#and your love of footie is infectious

[luveline]

Would u ever write about early days kbd! Steve and reader?? Maybe newly married or finding out about being pregnant for one of their babies?? I just love them so much ♡

kisses before dinner au —mom!reader, 1k

“I’m just gonna go to the bathroom really quickly and then I’m leaving,” you call. 

Steve calls back. “Okay, babe. Avery, say bye to mommy! Can you say bye? How about you, Beth?” 

Avery calls a happy goodbye. Beth babbles unintelligibly. I’ll say goodbye in a second, you think, slinking into the bathroom with a plan in mind. 

You bend down under the sink where you keep things that wouldn’t hurt anybody should they get pulled out; ointment for wet rash, diapers, and the little disposable pregnancy tests for emergencies. 

You and Steve are careful after your lovely first Avery. She’d been a surprise, and you weren’t willing to be blindsided again, but now that you’re actively trying the more expensive pregnancy tests have been taken upstairs and in tens. How many have you taken in the last three or four months? Too many to count, and the latest only last night. 

The test said negative, but you’ve been pregnant twice already. You know what it feels like. You’d woken up this morning and turned to watch Steve still sleeping, and you’d thought about waking him, but you didn’t want to get his hopes up again without knowing for sure. 

You let the test develop on the sink, contemplative, drying your washed hands slowly. You can hear Steve laughing like a kid in the kitchen, Bethie’s infectious baby laughter quick to follow. 

Avery shouts something like, “Stop, dad!” but you’re not sure what they’re fighting about. 

Trying for a baby is fun. It’s stressful, sure, but you enjoy the process (whoops) and there’s something so hopeful about waiting to see when it’ll happen. Steve is doubly excited, his anticipation contagious, and you want another baby so much you’ve started buying baby clothes, a wardrobe full of onesies and you’re stuffing in new socks and footie pyjamas every other day. You’ve even picked out the new wallpaper for the nursery. 

You really, really want another baby. 

The test finishes developing. You stare at it until your eyes cloud with tears. 

Last night, you took a test that didn’t come out with anything. Steve hadn’t baulked. He never does. He’d given you a short kiss and a longer hug, whispered, “It’s okay, we’ll just have to try again,” into your hair. 

You can’t help yourself. You grab the test and sweep out of the bathroom down the hallway to the kitchen. Bethie’s eyes glow when she sees you, her small arms held out to you waiting to be picked up. 

You’re very very sorry, but you throw yourself at Steve instead. 

“Hey!” he laughs, pushing you away. “I’m covered in sugar!” 

You wrap your arms behind his neck, “I don’t care!” 

“What?” he asks, totally perplexed. Then, despite his confusion, Steve hugs you tight and lets out a contented sigh. “Why are we so happy?” 

You make some space between you again to show him the test. His hand comes up under yours slowly, bigger, often gentler, cupping your fingers as he bends down to see it. “Oh,” he says. He falls quiet for a few seconds. 

When he looks up, he’s smiling. “Honey!” His smile abruptly catches, tears filling his eyes. “Oh my god.” 

“No, don’t,” you say, your voice wobbling. 

Steve tries to pick you up and spin you around, but there’s no room and you’re too heavy, too sure-footed, arms around his neck and kissing up his cheek. “You’re acting like I’m the one pregnant!” he says, fighting to kiss your cheek instead. “I’m so happy,” —he kisses you— “I could die,” —his lips press rough to the highest point of your cheek— “I could cry!” 

“You are crying,” you laugh wetly. 

Tears rush down his cheeks. “Three is so many.” 

“What? Don’t say that.” You wince as Bethie starts crying. “She thinks that too.” 

Steve picks Bethie up from her high chair and Avery in all her little Steve-ness gives you a brown eyed, doe-wide smile, pointing at your face. “Sad,” she says. “You’m crying, mom.” 

“I’m not–“ You wipe your cheeks with the backs of your hands. “I’m not sad, babe, I’m happy! Mommy’s so happy! It’s making me cry because I’m super happy, I’m not sad.” You smile at her sweetly. “Do I look sad, my love?” 

“Up, mommy,” she says, lifting her hands. You pick her up and laugh another round of tears down your cheeks as she starts to wipe them away. “Happy.” 

“Extremely happy,” Steve says. 

“Dad, you–” She looks between you both with a cartoonish frown. “Dad cry too?

“We are both so happy,” you say. 

Avery mumbles some strange garble of words in her high voice, and then asks more clearly for her buppy. Steve starts to open one of her bottles but his tears suddenly escalate, and he can’t see enough to finish pouring in her formula. 

“We’re having another baby,” he says to you. 

You breathe in a much needed breath. “Yeah, H. Another baby.” 

He passes you Beth, forcing you to manage both of the girls in your arms, and gets about halfway down the hall before he whoops loud enough to make you jump. 

“Okay,” he says, jogging back. “Can I call Robin? I’m so fucking excited.” 

