤍ just for me

the evening air is warm, with just a light breeze. the glow of the waterpark surrounding you reflects in the shallow pools. the mini-golf course wraps around the park's water features. 

you step up to the tee. the first hole looks simple enough: a straight path to a hole behind a small hill.

you tap the ball, but you give it a little too much force. it zooms straight past the hole, barely missing the edge of the course. you and kazuha burst into laughter, realizing just how off your aim was.

kazuha covers her mouth with her hand, giggling. "damn, i fully thought you were lying when you said you were bad."

"shut up," you grin. "you’re about to do the same thing."

kazuha steps up confidently, pretending to stretch dramatically as if she’s about to tee off at a professional golf tournament. she taps the ball gently, but it veers to the side, bumping against the edge of the course before rolling back toward the starting line. you both burst out laughing, realizing that this night is going to be less about who wins and more about who messes up the least.

as you move through the next few holes, your technique doesn’t exactly improve. the third hole has a water hazard, which is pretty on-brand considering you’re basically in the middle of a waterpark. the goal is to hit the ball over a small stream running through the course, but when you take your shot, it doesn’t quite make it. instead, the ball rolls right into the stream, before drifting towards a nearby fountain.

you watch in dismay as your ball floats away.

"that’s so fucked up" you groan, shaking your head.

kazuha steps forward, already pulling her club back. "i got you," she says confidently.

she crouches down near the water and skillfully uses the handle of her putter to drag the ball closer. once it's within reach, she scoops it out and tosses it back onto the course.

you sigh in relief and give her a sheepish smile. "my hero."

kazuha grins, her eyes sparkling in the soft lighting. "anytime."

moving on to the next set of holes, you manage to do slightly better, but still find yourself accidentally hitting the ball too hard or in completely the wrong direction. on the fifth hole, you're aiming for a narrow pathway, butyour ball refuses to go straight. it veers off to the left, and you frown down at it in frustration.

you roll your eyes playfully. "i can't shoot straight to save my life."

kazuha raises an eyebrow, then smirks. "well, i guess it fits, considering you're not exactly straight either."

you laugh at her remark, but before you can respond, she steps behind you. "let me help."

kazuha’s arms wrap around you gently as she adjusts your grip on the putter. her presence making you forget about the game entirely. you can feel her breath against your ear as she leans in closer.

“just... like this,” she whispers, guiding your hands. together, you pull the putter back and hit the ball, sending it in a smooth, straight line toward the hole. it rolls in easily, and you both watch it drop in with satisfaction.

“easy,” she says, still standing close behind you.

you turn to look at her, and for a split second, everything seems to slow down. her face is just inches from yours, and the playful smirk on her lips softens into something sweeter. but before either of you can linger on the moment, she steps back with a grin.

“guess we’re just better together,” she jokes.

you laugh and shake your head. “guess so.”

a few more holes go by, and at this point, you’ve stopped even pretending to take the game seriously. neither of you is keeping score, which kazuha insists is for the best since you’ve probably shot your ball out of bounds more times than you’ve actually made it into a hole.

on the twelfth hole, you encounter a log swinging back and forth, a seemingly impossible obstacle to get through without some crazy luck. you hesitate for a moment, lining up your shot, but kazuha just steps up confidently. she swings her club in a smooth arc, and the ball sails perfectly between the swinging log, landing right in the hole.

"there’s no fucking way!" you exclaim.

kazuha grins and shrugs like it’s no big deal. “i guess i’m just that good.”

you roll your eyes but can’t help but admire her skill.

by the fifteenth hole, you’re feeling a bit better about your game, but still managing to hit the ball into the most inconvenient spots. you shoot too hard on one of the more straightforward holes, sending your ball flying off the course and into a ditch just off to the side, hidden by some bushes. it’s dark out now, the lights around the course casting long shadows, and you groan when you realize where your ball has landed.

“ugh, not again.”

kazuha gives you a teasing look. "what is it with you and losing your ball?”

you shrug dramatically. “it’s a talent.”

without a word, she grabs a flashlight from her phone and heads toward the bushes where your ball disappeared. you watch as she crouches down, vanishing briefly into the darkness before emerging a few seconds later, holding up your ball triumphantly.

"got it!"

you flash her a grateful smile as she walks back over to hand it to you. “you’re seriously a hero tonight.”

she waves it off casually, though you catch the slight blush on her cheeks. "anything for you."

finally, as you wrap up the eighteenth and last hole, kazuha laughs and puts her arm around your shoulders. "i think we can both agree that you won.”

you scoff, "i really don’t believe that."

kazuha shrugs. “doesn’t matter. i wasn’t keeping score, so let’s just say you win.”

"whatever you say."

kazuha gives you a playful nudge. "we play indoors next time though.”

laughing, you give her a light shove as you both walk to return your clubs. the night air feels a little cooler now, the soft glow of the waterpark fading behind you as you make your way back to the car.

the drive back is peaceful, filled with a conversation about the game and ideas for another date, and before you know it, you’re pulling into your driveway.

once inside, you head to your room. as you sit down beside kazuha, you notice the way she’s looking at you, soft, but there’s something more behind her eyes.

you turn toward kazuha, leaning closer. “why are you looking at me like that?” you ask, a teasing smirk tugging at the corner of your lips.

her gaze drops to your mouth, her lips parting as she whispers, “what? i can’t look at my beautiful girlfriend.” her voice is soft, but the intensity in her eyes makes your heart race.

“you can but i feel like you have other intentions,” you reply, leaning in just enough to tempt her.

