Jan 20
Comeback.
seen from Germany
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from Russia
seen from China
seen from Russia
seen from Australia
seen from Slovakia
seen from Germany
seen from China
seen from Germany
seen from Japan
seen from Germany
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from Japan
seen from France
seen from Japan
seen from China
Comeback.
Golden Hands
Looking Country Is the Easy Part
Morning arrived with sunlight pouring through the farmhouse windows.
Brock Gold #46 wandered downstairs expecting breakfast.
Instead, he found a pile of clothes waiting on the kitchen table.
Work jeans.
Boots.
Gloves.
Fitted shirts.
And sitting proudly on top...
A cowboy hat.
Brock stared at it.
The farmer walked past carrying a mug.
"Morning."
Brock pointed at the hat.
"Absolutely not."
---
Ten minutes later, Brock stood outside wearing it.
His usual football kit had been replaced by fitted dark work jeans, sturdy leather boots, and a sleeveless reflective-gold work shirt marked BROCK 46. The hat sat low over his dark hair.
The other Golden Bros had received similar country makeovers—gold shirts, denim, boots, belts, rolled sleeves.
One Bro looked Brock up and down.
"Bro."
Brock immediately pointed at him.
"Don't."
"You look like a country music album cover."
"I said don't."
The farmer stepped outside.
He stopped.
Looked them over.
"Better."
Brock sighed.
From the goat pen came a familiar sound.
Baaaaaa.
Brock turned.
"Don't you start."
---
Looking like farmhands, they quickly discovered, was significantly easier than being farmhands.
The farmer put them to work.
Hay needed moving.
Animals needed feeding.
Fence posts needed replacing.
That crooked gate from yesterday needed fixing.
At first, the Golden Bros attacked everything like a competition.
Bales flew.
Buckets moved.
Hammers swung.
Brock hauled a heavy fence post onto his shoulder and grinned.
"See? Easy."
Twenty minutes later, his shiny new boots were covered in mud.
His shirt was dusty.
Sweat ran down his forehead.
And the fence post still wasn't straight.
The farmer examined it.
"Again."
Brock stared at him.
"Again?"
"Again."
Behind him, someone laughed.
Brock turned.
"Whoever laughed is helping."
The laughter stopped.
---
By afternoon, something had changed.
They weren't competing anymore.
They were working together.
One Bro held the post steady while Brock drove it into place.
Two others stretched the fencing.
Another checked the alignment.
The work became slower.
Smarter.
Better.
Finally, the farmer inspected the finished fence.
He gave it a firm shake.
Nothing moved.
"That'll do."
Brock wiped his forehead with his arm.
Somehow, those three words felt better than scoring a goal.
The Bros looked exhausted.
Dirty.
Sweaty.
And ridiculously pleased with themselves.
Brock rested his arms across the new fence.
"Okay."
He looked across the countryside glowing beneath the afternoon sun.
"I get it now."
One Bro leaned beside him.
"Get what?"
"Why people like this."
The farmer smiled from behind them.
"Good."
Brock immediately became suspicious.
"...Why did you say it like that?"
The farmer pointed toward the barn.
A mountain of hay bales waited outside.
The Golden Bros stared.
Brock slowly removed his cowboy hat.
"You've got to be kidding me."
Baaaaaa.
Brock looked toward the goat.
"Not. One. Word."
To be continued...
Think you've got what it takes to wear the gold? Looking good is only the beginning. The Golden Army is about getting your hands dirty, taking on challenges you didn't expect, and having Bros beside you when the work gets tough. You don't need to know everything before you start—you just need to be willing to learn, work, and grow with the Team.
Ready to trade watching from the fence for getting involved?
Contact our recruiters @alton-gold77 or @polo-drone-125 and start earning your gold.
Tsuzuku” (つづく / 続く) Japanese Calligraphy Statement Essential T-Shirt
You can get it here
Addair, you're not meant to be in here! Good Grief.
Clip provided by @proxyeve
When the warrior takes 3D too seriously
✈️ ꜰʟɪɢʜᴛ ʀɪꜱᴋ - ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 4: ꜰʀᴀᴄᴛᴜʀᴇꜱ ɪɴ ꜱɪʟᴇɴᴄᴇ✈️
ꜰ1 x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ʟᴀɴᴅᴏ ɴᴏʀʀɪꜱ ᴀᴜ | ꜱʟᴏᴡ ʙᴜʀɴ + ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀ ɪᴍʙᴀʟᴀɴᴄᴇ
⚠️ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ:
ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴅɪꜱᴛʀᴇꜱꜱ
ɢʜᴏꜱᴛɪɴɢ / ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴡɪᴛʜᴅʀᴀᴡᴀʟ
ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀ ɪᴍʙᴀʟᴀɴᴄᴇ
ᴀɢᴇ ɢᴀᴘ ᴛᴇɴꜱɪᴏɴ
ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴠᴜʟɴᴇʀᴀʙɪʟɪᴛʏ
ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱʜɪᴘ ᴜɴᴄᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴᴛʏ
ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ
The warmth of those early days faded like summer evenings—slow, subtle, and painful in ways (Y/n) couldn’t quite name.
She still had Lando’s number saved under something ridiculous, Mr. Vanilla Latte, a callback to their second meeting when he’d ordered the same drink with no shame. But for the past few days, her screen remained achingly still. No texts. No pings. No private driver at her curb with a lazy smile and a mumbled, “You know the routine, Miss.”
It wasn’t unusual for him to disappear briefly during back-to-back races, but this time felt different. He hadn’t warned her. Hadn’t said goodbye. He’d simply faded out, leaving her with a half-read message and a dozen half-formed questions.
You: Everything okay? Just checking in.
Delivered. Not read.
▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄
(Y/n) tried to be rational about it. Lando was busy. The F1 calendar was relentless. And she had her own mountains to climb: mock exams, flight deck assessments, her scholarship paperwork due next week.
But even as she sat inside the university simulator cockpit, headset firm over her ears, altitude ticking upward in digital meters, her mind spiraled somewhere far from the clouds.
What if he was ghosting her?
What if he had someone else?
What if the whole thing—every sweet moment, every soft laugh—had been nothing more than an indulgent illusion?
▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄
It wasn’t until the third evening that he finally texted.
Lando: Sorry. Just landed. Been a shitty week.
That was it. No emojis. No humor. No softness.
She stared at the message, thumb hovering.
She thought about leaving it unanswered. She thought about asking directly—What’s going on? But instead, she sent:
You: Hope things get better soon.
▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄
Another two days passed.
By the time Sunday arrived, she was no longer waiting. She was studying late in a quiet café, textbook open beside her untouched coffee, when her phone buzzed with an incoming call.
Lando.
She let it ring once. Twice. Almost didn’t answer. Then sighed, flipped her phone, and pressed it to her ear.
"Hi."
"Hey," his voice was low, tired. "I’m outside. Can we talk?"
Her brows furrowed. "Outside... the café?"
"Yeah. I wasn’t sure if you’d pick up."
She gathered her things quickly, shoving notes into her backpack and wrapping her jacket around herself. The sky outside was bruised purple, and Lando leaned against a black SUV, hands in his pockets, baseball cap low over his eyes.
She walked up slowly. "Hey."
"Hey."
They stood there awkwardly for a second. Then he opened the passenger door.
"Ride with me?"
She didn’t say anything, just slid in.
▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄
They drove in silence for a while. The city flickered past in streaks of amber. He didn’t take her to his apartment. Instead, they pulled up near a lookout point on the outskirts—where city lights glittered like stars scattered below.
(Y/n) broke the silence first. “So, is this where you bring all your sugar babies to get dumped?”
His head snapped toward her, startled. Then, to her surprise, he laughed—quiet and raw.
“No. Just you.”
She looked at him. “That’s not as comforting as you think.”
He scrubbed a hand down his face, suddenly serious.
“I didn’t mean to vanish. I was just... overwhelmed.”
“Overwhelmed?”
He nodded. “The team. The press. My family. And then—” he looked at her, “—you.”
Her breath caught. “What about me?”
“You’re not just a fling, (Y/n). You’re not just some arrangement. And that scares the hell out of me.”
There it was. The fracture line.
She folded her arms. “You think I don’t know that? I’ve been terrified since day one, Lando. I walked into this thinking I’d trade time for tuition money, not... not fall for someone who acts like I’m his secret.”
He blinked. “You’ve fallen for me?”
Her lips parted, but no words came.
He leaned back against the headrest. “I never meant to hurt you. I just didn’t know how to handle it. You’re young. You’re brilliant. You’ve got this whole future ahead of you. I shouldn’t even be in the picture.”
“You are in the picture,” she said softly. “Whether you want to be or not.”
Silence stretched again. A tension hung between them, dense and uncertain.
Finally, he looked over. “Can I ask you something?”
She nodded.
“Would you still want to be with me... if there was no money? No McLaren? No private flights?”
That cut deep. She didn’t answer right away. Just stared out at the glittering horizon.
Then, quietly: “Yes. But I won’t lie, your money got me through the door. Your heart kept me here.”
He looked wrecked. Moved. Maybe both.
“I’ve never met anyone like you,” he whispered.
“Don’t get all sentimental on me, Norris.”
He chuckled. “You’re infuriating.”
“You’re dramatic.”
Then, without warning, she reached across the console and took his hand. It was cold. But steady.
“Are we okay?” she asked.
His thumb brushed over hers.
“I think we could be.”
▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄
The next week was a strange return to something familiar, but with cracks now visible.
Lando still called, still sent Uber Eats to her dorm when she forgot to eat. Still left her sweet notes when she visited. But he was guarded now. Measured. Like he was afraid to tip the scale too far.
And (Y/n), for all her coolness, felt the shift too.
They weren’t sugar daddy and sugar baby anymore. Not really. They were something messier. Undefined.
One evening, as they lay in bed fully clothed, her head on his chest and his fingers tracing light patterns along her arm, she asked, “What happens if your team finds out?”
He didn’t answer.
“Your parents?”
Still silent.
She pulled back to look at him. “Lando. I need to know where I stand.”
He stared up at the ceiling. “You’re the one thing in my life that feels real right now. But I don’t know how to protect that without ruining everything else.”
Tears stung her eyes, unbidden.
“I don’t need protection. I need honesty.”
He nodded. Swallowed hard. “You’re right.”
(Y/n) sat up, wrapping her arms around her knees. “I’m not asking you to announce me to the world. I’m asking you not to hide me from it.”
He sat up too, closer now. “Then I’ll try. I promise.”
She searched his face. “Don’t promise things you can’t keep.”
“I’m not.”
And somehow, she believed him.
▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄
But late that night, as Lando watched her sleep beside him—curled into his hoodie, lips parted slightly—he wondered just how long he could hold that promise.
He was falling for her.
And falling, in his world, always came at a cost.
To be continued...
✈️ ꜰʟɪɢʜᴛ ʀɪꜱᴋ - ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 5: ʙʀᴇᴀᴄʜᴇꜱ✈️
#tobecontinued
TL / Saõ Paulo, Brasil / 10.20.24 © Jens Koch
@ till_lindemann_official
Powerpuff Girls Across The Multiverse - Blaze
What happens when you discover there is another you in an alternate universe? Well...to be continued.
✧This is my OC Blaze in the PPGZ style and the original PPG style.