You dot kisses against small foreheads. “We can tell, can’t we?” you ask, to Avery’s amusement. 

“Can tell, dad!” she parrots. 

Steve grabs you and pulls the three of you into an ironclad embrace. “I love you,” he says, much quieter now. You honestly don’t need him to tell you, you can feel it in every moment you spend together, but you take the confession greedily. 

“Yeah?” 

“Too much,” he says. He starts kissing you again, an overflowing heap of them, until the girls are too jealous to speak and you’re as late for work as you’ve ever been. 

#kisses before dinner universe #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #stranger things #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x fem!reader #dad!steve harrington #dad!steve harrington x reader #dad!steve harrington x mom!reader #steve harrington x afab!reader #afab!reader #mom!reader #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fandom #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington fluff

[queer-in-a-cornfield]

My submission for week 1 of Duckverse June, a bit late, but oh well! (Thanks to @secret-tester, @alexcanine, and @boingodigitalart for hosting it, btw!) I chose to write since drawing is hard. Anyways! Storytime: Donald tells the 4 year old triplets a bedtime story.

Donald was exhausted. After a long shift of getting yelled at by entitled old ladies for ‘not bagging fast enough!’ and by his manager for ‘looking too depressed!’ Donald was finally able to make it back to his home on the marina.

He relieves the babysitter of her duties and hands over the money he owes her. Then he steps through the doorway and greets his nephews, who nearly tackle him in a three-way hug, ecstatic to see their father figure again.

“Hi, boys,” he says warmly, but with a hint of tiredness seeping in.

“Unca Donald! We missed you sooooo much!” Huey exclaims, squeezing tighter on Donald’s leg for emphasis.

“Yeah!” Dewey agrees. Louie simply nods to show his agreement. “Guess how much we missed ya, Unca Donald!” Dewey continues, looking up at his uncle.

“I don’t know, Dewey, how much did you miss me?” he plays along.

Letting go of his uncle’s leg, Dewey steps back and extends his arms all the way outwards. “Dis much!” he answers, grinning.

“Wow, that’s a lot!” Donald laughs, ruffling Dewey’s hair, which makes the boy giggle with delight.

He tries to take a step forward, towards the houseboat’s kitchenette, but Huey and Louie’s combined weight stops him.

“Huey, Louie, can you let go of me please? I need to make dinner,” he gently requests, looking down at the red and green clad toddlers clinging to his legs.

They both reluctantly let go, and Donald sets about making dinner as fast as he can.

Around 30 minutes later, the triplets have scarfed down their dinners, while Donald has abandoned his for the moment, noticing the time: 7:28.

“Kids, bedtime!” he calls out, and after a couple minutes, he heads to the triplets’ room to make sure everything is going smoothly. He helps Huey get his shirt on the right way, helps Dewey get his feet into his onesie’s footies, and helps Louie with his shirt’s buttons.

After each kid has changed, brushed their teeth, and gotten into their shared bed, Donald sits down on the rickety chair next to the bed and pulls out a small book.

“Wha’ stowy awe you gonna read us tonight, Unca Donald?” Louie asks quietly.

“It’s one of your favorites, Lou-bear,” he replies, turning the book around to show them all the cover.

“Yay!” Louie cheers. “Da Catpiller!”

Donald laughs from Louie’s infectious excitement before turning the book back around and opening it up.

“In the light of the moon a little egg lay on a leaf,” Donald begins. “One Sunday morning the warm sun came up and- pop!- out of the egg came a tiny…”

The boys listen to the story with rapture, yawning more and more as it continues. Huey falls asleep first, holding his favorite stuffed animal, a lion. Then Dewey falls asleep, curled up into a tight ball, leaving only Louie awake.

“Then he nibbled a small hole in the cocoon, pushed his way out, and became a beautiful butterfly! The end.” Donald read, closing the book and placing it back under the chair with the few other books he’s collected for the boys. He then looks up at them and sees Huey and Dewey fast asleep, and Louie staring wide-eyed at him.

“That’s all for tonight, Lou-bear. Get some rest now, you’ve got another big day of preschool tomorrow, I’m sure.”

Louie yawns before responding, “Okay, Unca Donald.” The youngest triplet then closes his eyes and turns to face his brothers, falling asleep shortly after.

Donald, seeing this, gets up and turns on the nightlight in the corner of the room. He then turns off the room’s main light and steps into the doorway.

“Goodnight, boys,” he whispers. “I love you.”

He closes the door and makes his way back to the dinner he left behind earlier.

Donald was exhausted. But he would take his boys’ happiness over a good night of sleep or a calm shift at work any day.

#duckverse june #ducktales #ducktales 2017 #dt17 #fandom #ducktales fanfiction #huey dewey and louie #donald duck

[possibilistfanfiction]

First, thanks for writing stuff! Your words always make my day better. Second, I’m seconding the avarice football au, and also asking who is the keeper and why is only correct answer Mary, because someone has to manage these idiots. Third, can I prompt you: Mother Superion visits LA because she, too, likes tacos and margaritas, and maybe she also meets Bea and Ava’s newborn baby.