“mmm,” kazuha nods, her eyes flicking back to your lips as she licks her own, the action slow and deliberate. “you know me so well,” she rasps lowly.

that’s all you needed to hear. you grab her face with both hands, pulling her lips to yours in one swift motion. her mouth meets yours with a sense of urgency—her lips soft but slightly chapped, adding to the rawness of the moment. her hands grip at your shirt, tugging you closer as the kisses grow desperate, and messy, both of you fighting for control.

you shift onto your knees, shrugging off your jacket without breaking the kiss, your lips locked in a heated exchange. kazuha’s hands find their way under your shirt, her fingers tracing your waist before tugging at the waistband of your jeans.

you pull back suddenly, just enough to break the kiss, and look down at her from your position above, a smirk playing on your lips. “nuh-uh. me first,” you whisper, your voice dripping with confidence. you push her gently, guiding her back onto the bed until she’s lying beneath you.

you shift to her right side, leaning down to kiss up the length of her neck, your breath hot against her skin. “how long have you wanted this?” you murmur, your fingers deftly unbuttoning her jeans.

“so long,” she breathes out, her voice barely audible, her eyes fluttering closed in anticipation.

you let out a quiet, breathy laugh, your lips trailing to the other side of her neck. as your hand slips into her underwear, your fingers brush lightly over her, teasing. “so wet already,” you tease, your voice laced with amusement.

kazuha lets out a soft moan, her body tensing as one of her arms wraps around you, her grip tight. “please,” she whispers, the need in her voice evident.

you kiss up the curve of her neck, your lips brushing against her ear as you apply the slightest pressure over her clit. “is this why we couldn’t stay longer?” you whisper, teasing her as your fingers move slowly. “needed me to take care of you, huh?”

her eyes meet yours, cheeks flushed with the familiar heat of desire, and she shoots you a playful look, biting back a smirk. “fuck you,” she teases, her voice breathless but full of challenge.

you smirk right back, your fingers moving with more purpose now. "we'll see about that."

you release the pressure from her clit, and kazuha's reaction is immediate. “no—please,” she whimpers, her hand moving toward yours in desperation. but before she can reach you, you grab her wrist, pinning it down with your free hand.

your lips graze her neck as you continue kissing her slowly. your other hand caresses her slit, spreading her wetness over her aching core, teasing her without giving her what she wants. her hips buck up instinctively, seeking more, but you pull your hand away, a wicked glint in your eye.

“needed me to fuck you?” you repeat, your voice low and commanding.

kazuha squirms beneath you, her body betraying her impatience. “yeah, okay,” she groans, her frustration apparent.

you hover your palm just above her pussy, watching her squirm as her need intensifies. “please,” she gasps, eyes squeezed shut, hips jerking toward your hand.

leaning down, your lips brush her ear, your voice barely a whisper. “please what?”

“i need you to—” she stammers, her breath catching, a sharp exhale interrupting her words.

“to what?” you ask, pulling back to look at her. one of your fingers now circles her clit, teasing it, but still refusing to apply any real pressure. her hips buck upward again, craving more, but you withdraw your hand once more.

“i need you to fuck me,” she whispers, her voice shaky as she bites her bottom lip. her hips keep moving, slow and desperate, silently begging for relief.

“so needy,” you chuckle, leaning down to kiss her lips softly.

you pull back slightly, your voice firm. “take this off.” you tug at the waistband of her underwear, watching her eagerly lift her hips to help you remove both her jeans and underwear. once she’s bare before you, you shift, positioning yourself between her legs.

you drape one of her legs over your shoulder as you lower yourself onto your stomach. your hand reaches up under her hoodie, cupping one of her breasts, your fingers kneading gently as your lips descend to her clit. you start with slow licks, teasing her with the tip of your tongue.

at the same time, your other hand slips two fingers inside her, her slick heat welcoming you instantly. you push in slowly, savoring the way her body responds to your touch.

“oh fuck,” kazuha groans, her back arching off the bed as the sensations overwhelm her.

you start slowly pumping your fingers in and out of kazuha, your tongue swirling over her clit with expert precision. kazuha props herself up on her elbows, her eyes glued to you, watching the way you’re working her body. her lips part slightly, brows furrowing in pure bliss.

“holy fuck,” she whispers, her voice breathless as your pace quickens, your fingers plunging deeper, faster.

just as your mouth momentarily leaves her clit, she swiftly moves her leg off your shoulder and grabs the back of your head, forcing your mouth back between her legs. “don’t fucking stop,” she growls through gritted teeth, desperate for the release only you can give her.

a moan rumbles through your throat against her clit, and kazuha collapses back fully onto the bed, her back arching as you slide a third finger inside her. the sensation making a groan slip past her lips as your free hand presses down firmly on her lower abdomen, intensifying the pleasure.

“you could’ve just asked if you needed it this bad,” you tease, pulling your lips back slightly from her sensitive bundle of nerves.

“shut up,” kazuha chokes out, her voice thick with need.

“mmm, are you gonna come? just for me?” you taunt, the sight of her unraveling beneath you almost too much to believe. her thighs tremble with each stroke of your fingers, and you can feel her clenching tighter around them.

“mhm,” she breathes, her eyes shut tight, barely able to focus on anything but the overwhelming pleasure coursing through her. sensing her getting closer, you curl your fingers inside her, hitting that spot as you suck on her clit with renewed intensity.

kazuha gasps, her body completely surrendering to the sensations. both of her hands grip your hair as the tension in her core tightens, bringing her right to the brink.

“i’m gonn—oh fuck—i’m fucking cumming,” she moans loudly, her head thrown back as she finally lets go. you feel the warm gush of liquid coating your fingers and lips as she squirts, her body convulsing beneath you.

you pull back slightly, withdrawing your fingers as you sit up on your knees. her pussy is glistening, soaking wet, the sound of your fingers pumping in and out of her still echoing in your ears.

“fuck~,” you drawl, your palm resting against her pulsating core. your eyes flick up to kazuha’s face, watching her chest rise and fall rapidly as she catches her breath.