[a tiny preview of footy au for the culture]

//

you’re always the first. 

it’s your duty — as captain, as the starting 6, as someone who has suffered for sport for so long you don’t know anything else.

you’re always the first.

but today, as you walk onto the training grounds as the sun is just drifting over the horizon, still hazy and bruise-blue, you’re not first.

ava silva — a few years your junior and back from two years of grueling injury and rehab, the newest signing for your club, splashy and entirely unpredictable — hits a perfect bending ball into the upper left 90, then smiles to herself and races away from goal, arms spread wide, like she’s just scored in the world cup or won the champions league.

she has on team issue shorts and socks, one slipping down her ankle, a pair of boots that are a cycle behind your brand new mercurial vapors that nike sends you like clockwork, and a hoodie that you’re really only supposed to wear on the plane or bus for away travel days. her hair is cut above her shoulders now, haphazardly in a little bun but mostly falling into her eyes. she’s a far cry from your quarter-zip, zipped all the way up, tucked into your shorts like always, a ritual, and the ponytail braid that you make sure is neat and perfect before you ever step onto the field or into the gym.

ava lines up a shot again, hits another perfect bending ball, clinical and ruthless and beautiful, and throws her arms up again in celebration. you haven’t really found joy on the pitch in a long time; you haven’t seen joy on this pitch like this maybe ever. ava’s sheer delight at her unmarked goals, on an empty net, is frustratingly infectious. you had watched replay of her back injury; you hadn’t been in the same league, at the time, but she had been a bright young star and you had watched in horror a few months before the world cup, on a grainy stream in your hotel room with lilith and mary, as ava’s spine had apparently broken, a bad tackle in the box gone terribly, terribly wrong, projected to never play again. you won’t say it out loud — it’s impossibly sentimental, devoted, romantic; all things you are decidedly not — but watching ava play now, even like this, or maybe especially like this, is a miracle.

‘ava silva,’ you say, carrying your own bag of balls onto the pitch in her direction. she turns toward you with a grin.

‘oh captain, my captain,’ she says, then tucks an errant, sweaty strand of hair behind her ear, offers her hand.

‘beatrice,’ you say, ‘pleasure.’

ava’s smile doesn’t waver at all. ‘oh, i know,’ she says. ‘ballon d’or winner, wsl champion, nwsl champion, champions league runner up, the face of nike football. arguably the best player in the world.’ she winks, lets go of your hand. ‘the pleasure is all mine.’

‘that’s — i’m a 6,’ you say, feeling a little out of your depth and bewildered without any warning.

ava just laughs. ‘yeah, you seem like it.’ she flicks a ball up, does two around the worlds, and then catches it between her shoulder blades before popping it back up and sending it your way. ‘wanna play one v one, or do you have a whole little routine?’

‘i —‘ ava, in the early morning light, with the dew on the grass soaking into the juncture of your cleat and socks, the crisp air — it’s all perfect. you remember, in a flash, why you fell in love with football in the first place. ‘first to five, small goal.’

ava fist pumps. ‘show me how it’s done, then.’

#wn #warrior nun fic #avatrice #avatrice fic

[detectivesus]

Allow me to get sappy for a moment. Thank you for letting us all tag along and creating this lovely community by being such a kind, funny, open and spontaneous person. Of course I don’t know you irl but you seem very genuine and your lightheartedness is super infectious. Thank you for this year full of scandalous confessions, shared misery, laughs, love, and some footy here and there. Here’s to more gay panic, everyone trying to guess where you’re from, second hand embarrassment and footy opinions no one would ever dare say out loud in 2024 🥂 cheers and much love 💕

Also tell me what I have to do to get you to add me to that group chat I’ll do almost anything

sappy is always encouraged here!! babe i’ve been rereading this ever since you sent it because genuinely it’s top 2 messages i’ve ever gotten on here 🥹 sending a very very huge thank you for sending this (it’s so nice people genuinely probably think i sent it to myself lmaoooo) but you really have made me smile w this! tbf i think basically everyone has guessed where i’m from at this stage hahaha but definitely mooooore than welcome to all of the above and more (: hoping 2024 is full of joy and health for ya & that you’re still around this time next year 🥳 thank you for sticking around and sending this it’s sooooo wholesome <3 idk if it’d be weird to add to the groupchat bc we’ve all met irl by now pretty much but i’ll try float the idea for sure and maybe will be allowed to share more intel 🤭 thank you again this is beyond sweet

[stitch1830]

Hola Stitch, my favorite little blue alien, you! 💙

I’m feeling for Aunt Zutara (and uncle Zuko) HCs for the Kantoph babies (metal babies?).

I just love Toph and Katara’s sisterhood friendship and would love to know how these two would support each other through motherhood. And what are your thoughts about it.

Hope you’re having a lovely day!