“you okay?” you ask softly.

kazuha nods, still too breathless to speak, her eyes closed in blissful exhaustion.

“where the fuck did you—” kazuha's voice is shaky, her breathing still uneven as she tries to gather herself.

she takes a moment, catching her breath, and then chuckles softly between breaths. “where did you learn how to do all that?”

you shrug casually, a small smirk forming on your lips as you lay down beside her. “i guess i’ve had enough practice to know what i’m doing,” you say.

the room is now enveloped in soft darkness, the sun almost completely set, casting shadows across the walls. you hear kazuha pulling up her jeans as you stare up at the ceiling. before you know it, her face hovers above yours, her expression a mix of playful curiosity and lingering desire.

her hand slips under your shirt, fingertips brushing the waistband of your jeans as she leans in to press her lips softly against yours. the kiss is tender but laced with intention.

“my turn?” she whispers against your lips, her voice low and teasing, her fingers tracing the edge of your jeans. the suggestion sends a new rush of excitement through you, and you can’t help but smile, anticipation building once again.

ALL CHAPTERS !!! | NEXT CH !!!

an ⤍ soo this seems like a good point to say next chapter might be the last

[punishedgwyndolin]

they’ve invented a marvelous new driving technique for everyone to try . And they’re calling it taking the protected left immediately and in timely fashion instead of staring at the arrow for four whole seconds and then puttering through slow enough to prevent the majority of cars behind you from having enough time to go even though they all potentially could’ve made it

[scotianostra]

Dorothy Campbell Hurd Howe was born on March 24th 1883 at North Berwick.

Born as Dorothy Lee Campbell, Dorothy was the first woman to dominate the international female golf, between 1905 and 1912, she won 10 national championships in Scotland, America, Canada and England. Then, 12 years later, she won the American title once more.

As Dorothy Campbell, and later as Mrs. J.V. Hurd, her count of national amateurs was three Scottish, three U.S., two British and three Canadian. In 1909, she became the first woman to win the U.S. and British Amateurs in the same year.

Dorothy grew up with the town’s famous links, where her paternal grandfather and eight uncles all played, as her playground. She took her first swing when she was 18 months, and by age five, was playing matches against her older sisters.

Campbell did not evolve into a top player until her later teens, when she changed what had been a half swing into a full one. In 1905 she won her first Scottish Ladies title, played at the North Berwick links, more than 4,000 people watched her win the final on the 19th hole. She repeated in 1906 and 1908. The next year she entered the U.S. Women’s Amateur for the first time and won at the Merion Cricket Club. When she returned to achieve her first victory in the British Women’s Amateur Championship at Royal Birkdale, it was an unprecedented double.

In 1910, Campbell moved to Canada and won the country’s championship three consecutive years before moving to the United States permanently in 1913. When she won the American title again in 1924, she was 41 years old. She remains the championship’s oldest winner, and her 15-year span between victories is also the longest in the event’s history.

Hurd advanced women’s golf in America by being the first to aim directly at the pin on her approaches instead of just the general vicinity of the green. She had a tremendous short game, which she once said, “is almost second nature to me.”

A deadly putter, she was even better from just off the green. Her favourite club was a goose-necked mashie she called “Thomas.” It was “Thomas” that she gave credit to for her American-British double at Birkdale she used the club to hole out at a crucial point in .the match. In the final of the 1921 North and South championship at Pinehurst, “Thomas” holed two shots.

After her flurry of national titles, Campbell married and her golf career hit a fallow period. When she lost the final of the 1920 U.S. Amateur to Alexa Stirling, it appeared to be her last hurrah. But in 1923, seeing that many women were out-driving her by using a more modern technique, she concluded that her game needed updating. She changed her swing returning to winning ways at the 1924 U.S. Amateur at Rhode Island C.C., she rolled through the field, ultimately defeating Mary K. Browne, the national lawn tennis champion of 1912 and 1913, 7 and 6, in the final.

Although it was Hurd’s last championship, she was far from finished as a golfer. In 1926, she set out to surpass the record for fewest putts in 18 holes, 21, which had been set by Walter J. Travis. At the Augusta C.C., Hurd came to the 18th hole with 19 putts, when she holed out from off the green using “Thomas,” her famous mashie.

She married Jack V. Hurd in Wentworth, Ontario, Canada on 11 February 1913. Hurd was a steel magnate living in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. She won many of her titles as Mrs. J. V. Hurd, but she and Hurd were divorced in 1923. Dorothy married Edward Howe in 1937 and divorced again in 1943.

Her life ended tragically in a railway accident on March 20, 1945, falling off a platform and into the path of an oncoming train.

Dorothy Campbell was inducted into the World Golf Hall of Fame in 1978.

[mydaddywiki]

Billy Casper

Physique: Husky Build Height: 5'11" (1.8 m)

William Earl Casper Jr. (June 24, 1931 – February 7, 2015) was an American professional golfer. He was one of the most prolific tournament winners on the PGA Tour from the mid-1950s to the mid-1970s. Casper won three major championships, represented the United States on a then-record eight Ryder Cup teams, and holds the U.S. record for career Ryder Cup points won. After reaching age 50, Casper regularly played the Senior PGA Tour and was a winner there until 1989. In his later years, Casper successfully developed businesses in golf course design and management of golf facilities. Casper was inducted to the World Golf Hall of Fame in 1978.

Long considered one of the preeminent putters of his era, Casper was one of golf’s great champions during an era dominated by legends such as Jack Nicklaus, Arnold Palmer and Gary Player. Mmm… those three could catch a dick from me. Never a flashy gallery favorite, Casper developed his own self-contained style, relying on solid technique, determination, concentration, and perseverance.

Casper was nicknamed ‘Buffalo Bill’ because of his unique diet of exotic meat of bear, elk, hippopotamus and buffalo. Lets just say, I have another exotic meat he could have eaten. My penis. He died at age 83 in 2015 of a heart attack at his home in Springville, Utah. He was survived by his wife of more than 60 years, 11 children, six of whom are adopted, 71 grandchildren and numerous great-grandchildren.

[golfiyagolf]

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[dawnrider]

Hi doll! I’m sending you these asks now for your 20 yr tomorrow.

Happy 20 Years Dawn! That’s so exciting! 💕You ready for some questions, because I wanna know so much.

1. What is your favorite story you’ve written? (It doesn’t have to be completed or even posted, just one that stands out for you.)

2. Do you have any projects coming up for this next year that you’re excited about?

3. Would you rather become a famous writer, being able to make money for doing something you love, or keep writing as a hobby for the rest of your life, but still really enjoying it?

4. What made you start writing in the first place?

5. Do anybody in your life outside of tumblr/fanfiction/ao3 know you write? What was their response/how do they feel about it now?

6. Is there anything you’d like to learn? (Could be a hobby, a new technique in your writing, a skill for work, improvement for something you already do,etc.)

7. What is something most people don’t know about you?

8. If you could write one paragraph (3-5 sentences) to describe your life, your experiences, your personality, who you are, what would it say?

9. Any advice for people who write/create, new beginners or experienced ones?

10. What is a goal you wish to accomplish this next year in regard to writing?

Well hi @heynikkiyousofine! Here goes!

1. What is your favorite story you’ve written? (It doesn’t have to be completed or even posted, just one that stands out for you.)

I think it's a toss up between To Sleep Perchance to Dream, How Does Your Garden Grow, and Given. They're all pretty different, but they all try to characterize our favorite idiots as close to canon as I could get them.

2. Do you have any projects coming up for this next year that you’re excited about?

I'm always tinkering, puttering, procrastinating. I'm excited to finish up Garden, which will hopefully be sooner rather than later. And Possibly Your Lying Smile, if the stars align properly. And of course, always excited for @inuparentsday in January!

3. Would you rather become a famous writer, being able to make money for doing something you love, or keep writing as a hobby for the rest of your life, but still really enjoying it?

That's a hard one. If I could still love it as much as I do and make money from it? I think that's a no brainer. But obviously the reality is a lot different. Writing doesn't pay the bills, especially not right away. So I can dream about it, but I think it will always just be a hobby, and that's ok.

4. What made you start writing in the first place?

I used to write silly stuff as a kid. Like 10/12 years old. I always wanted more story than what I read. So I made more. I started fanfiction in college though. I was inspired, was often alone, and had the free time between classes and while working overnights in my dorm.

5. Do anybody in your life outside of tumblr/fanfiction/ao3 know you write? What was their response/how do they feel about it now?

Just a neighbor friend, and now my best friend. Obviously Mister does too. My neighbor is an editor, so I asked for her help with the chapter Fundamental from Bushel and a Peck. I wanted an outside perspective and she was willing to help. My best friend I just recently told and she was very happy for me. She was amazed that I'd kept it secret for so long, but also impressed that I had done something for so long.

Mister is... He's not always that supportive. But it is what it is.

6. Is there anything you’d like to learn? (Could be a hobby, a new technique in your writing, a skill for work, improvement for something you already do, etc.)

I always dream about being able to do art. I can admit that I just don't have the patience to keep at it. I'm one of those people that doesn't stick with something if I think I suck at it. I do dabble with handwriting/hand lettering stuff and would like to work on it more.

7. What is something most people don’t know about you?

Uh.... Hell... lol I've mentioned it before, but maybe not recently. I am a swing dancer. Mainly Lindy Hop. I haven't gone as much recently with kids and COVID, but at one time I danced 4-6 nights a week. I was an instructor in my old city for years.

8. If you could write one paragraph (3-5 sentences) to describe your life, your experiences, your personality, who you are, what would it say?

I suppose I would say that I am someone who tries to take care of others, sometimes to the detriment of myself. It has been my mode of operation for most of my life. Writing is one way in which I am able to do something that is ultimately for me. (Though I share it with you all because I can and you're so kind about it!)

9. Any advice for people who write/create, new beginners or experienced ones?

Mostly that you should enjoy it. It was something we often said about dancing (as a hobby): Once it's not fun anymore, it becomes Work™. Don't make your hobby Work™. You are not obligated to anyone to create something in a certain way, in a certain timeframe, or even at all. If you choose to post your work, do it when you're ready to, not because someone is making demands of you.

10. What is a goal you wish to accomplish this next year in regard to writing?

Finishing WIPs where I can manage it. And moving older stuff from FFnet to AO3 after editing and modifying as needed.

[macrogolf12]

Enhance Your Putting Game with the Split Hands Putter from Macrogolf

When it comes to mastering the game of golf, putting can often make the difference between a good score and a great one. For golfers looking to refine their technique and improve their accuracy on the green, the split hands putter has emerged as a valuable tool. Offered by Macrogolf, the split hands putter is designed to help players achieve better control, alignment, and stability in their putting stroke.

What is a Split Hands Putter?

The split hands putter is a unique design that emphasizes a distinct hand placement on the grip to promote a more controlled and consistent putting stroke. Unlike traditional putters, where both hands grip the club in a more conventional fashion, the split hands putter requires the player to separate their hands along the grip. This change in positioning helps improve alignment, stability, and wrist control, which are essential elements for a successful putting stroke.

By spreading the hands apart on the grip, golfers can reduce the amount of wrist action during the stroke. This allows for a smoother, more fluid motion that reduces the likelihood of inconsistency. It also encourages the player to use their larger muscles, such as their arms and shoulders, for a more controlled and precise stroke.