YES YES OKAY ZUTARA WITH METALBABIES :D These ideas have been living in my mind rent free for a little bit and I’m so glad you asked :’)

To start, I see Katara and Zuko having two girls (Kya and Izumi) in this AU, and then Toph and Kanto have a girl and a boy (Lin and Jian).

Zuko absolutely loves spending time with Lin, and then Lin with his girls is just added fun! They’re all energetic and adorable and for the most part, Lin is basically a carbon copy of Toph and Zuko thinks it’s so fun to see a mini Toph running around. He spoils the girls to no end, and whenever he’s with Lin, he always gives her a piece of chocolate or something.

Lin likes to pretend that she’s much bigger and older than she actually is, so she likes having tea with Uncle Zuko and ‘play’ Pai Sho, even though she mainly just organizes the pieces into pretty patterns on the board.

Perhaps Lin loves animals, and so whenever the Beifong’s visit the Fire Nation, Zuko has a new stuffed animal waiting for her, and they always spend a day feeding the turtle ducks. And whenever Zuko carries her around the palace, she just has a list of facts for whatever animal she’s obsessed with for that week.

He loves spending time with Jian, too, especially because Jian is a firebender (Kanto has some FN blood in him, but it was still a surprise when Jian sneezed a little fireball for the first time). When Jian’s older, Zuko teaches him a few moves, but as a baby/young boy, Jian prefers the company of his mother or his aunt, so he usually ends up conceding and giving his attentions to his daughters and niece.

Katara, while she loves all her nieces and nephews immensely, has a very soft spot for Jian.

He’s very giggly to start, and his smile and laugh are absolutely infectious. He loves smelling flowers despite his allergies, but his sneezes are really cute so it’s not that big of a deal lol. When he’s older, he likes to pick flowers for his Auntie. In general though, he loves giving his Aunt Katara things to hold or to share when they play. Flowers, dirt, stuffed animals, wrappers, bracelets, etc. Whatever he picks up, he likes to give to his aunt (some items are not so cute, but his smile makes it really hard to be mad at him LOL).

I feel like he shows his affection a lot through touch because Toph shows her affection that way, so whenever Katara carries him around, he keeps a hand on her cheek.

Kanto is very big on putting his kids in footie pajamas (much to Toph’s dismay), and Katara fully supports his mission, so she always buys new footie pajamas for them every time she sees them!

Jian is a great listener, too, so when Katara holds him and chats with him, he just snuggles his face against her neck, hand on her cheek, and giggles or smiles every now and then.

But when he sees his mama, he points to her and gets all excited and yells and everything and Katara just smiles and goes, “Yeah, buddy! That’s your mama!”

Katara absolutely loves seeing it, she gets a sneak peek at the joy on both Jian and Toph’s faces, and she definitely enjoys the moment.

Okay and then the final bit about Toph and Katara being best friends and going through motherhood with one another and supporting each other? A favorite thought in any AU. Toph and Katara are just amazing friends and it’s a given that they visit one another all the time (I also like to HC that Katara delivers the metalbabies, or just Toph’s babies in any AU haha). I think for Toph, being able to interact with Katara’s kids before having kids of her own gave her confidence and a bit of reassurance when she did become a mother, and with Katara, I think she really admires how well Toph adjusted to the change. I can see Katara being a little concerned at first, but then there was a moment where she saw Toph interact with the steambabies or Toph’s own babies, and she saw how much Toph cared for them that Katara knew in that instant that Toph was going to be a great mom.

Okay I think I gushed long enough, but really, I just… I love these ideas so much and I’m trying to write fics for them because my heart and soul need it. Anyway, thanks for indulging my zutara/kantoph fluff needs! This was absolutely perfect and they deserve all the fluffy moments. Hope you have a great day Nanu!!! :D

……

Send me asks about ATLA, or anything, really! :D

#zutara #kantoph #Zuko #katara #toph #toph beifong #kanto #lin #lin beifong #oc Jian beifong #kya ii #Izumi #atla #lok #headcanons #my asks #thanks for the ask! #Nanu #I think I’ve turned into a puddle #aunt katara and uncle Zuko are just #*chefs kiss* #they’re so good with the metalbabies #which is good because the metalbabies don’t like going to most people #lol

[muffindaddystyles]

𝑌𝑂𝑈𝑁𝐺 & 𝐵𝐸𝐴𝑈𝑇𝐼𝐹𝑈L 

A oneshot of how you two met in the beautiful city of Italy, how Harry finds you an Angel descended from heaven above that took his hand and became his light. Dad!harry full of fluff..oh yeah dad!harry nation lets rise. .Part two of tooth rotting dad harry of it is here too. young and beautiful (II)

It's Saturday night. Harry and you intentionally have no plans but to loaf around in your guys cosy homely space. The candles flames with rośe tranquilness, the intro to movie watched many times together rolling in. Both of you are snuggled onto large body sucking sea-green velvet couch infront of telly.