Benefits of Using a Split Hands Putter

The split hands putter offers several advantages that can make a significant impact on your putting performance. One of the key benefits is its ability to reduce wrist movement, which can often lead to inconsistency and poor accuracy. When the wrists are allowed to move too much during the stroke, the putter face can become misaligned, causing off-target shots. The split hands grip minimizes this movement, allowing for a more consistent and straight stroke.

Another major benefit of the split hands putter is its ability to improve overall stability and control. The wider hand placement creates a more solid grip and gives golfers a better feel for the putter. This increased stability translates into better distance control and more accurate putts. With the added control over the putter, players are able to make adjustments to their stroke more easily, leading to a smoother, more natural putting motion.

Why Choose Macrogolf’s Split Hands Putter?

At Macrogolf, we understand the importance of having the right equipment to enhance your performance. Our split hands putter is crafted using high-quality materials and designed with the needs of golfers in mind. Whether you’re a beginner looking to improve your putting technique or an experienced player aiming for more consistency, the split hands putter is an excellent choice.

Macrogolf’s split hands putter is carefully engineered to help golfers achieve a more controlled, stable putting stroke. The design ensures that your hands and arms work together seamlessly, giving you better accuracy and more confidence on the green. The putter’s high-quality craftsmanship guarantees durability and reliability, ensuring it will be a trusted companion throughout your golfing journey.

[discflightpro]

Driving with a Putter in Disc Golf Explained

When it comes to disc golf, driving with a putter might not be the first technique that comes to mind. However, using a putter for long throws in disc golf can actually be a game-changer. By understanding the benefits and mastering the proper technique, you can improve your accuracy and overall performance on the course.

Key Takeaways:

Driving with a putter in disc golf can improve accuracy and control. Using a putter for long throws requires proper technique and practice. Putters have a slower speed but offer greater control and accuracy. Choosing the right putter is crucial for maximum driving performance. Consistent practice is essential for improving driving accuracy with a putter in disc golf.

Can you drive with a putter in disc golf Yes, you can drive with a putter in disc golf. While putters are typically used for shorter shots and putting, they can also be used for driving off the tee. Putters have a slower speed than other discs, but they offer greater control and accuracy. Driving with a putter requires proper technique and release, but it can be an effective way to navigate the course and improve your game.

When using a putter for driving, you may need to adjust your throwing technique slightly to maximize distance and accuracy. Focus on a smooth and controlled throw, releasing the disc at the correct angle and with the right amount of power. It’s important to maintain a consistent grip and follow-through to ensure a clean release and maintain control of the disc throughout the flight.

Driving with a putter can be particularly useful in situations where accuracy and control are more important than distance. For shorter holes or tight fairways, a putter can help you hit your target with precision and avoid potential hazards. Additionally, using a putter for driving can help beginners develop better throwing form and technique before transitioning to more high-speed discs.

While driving with a putter may not give you the same distance as a high-speed driver disc, it can still be an effective strategy that allows you to play to your strengths. As with any aspect of disc golf, practice and experimentation are key to finding what works best for you. Don’t be afraid to try different discs and techniques to discover your personal driving style with a putter.

The Fundamentals of Putter Driving in Disc Golf

Understanding Putter Dynamics for Disc Golf Drives When driving with a putter in disc golf, it is important to understand the dynamics of the putter disc. Putters have a deeper and more rounded rim compared to other discs, making them less aerodynamic but better at sticking in the chains of a basket.

They have slower speeds and a straighter flight path, allowing for accurate shots and control. Knowing how the putter disc behaves in flight will help you choose the right angles and release for maximum distance and accuracy.

Choosing the Right Putter for Maximum Driving Performance Selecting the right putter for driving in disc golf is crucial for maximum performance. Look for a putter with a little added stability and a comfortable profile that fits well in your hand. Opt for a putter made of premium plastic, which can handle high-speed throws without deformation.

Consider the grip and feel of the putter, as it should offer confidence and control during drives. Experiment with different putters to find the one that suits your throwing style and gives you the best results on the course.

Mastering Disc Golf Putter Driving Technique Mastering the technique of driving with a putter in disc golf is essential for achieving maximum distance and accuracy. Use a fan grip or modified fan grip for better control when throwing a putter. Focus on timing your release correctly, avoiding early or late releases that can cause the disc to veer off course.

Releasing the disc out in front of you at 12 o’clock with your thumb pointing forward will help the disc fly straight. Practice throwing the putter with height and follow-through for increased distance. Experiment with different release angles and techniques to find what works best for you.

The Importance of Practice in Putter Driving Practice is key when it comes to improving your putter driving skills in disc golf. Take your driving putter to an open field and practice releasing it correctly to get a feel for the timing and technique. Repeat the motion and release the disc multiple times to develop muscle memory and consistency.

Once you have a good grasp of the basics, take your putter to the course and practice throwing it in different situations, such as tunnel shots or straight approach shots. With consistent practice, you can overcome obstacles and improve your driving accuracy with a putter in disc golf.

Conclusion Driving with a putter in disc golf can have a significant impact on your game. While putters are typically associated with shorter shots and putting, they can also be effective for driving off the tee. By understanding the dynamics of putter discs, choosing the right putter, mastering the driving technique, and consistently practicing, you can achieve maximum distance and accuracy with a putter in disc golf.

Ezoic When driving with a putter, it is important to consider the unique characteristics of putter discs. Their slower speeds and straighter flight paths allow for better control and accuracy. By selecting a putter with added stability and a comfortable profile, you can ensure a confident grip and optimal performance. Additionally, practicing proper throwing techniques, such as using a fan grip or modified fan grip, and focusing on timing and release, can help you achieve straighter shots and increased distance.

Consistent practice is key to improving your putter driving skills in disc golf. Taking your putter to an open field and honing your release technique will build muscle memory and consistency. It is also important to practice throwing your putter in different situations on the course. By dedicating yourself to skill development and mastering the art of driving with a putter, you can enhance your disc golf game and become a more well-rounded player.