His daddy long legs nestled atop your hip hooking around your ankle protecting you from falling if possible (moreso the fact he's extremely protective of you in your pregnancy.) His one elbow snaked around your collarbones which are now hiding underneath soft swelling, his sweater pawed arm sheltering around your huge eight months baby bump slender tender fingers tucked underneath your side.

You relaxes into him, back pressed to his tanned chest and with his chin resting atop your hair whenever he rasped out something it bobbed your whole head.

"Yeh' kay, baby? comfy?" He asks you for the hundredth time now caressing and stroking your chin, then earlobes, collarbones to your belly and the list goes on. It's one of his habits that he doesn't realizes himself more as ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑢𝑎𝑔𝑒. Harry's love language's physical contact, lots and lots of them. He finds calm in touching you here and there, raking his palms without them knowing their destination. He's cuddly and clingiest when drunk. Although, he has stopped drinking since you both are expecting but the clingy part of him jumped out during this period his only excuses are "wanna stay close to me' three babies." Or "i feel empty when you're even a bit away from me." 

"'M lover, stop worrying." You bring his jaw down with the tip of your pointer finger to kiss his lips gently with a tilt of your chin. He mumbles an anxious "cant." in your mouth running his thumb under the curve of your womb with amiable affection.

You hiss into his mouth when one of your bubba kicks you with ever most force and he pushes away with amused eyes, when he felt the kick against his palm. It's not like it's his first but everything related to his unborn babies muse him to utter excitement and tears of joy.

He shifts a tad resting his a little scruffy cheek against your silken naked bump, you're wearing one of his crotched zinc orange crop top and it bunched up your belly in very much likeness of Harry, he thinks you look so endearingly sexy he could make you use him as many times you want. His ear tucked under the crescent of your chest, "feels like jus' a barrier of skin between us." He bubbles his accent and you smile down at him infectiously. Meanouvering your fingers into his chestnut curls and massaging his scalp that made his eyelids futter into bliss.

There was another visible kick and Harry smoothed down the skin eyes shinning up at you, "a footy champ this one." You sucked your bottom lip trying not break into fits of laughter because from the weight your pelvis muscles has become weak and you end up leaving wet tiny splotches most of the time. First time you had it was two months ago you were fucking embarrassing and couldn't stop crying right after an hour of genuine laugh ofcourse caused by Harry when you guys shopped for babies and he wore that one onesie on his head being all goofy and child of two while expecting two himself.

"How're meh' baby girls. meh' bunnies." He smauched loud wet kisses all over your belly making slobbery snuggly voices to annoy you. You tug at his roots whining loudly because you know the undeniable loving scene of Harry talking to his two daughters will bring you to tears all because of stubborn hormones. Yes, two!

While you weren't even expecting a pregnancy, God said wait for my bumper surprise.

Everyone told your bump looks healthier than normal pregnancies but you ignored it until the day of gender check-up. Harry was ecastatic, fist pumping the air, bouncing with your hands intervined tears bloodshot in his eyelines. So were you...but you had a huge breakdown on the wooden floor of your home's threshold. You were blabbering thousand questions to him, body shaking and fighting to breath.

"I...I can't do this, Harry...too much 's too much." You cried to him that day. But he cradled your face into his calloused palms his temple kissed yours, "ye' can, my sweet girl. we can. wish I could bear one of our baby bunny, it's sad that I cant help ye'. But, it's my promise to be there for you forever and always." He leaned down to kiss you with so much love, more love he was keeping to himself ever since and more more love he can't put into words.

He comes back from your belly to leave a feathery kiss on your lips that makes you yearn for him more and settles back to his previous position, his face shoved into the crook of your neck and he presses kisses to the corner of your lips while your eyes remains glued to telly.

As Sally and Harry bickered in the car you chuckled softly fingers tracing his nose and the mole sheltered under it, "remember how we met?" His breath fanned tickling your cheek heartily when he shook his head with a giddy giggle.

"How could I not? Yeh' were a honey pot and a weepy mess after tha'." He scrunches his nose at you adorably reminiscing the night and series of nights after that.

"It was your fault mister." You twitch your lips turning to his side with his help and his hand sprawled at your back instinctively. "Ye' souvenired t' give a lonely guy like me some company, first." He smiles when you huffed. His beam getting joyously wider when your belly pressed tightly against his's and he kisses your forehead multiple times.

"Who thought that guy escapin' from Gucci's biggest event could be a dad of two girls." You quip playing with his neckline and his chest rumbled with a titter that sent you to cloud nine.

"Not me at all. But, if I could meet him back in time I'll tell him how lucky he's gonna be, how happy he'll be, that he doesn't needs to be a grumpy daddy when he could be a real happy one." His eyes are glassy and you cupped his cheeks placing your lips atop his into a feverish kiss of gentleness.