ORIGINALLY FOUND ON- Source: Disc Flight Pro(https://discflightpro.com/driving-with-a-putter-in-disc-golf/)

[kelliealtogether]

MMOYM IX is so mysteriously titled that I must know more! (please)

It's mysteriously titled because I didn't feel like typing out Meet Me on Your Mat. 😅 It's the ninth installment in the yoga/hockey universe I putter about in occasionally. I've gotten so used to writing in past tense that it's difficult for me to write these fics now, because they're in present tense and I have some self-imposed rule where I need to stick with the same tense for the whole series. 🤷‍♀️

In this one, Adam's going to Yoga Teacher Training (kind of under duress, but not really). And he's going to take what he learns about Pranayama (yogic breathing) into the bedroom. 😏

Here's the beginning:

“Move your feet closer. Your hips aren’t stacked over your—Jesus, Ronan. Stop hopping.” The last thing Adam Parrish needs is an injured boyfriend. Not one who hurts himself at the less dangerous of his athletic activities, at least. Hockey injuries Adam can handle—puck-shaped bruises on thighs from blocking shots, stitches on an elbow from a bogus fall, a single instance of a concussion—because hockey injuries are understandable. There’s contact, even if it’s incidental, and despite being rec league, it’s still fast-moving. Pucks, sticks, and bodies fly. Stuff happens outside of anyone’s control. But Ronan hurting himself because he did something dumb at yoga in an effort to beat Adam to mastering Pincha? Adam’s not an unsympathetic partner, but he wouldn’t be as sympathetic if Ronan threw out his back using incorrect technique to get into a forearm stand.

[WIP Game]

[r-memberme]

double it | k.m

⎯⎯Then, in the most insufferably smug voice imaginable, Klaus drawls, “Careful, sweetheart. You’re starting to look like you actually know what you’re doing.”

warnings: non I think

part I part II

She sizes up the hole before her, eyes flicking over the curve of the ramp, the steep drop, the maddening little loop-de-loop that stands between her and victory. A clean shot, just the right angle, the perfect amount of force—if she lands it, she might just stand a chance.

The problem? Klaus is watching her like a predator tracking its prey, arms folded, head tilted, amusement curling at the corner of his lips.

No pressure.

She exhales slowly, steadies her grip—correctly, this time—and squares her stance. Focus. Precision. Patience.

Then, in the most insufferably smug voice imaginable, Klaus drawls, “Careful, sweetheart. You’re starting to look like you actually know what you’re doing.”

Her swing is immediate, driven more by sheer spite than skill.

The ball soars forward, catches the loop at the perfect angle, spirals through the air in a flawless arc, and—miraculously—plunks into the hole with a quiet finality.

Silence.

She blinks. Then gasps, triumphant, spinning toward Klaus with wide eyes. “Did you see that?”

His brows lift, and then, slowly, a grin spreads across his face. “Well, well, well.”

A laugh bursts from her lips, breathless and gleeful. She throws her arms up in victory. “Ha! Take that, Michelangelo!”

Klaus chuckles, rich and indulgent, the kind of sound that makes her feel like he’s letting her have this moment. “Indeed. It seems I’ve underestimated you.”

“Oh, you definitely did.” She plants her putter in the ground like a flag of conquest, still giddy. “And now, you owe me a favor.”

Klaus exhales a dramatic sigh, pressing a hand to his chest as though gravely wounded. “So it seems.”

She hums, considering. “What should I ask for?”

His gaze darkens, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. “Anything your heart desires, love.”

Something about the way he says it—soft, teasing, with a challenge laced beneath the words—makes warmth creep up her neck. But she refuses to let him see that. Instead, she tilts her head, smirking.

“I could make you carry my groceries for a week.”

Klaus scoffs. “Hardly a punishment.”

She taps a finger to her chin. “Or I could make you wear a ridiculous hat in public.”

Klaus levels her with an unimpressed look. “Choose wisely, love.”

She grins, savoring the rare upper hand. “Oh, don’t worry. I intend to.”

And just like that, Klaus smirks again—like he knows something she doesn’t. “In that case, allow me to raise the stakes.”

She narrows her eyes. “What do you mean?”

He steps closer—too close. Close enough that she has to tilt her chin to meet his gaze. Close enough that she can catch the hint of challenge in his voice before he even speaks.

“Double or nothing,” he murmurs. “One more shot. Win, and I’ll grant you two favors.”

She eyes him warily. “And if I lose?”

Klaus’ smirk turns downright wicked. “Then you owe me two.”

She hesitates. This is dangerous. She’s already won—walking away now would be the smart choice.

But Klaus is watching her like he already knows exactly how this will end.

And damn it, she wants to prove him wrong.

“…Fine,” she says, shaking his outstretched hand. “Let’s do this.”

Klaus chuckles, low and pleased. “Oh, I do love a good gamble.”

༊*·˚

She exhales, steadying herself as she steps up to take her shot. Klaus leans on his putter nearby, watching her like he already knows how this will end. Infuriating.

She ignores him, focuses on the course. This hole is trickier—an awkward incline leading to a narrow bridge. If she gets the angle wrong, the ball will veer off into one of the many obnoxiously placed sand traps. But if she gets it right—

She lines up the shot, pulls the club back—

Klaus hums. “Would you like a bit of guidance, love? Perhaps a refresher on technique?”

She grits her teeth. “No.”

His grin is audible. “Suit yourself.”

She swings. The ball rolls smoothly up the incline—

She stares at the ball, sitting smugly at the edge of the hole, taunting her.

One inch. That’s all it needed. One inch, and she would’ve won. Instead, it wobbled at the rim and rolled just short of victory.