~𝐹𝑎𝑙𝑠ℎ𝑏𝑎𝑐𝑘 𝑡𝑜 2015~

Gucci's spring festive on full blossom in the most popular old city of Italy, Milan. It's luxurious in all it's glory. A-list celebrities and world claimed most beautiful models. The hall clattered and shushed with talks, rumours, gossips and greets. Then it's fashion and tailored-fitted clothes, formal gowns. Fake smiles. Cold hearts.

On the long dinning table piled with food that sometimes's too difficult to pronounce Harry sat along with Kendall Jenner. His ex-girlfriend and a friend for now. She talks excitedly with the person infront of her snarling rude remarks here and there. Her hand came squeezing his thigh under the table that startled him from his imaginary world. A world where he's at peace, the luxuries doesn't exist and he's nothing but a normal person.

"Huh, love?" He kinks his brows together fiddling with the napkin in his lap and she gave him a furious pout for not giving her full attention, "I was pointing out how fast-fashion brands are shit." She rolls her eyes. Harry can't believe her bratty arse. He shrugged his thigh with a tad more harshness to get rid of her touch.

"Dunno. No' everyone could afford luxury brands." At this the model infront of them cackled more in her mock and sniffed to be polite in the fake hush of the room. Harry's eyes turned glassy and the jade in the murky to the visible irritation at their behaviour. His expressions dark and unreadable under the very less light.

Quiffing his long hickorey curls back he nibbed at his pointer finger's knuckle only to bend it under his chin afterwards, "'m serious." Kendall sighs loudly at this clearly annoyed by the way he's acting and the model infront of him gave him a 'whatever makes you sleep at night.' look and a shrug of her shoulders in arrogance while eating her steak.

Enough. Harry thinks with a grumble struck in his chest. He rakes the chair back that drew some attention but it drifted to some person sharing their experience and all that shit talk again on the loop.

Harry's guard followed him behind pushing the paparazzi away. Flashes in his eyes. Made up assumptions to his ears and shoved up opinions to his chest. He's sick. From all of this. He wants to shout to no-one in particular but himself, he wants an escape. He wants it with his every bleeding cell.

Then he takes a curt turn with a whiplash of his torso to dark alley beside the building from which he just exited and when he reached the end it was blocked by a brick wall so he jumped with ease to other side, his expensive boots scruffing against the gravel. He gave no care to the guard behind him.

He was in a local less populated street. Wider with the bumpy stones and there were people indeed but nobody paid him heed.

He sat on the concrete bench. Flinging his one leg over another hand gripping near his crotch and with a relieved huge exhale of breath he took his phone out going through it. After, so long he feels like he's a free dove who could breath free escaping from it's cage.

He's broken. Empty and in the rough path of his life. He doesn't know how to cope with it. It makes him fuckin' insane.

There's an ice-cream cart few steps away from where he's sitting alone onto bench. His head snaps at the beautiful giggle bouncing through the tangerine sky. He squints his eyes to get a better look of the group of friends crowding near the cart and licking onto their ice-creams.

Your white cotton dress furled with a wave of zephyr and the loose errand of your hair slipping from your low bun cascading around your face while you gave a belly ache laugh to one of your tall friend bopping his nose at his silliness.

Harry stares at the interaction of young people. They're just like him but looks more happy and youthful then why couldn't he?

His eyes are set on a certain figure and that's you still hidden from him as your friend Mona blocked the sight of your perfect view to Harry nudging your ribs.

"Is that Harry Styles." Jo mutters when his eyes fell over him and then he bashfully hisses, "don't look back! Don't look back. You guys are being too specific." Considering yourself stupid you spinned to have an ethereal sight of Harry sitting all by himself on the cold bench, his carved features glowing with the illumination of his phone screen still unlocked while he got distracted by you people.

"Doesn't feels like he's enjoying himself." Mona quipped taking a large swipe of her cold delight. None of them too interested in his wear abouts.

Call it clićhe but you don't have any thought in your mind before you're asking for an ice-cream cone from the ice-cream man heading towards him with your hands occupied with two.

Harry's breath hitching in his palpalating heart at the complete sight of you, for sore eyes for sure. His nerves jittery and knee bouncing in restlessness as you approaches him with a sweet grin. He takes in your complete look. White flowy dress and nude sandals, loop earrings and the bright red lipstick resembling the blood gush of his heart. 'Less is more' making you appear so beautiful.

Harry's so lost in his own brain wrecking that he forgot where you went but you rounds him from behind flinging your left leg on the other side of bench to sit on it with your legs on either side of it, he again startles getting off-guard hastily turning to face you when you tapped his shoulder.

Licking your own vanilla sweetness you forwarded the cone to him a sweet sheepish smile on your glowing hearty features. His body guard instantly changed his position to stop you but Harry gave him a stink eye accepting your offer shyly. Your cheeks heating even in the mild temperature when his supple fingers brushed yours.

"Thank you." His voice timid wiping the corners of his heart shaped lips but you just shrugged your shoulders leaning back with your hand pressed against the bench, "no problem. you're welcome." Harry gazes at your collarbones prodding from the flimsy fabric of your v-line then he shifted his gaze down to his Gucci loafers telling himself not to be a pervert. It's just you're too delicate that he can't stop admiring.

"I like your suit." You compliments him with glinting eyes and his cheeks flushed with shyness mumbling a "thank you." Under his erratic breath.

His eyes flutters and tummy flips when you bring your hand closer to him taking the sleeve of his jacket tugging at it, "it's too graphic you know...in a good way." He finds it endearing that you were this engulfed in just the design of his suit and when you tilt your chin peering up at him, he feels like his brain stopped functioning. He nods eyes still locked to yours and when he sense some coldness dripping down his thumb he quickly ducks down to lick it off causing his sculpted cheek to stroke against your silken ones in utter gentleness.

You gulp timidly sitting back straighter.

"So...? For what stuff you're here for Harry?" He loves the way his name sounds mellow coming from you. He clears his throat unwinding his long legs to stretch them wide and it nudged yours sending jolts to both of you, "uh, 'm 'ere fo' Gucci event." You beam at this shifting closer to him.

"I like the way it sounds comin' from you." He cackles at this running his fingers to tame his matte curls.

His tense demeanor slipping bringing his shy, timid and goofball ones exposed to you. He's himself surprised that all the built up frustration in his nerves drained away from your presence.

Being an art major and a fashion geek you asks him with ferverishness patting his knee, "what was it like? I've heard it's mesmerising." He chuckles at this. He wanna scoff because a sweet girl like you wouldn't last a second there.

"'S okay. I guess." He elevates his shoulder in bored expression and when the ice-cream swipes at the tip of his nose you giggled bunching forward to his side. He smiles down at you squinting his eyes narrow in an accuse.

"And what yer' here fo'? Wait yeh from here?" You bite the waffled cone chewing it. Words muffling with a full mouth, "having a trip with my University's friends. I live in London though. I really really wanted to see Milan. So, here I'm." You make an innocent childish face raising your arms in air to show him and his heart's soothing to peace with every homely action you'd pull to make him relaxe.

Then there was silence that Harry was unaware how to break. He could hear you talking for an eternity. On the other hand you aren't that akward to make conversations with people. No doubt you're shy, and wants your own space to blossom but this one habit of yours is inseparable.

"You know when back home. An ice-cream man would come daily at midnight in summers. Me and my cousins would climb up his bicycle cart like darn monkeys. Pop our heads inside the freezer and annoy the fuck outta him. God I miss home." There's this un-pointable feeling. That's unfigurative to Harry but it's there; of admiration and of endearment. His heart's at cloud nine caressing itself to the pink cotton candy.

His heart reaches out for you from his ribcages as the homesickness glistered in your irises. You weren't obliged to talk to him, to give him company but you still did beacuse beautiful accidents and coincidence happen in the admist of rushed streets.

Harry parted his lips to talk to you more but he has nothing, his life's not unknown by anyone and the normal scenarios of people entertains him so much.

His head snaps when you grin widely at him throwing the last and best of cone inside your mouth. Your small pretty mouth chewing like a rabbit and Harry wants to have a touch, just some to shush the fire in his stomach.

His head snapping when you yelled to children that were skipping on rope waving to them, "hey kiddos! Wanna have some ice-cream!?" They all left their play of galloping running towards you. Harry looks at you wide eyes eating his last bits away.

"Our hotel gave us a coupon for free ice-creams." You laugh standing up and he wants to catch you by wrist to stop you going away from him but when you squeeze his shoulder leaning to whisper in his ear chills ran down by his spine, "will be right back." He swallows thickly nodding eyes trailing to you as you collects all the little fellas to cart.

He watches you. Is she an Angel? A mirage to help him out of his anxiousness? Or a smoke in his mind that'll disappear soon? He thinks picking on his nails. He's not ready to step out of the calm bubble you created so delicately around him. Only if life could be this easier.

He rolls his eyes playfully sucking his lips inside his mouth when he sees you paying extra for more. He looks back to his body-guard. Maybe you didn't noticed him or cares less but Harry's kinda annoyed that he has to be here in such a happy vulnerable moment of his life.

"Thank you nice lady!" Harry chuckles gleefully when all of the kids thanked her licking onto their sweets. "It's okay kids, be careful before I take them back."

Shaking your head you strides back to Harry coming to stand infront of him. You can fit perfectly between his legs if he opened them wider for you, that desireful thought swooshed through his mind but he shakes it away.

"Thank ye' nice lady." He squeaks in high teasing pitch standing up and your eyes widened when he literally towered you fully. Your height differences funny even you're in heels.

"Not you now." You declared with blushed cheeks. His irirses glinted when you fumbled with the sides of your dress.

"So...this's it?" You ask him peering up at him with such gooeness he could whimper. Shivers running down your body as the weather turned rather more chill.

"This's it.." Harry whispers. He feels what? a lump of wetness in his throat? He's at the brink though.

"Thank you for bearing my monkey ass." You guffawed out but he has serenity in his eyes. He thins his lips. "I should be the one to say thanks."