Silence lingers between them. Then Klaus exhales a long-suffering sigh, shaking his head like a man forced to deliver devastating news.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs, faux sympathy dripping from every word. “So close, and yet…”

She scowls. “Don’t.”

“But I must.” He steps closer, slow and deliberate, a smirk curling his lips. “You owe me two favors now.”

She groans, dragging a hand down her face. “I don’t suppose you’ll show mercy?”

Klaus feigns consideration. “Tempting. But no.”

She huffs. “Fine. What’s the damage?”

He watches her, something unreadable flickering in his gaze. Then, with far too much amusement, he declares, “You’ll have to accompany me to dinner.”

She narrows her eyes. “That’s not fair.”

Klaus arches a brow, all innocence. “On the contrary, love. It’s entirely fair. You agreed to the terms.”

She can’t argue with that—not when she shook his hand, not when she walked right into his trap. But something about the way he’s looking at her, like he’s already won more than just the game, sets her on edge.

Still, she straightens, determined not to give him the satisfaction. “Fine. Dinner.” She tilts her chin. “But if you think I’m letting you pick some candlelit, over-the-top—”

“Oh, I will be choosing,” he cuts in smoothly, far too pleased with himself. “And I’m afraid you’ll have to trust my taste.”

That is, undeniably, a threat.

She groans, rubbing her temples. “This is why I should’ve walked away.”

Klaus chuckles, and then, as if to drive his victory home, he reaches out—fingertips barely grazing her wrist, just enough to steal her attention. “And yet, you didn’t.”

The warmth of his touch lingers even after he steps back, shouldering his putter like a knight with his sword, smug and insufferable.

“Seven o’clock,” he announces, already turning toward the next hole. “I’ll pick you up.”

She frowns. “I haven’t even agreed on a time.”

He glances over his shoulder, lips curving. “And yet, you will.”

Infuriating.

But even as she glares at him, even as she vows to make him regret his smug little stunt, she can’t ignore the way her pulse jumps at the thought—at the certainty in his voice, like he already knows how this will end.

Damn it.

part 3 is on its way don't you worry 😜

this is part 2 of technique <3

taglist: @ohapple @myworldrightnow@deactiveblogx@witch-of-letters@xtwistedchaosx@liataylorsversion@pardonmydelayyy

[lewis-winters]

Day 15: Reality

Part of my OC-tober 2022 (that will get fucking finished in 2024 so help me god)! Yes! Another Baldur’s Gate fic ft. my Tav, Pasiphaë Elago on the HBO War Blog! I have too many feelings about this stupid game, the characters in it, and the little guy I made to go with them! Implied Bloodweave and Shadowheart/Nocturne. Because I care Them.

tw: Astarion’s whole backstory; some symptoms of derealization disorder—Pasiphaë has experience with this derealization and conducts some grounding techniques that are specific to Astarion’s preferences, to help him come back to himself; it sounds bleak, but it’s a really gentle sort of fic; mentions of Gale and Shadowheart’s own PTSD, though only fleeting

Pasiphaë comes home to a tressym in her foyer and a vampire on her couch.

“One of those times, yes?” Pasiphaë asks of Miss Tara, who only mrrps in affirmative. She gives the doting feline a scritch behind her ears in lieu of thanks. “Will you tell Gale that I have him, then? I’m sure he’ll worry.”

Tara meows in begrudging acquiescence, slightly annoyed at being told what to do with only an implication of a please in the request. Still, she shakes her wings and stretches very big, before trotting out the door, bushy tail held high.

“You’re both so lucky to have Miss Tara looking out for you,” Pasiphaë says, amused. “Looking out for all of us, I mean. I have a feeling she thinks we’re all her kittens, now, though Gale remains to be her favorite. Yesterday, I caught her grooming Shadowheart’s fringe while she slept just on the spot across from you. It was very cute.”

No reply—that’s alright. She’d begun talking less for the conversation, really, and more for just the noise. Astarion knows this. He’s become rather familiar with the tactics that she’d found useful back in her youth, when reality slipped her grasp as often as it does for him, now. Noise is a good start, and narration is even better. A good reminder of where they are and what the day had looked like.

“The garden is coming in nicely. Shadowheart has a bit of a green thumb, who knew?” she continues, puttering about her home, shedding this and that as she prepares for a nice night in. Silently, two crimson eyes stare out at her from the shadows beneath the cozy, weighted blanket Pasiphaë had been contemplating laundering, but never came around to it. It’s a particularly sought after item by all the guests of her home, after all. Just the other week, Gale was under there, too, deliriously exhausted by his magic returning after so long without. Yesterday, Shadowheart and Nocturne had shared it for an afternoon nap. Last month, when Lae’zel had jez'rathki’d with Xan in tow, the little gith baby had found the wool to be fascinatingly soft, babbling and drooling as his chubby hands kneaded at its folds. Hells, she’s pretty sure Jaheira had used it, too, when she had taken a detour into Waterdeep during one of her Harper missions, to see how they were holding up.

It must smell of everyone, now.

He may never admit it, but Pasiphaë knows Astarion finds that particularly comforting.

“We have too many zucchinis, of course. It’s a devil plant, that one,” she says, finally shedding her boots. “Too much yield. I’m going to have to give away a few baskets full—would Morena like them, do you think? Oh, what am I saying? of course she will; I’ll make sure she gets the nicest ones. I’m going to make some cheesy zucchini bread with the first harvest, though. Gale said he’ll interplanar deliver it to Karlach and Wyll tomorrow, alongside other supplies. Do you want to help me make it?”

No reply, again. But there is a shuffle, like someone preparing to stand.

Pasiphaë doesn’t bother to see if her follows her to the kitchen. He will. The kitchen is always a reliable delight for all the senses, and being in there, working with your hands, is a sure-fire way to, at the very least, focus on the present. It’s another technique of hers that Astarion’s found effective, perhaps because it reminds him of watching Gale cook. The Dekarios Tower kitchen has become a sort of sanctum for them all, after a few weary breakfasts were had around its round table, post rather eventful nights out, all in the name of sating a bored vampire’s curiosity. It became habit, then; if they’re in the mood to disturb their wizard, it was his kitchen they’d hung around. Scratch has a permanent dog flap in there, too, despite Gale’s protests. He’s a scrap stealing pup, but their wizard has always had a soft heart.

Pasiphaë’s own kitchen might not be as big or as lively, but it was just as well-loved. She hosts them one by one in it, sometimes, when they’re all feeling like shit. Which is often, though she doesn’t mind as much as she pretends to. It’s all like clockwork, see? She’s been adventuring enough to know that saving the world is only half the battle; it’s what happens after that the real struggle begins.

For Gale, it was the difficulty of coming back to a home so unchanged when you’ve been so irrevocably altered.

For Shadowheart and Astarion, it was the making of a home after escaping an entire existence of previous torment.

For Pasiphaë, it was the quaintness, the domesticity after constant doom. Always looking over her shoulder, wondering if it will fall apart any time soon with the next crisis.

Often times, peace feels like a dream.

It’s no surprise to her that Astarion feels like he is constantly trapped in one.

But it’s no alarming matter. Pasiphaë knows this, too. He may be falling back on old habits, retreating back into that space in his head he’d lived in for all those years of torment, but the world about him has changed drastically. He’s not there, any more. He needn’t fear starvation or abuse any longer. There are blankets, now, that smell of his most trusted people. And kitchens, filled with friends who will stay up all night just to keep him company. He'll come back to them on his own time, at his own pace. And they will be waiting.

Pasiphaë puts Astarion on washing duty. The cold water of the tap and the rough soil he must scrub away from the harvest are good sensations to ground him even further. Some of it splashes unto the blanket he’d dutifully dragged in here with him, but Pasiphaë doesn’t call him out on it. Instead, she lets her mouth run, allowing her stream of consciousness to fill the air between them.

It goes on for a while—Pasiphaë knows, when given the chance, she’s just as bad as Gale—but she does run out of things to say, once the dough is resting on the counter. They’re sitting at her table, now, a breakfast nook by an open bay window, when Astarion blinks. And blinks again. Hard, like he’s trying to see how many colors he can summon behind his eyelids.

“Tell me something real,” he requests of her, then. Quiet.

You are safe, Pasiphaë wants to say. You are loved.

She doesn’t.

Instead, she settles on something concrete and simple. “It’s going to rain soon. Do you smell the ozone in the air? The way the earth seems to call to the sky?”

Without meeting her eyes, Astarion answers; “Yes. I smelled it on the way here.”

“I love that smell. I love the rain. It makes music with water. You’ll hear it soon.” Gently, she reaches out and touches the back of his hand. An invitation. “I’m happy to spend this rainy night with you.”

Carefully, slowly, Astarion turns his hand over until he is holding hers as tightly as he can.

Me, too, goes unsaid, as they wait for the rain to come.

--

I’ve come to realize that I do have to do a descriptive piece for Pasiphaë, now, since I have no idea how to use the photo mods to show her to you guys. So... I’m putting that in the to write list. I have made a mood board for her, though! I’ll post it with the piece.

[miramei]

Please tell me about your new idiot! Where are they from? What do they do? What is their favorite type of shenanigans?

I fell back into jjk hell (hi @sanitys-rebellion) so the two idiots are sorcerers from the Kono clan! They both use an inherited technique called Fox Parade, and both of them have manifested the purest form of their technique, which means that they are also vessels of their family's deity: Fox God. Atsumi lives in the present. Ancestor lived 1000 years ago in the past. This is mostly about Ancestor (much as I love Atsumi).

Kono no Akinori (Ancestor) was single-handedly determined to live as mundane and boring and long-lived a life as he possibly could. This would prove to be difficult, however, because he was living in Heian-era Japan and all his fellow sorcerers were trying to be as horrible as possible in that era. He kept himself as far away from the capital as he could, until he ultimately settled down on the grounds of an ancient lightning-struck tree, where he puttered about managing a roadside shop. He was fascinated with this new thing called "tea." He was less fascinated by a distant relative of his from the Zenin clan rocking up to his shop every couple of months to basically bully him and wreck havoc. Ancestor was, unfortunately, so devoted to the Art of Laying Low and living a normal life that he sometimes came across as a doormat. The local bookseller strongly believed that he was a thug, which caused him much grief.

Akinori could summon up to 9 foxes at a time. The combination of foxes could vary so long as the total number of tails did not go over 9. His foxes were black with golden eyes. He was adept with fire and could release a flaming arrow that honed in on his opponents in the shape of a running fox. When allowing Fox God to possess him, he had golden eyes and a fox-skull mask. It is said that at that point, he had nine tails with flaming beads at each tip that he could freely control. In regular usage, Fox God is a backseat passenger who allows Akinori (and later, Atsumi) to freely draw from their cursed energy. They have to hone their own techniques though. Atsumi is unable to produce a flaming arrow, but can instead produce many flaming "lanterns." Her foxes are silver in color.

Kono family history (glorified rumors, depending on who you ask) has it that Fox God once fought Sukuna for 8 days and 8 nights, until a stalemate was hit on the morning of the 9th day that ended in a Binding Vow that persists to this day between the two. But rumors have a way of distorting after a thousand years. It's probably not true (or is it?). Regardless, for one reason or another the Kono clan was unable to participate in the sealing of Sukuna's remains, nor did they benefit hugely from the dispersal of gifts from the Fujiwara clan following their freedom from the King of Curses. Curious, but probably circumstantial.