He was taken aback when you hugged him running soothing circles at his back. He inhales your tangerine vanilla scent embracing you fully now. If he could freeze the time he would in a snap. He feels like he's all the way back home after travelling shallow through the whole world.

"It's gonna be alright, whatever it's Harry. It'll be alright. You're gonna be alright. It gets bumpy but you still have so much for you." Harry wants to cry in some strangers arms. He feels so defeated and tired. But, the determination and affirmation in your voice made him think opposite. He'll do it. He can do it.

He didn't let you go first. You untageled yourself from him gently swaying on your feet, taking a step back and he couldn't blink his eyes away from you as you bit your crimson lip.

You take steps away from him eyes still locked to his jade ones and he calls you out through the breeze looking for passing by cars if possible because you're standing in the middle of street.

"Hey, stranger!!!" You tilt your chin in a questioning and shake your head at his lopsided cheshire smile, "forgot t' tell ye'r name!" He yells out in rushed anticipation and anxiousness as if he'd loose you if any minute ticks by.

Goosebumps appears at your bare legs from the chill, "Y/N. Y/L/N." Then you spin around raising your hand high atop your head waving it for Harry.

"Ba-bye. Harry." You says loudly but it doom vacuumed to emptiness once you step inside your hotel's lobby leaving Harry at his own sake again.

Standing still at his spot. Hands shoved into his trouser's pocket and long spiral curls framing his sculpted features he watches you with a furrow of his brows from the glass of hotel. His frown getting deeper when you threw your head back laughing when you bumped into your friend who was coming to find you, you caught his wrist eyes widening at something funny he said and Harry sighs thinking maybe you're just this kind and generous and that he's not a special case in your book.

With an exhausted sigh he makes his way towards his bodyguard who gives him a side mishevious eye, "happy now, Styles?" Harry jabs a shove to his bulky shoulder playfully lips twitching and eyes narrowing, "oh shut up!" His mood more lightened and gleeful than his previous one thanks to you.

***

Next day when Kendall and her friend dragged Harry to fancy the local streets of Milan. Harry had a less scowling face than before. They stopped infront of some shop to buy bagels that someone bumped right square into Harry's back making him stumble a little.

It's you. Rushing out of a pharmacy. Harry's gaze trails from your toe to head and his lips parts in surprise. The whole past night in his lonely hotel bedroom you were his dream of heart and the stubborn thought of his mind while the thump of after party going downstairs kept him occupied and fainted the erratic pace of his heart. Then his brows kink in worry and concern at the grueling sight of you.

You're in a pink sweater and pyjamas. Eyes glassy. Cheeks flushed and blazing. Nose running and hair poking out in every direction. He takes a gentle step towards your astonished figure brewing fingers reaching out to hold you but when you keeps a distance from him his heart falls in his arse, and when you cough in your elbow he realizes that you're maybe cold or having a fever.

"You okay, love?" He asks you. Voice that of honey and panic dripping from his features. You gives him a big smile bobbing your head quickly and he have an urgency not to roll his eyes at you. Because you don't seem okay from any angle!

"'M just having a tiny cold it's not that worrisome." Harry's eyes pops out from his socket at your voice. It's groggy and hoarse not that sweet warm honey that was fusing in his ears last night. "Y/N. You can barely speak, are you sure you're okay?" You try to give him a small smile at his care but it got suppressed by another throat tearing cough. Poor little thing. Harry fawns looking down at you.

At this he abruptly saturates the distance between you two, "note me' number, darlin'. Promise me you'd call me if you feel too sick." You give a glance to his two friends coming by to stand beside him.

"Hi." You greet them in hoarseness and they wince when you forward your hand for a shake making you feel ashamed and embarrassed of your politeness when they didn't accepted it. Harry jaw ticks in furiousness as he glares them it's all adding up to push his nerves now.

He takes your shivering hand with an arch of his brow to his friends in challenging sterness noting down his phone number at your palm. You give him a soft "okie." and a "thank you." waving him and his friends a good-bye. He notices that you're not someone to hold grudges against someone. He knows that Kendall's behaviour throws people off but you didn't seem to mind it too much.

"Who was she Harry?" Kendall asks him chewing onto her bagel. Harry shrugs not keen to spill any precise details, "someone I met last night."

She tries to scrape more from him. "How?" Harry closes his eyes tugging at his roots not ready to snap at her.

Harry thinks many times to say the right words so that she'd shut up but still ends up saying something that infuriated her ego and mock, "she offered me ice-cream—" Her friend scoffs perking his head.

"Mate you're nuts for accepting something from a stranger." Logically yes. But you meant no harm to him. Your eyes were truthful and shined with sincerity.

Harry stays silent walking inside their hotel. The hostess asks them if they'd like to have a brunch.

On the other hand you climbed up the stairs to your room with a lazy gait. Your lungs burning. Once inside your room. You takes your medicine with a shivering body and minus energy to even raise your finger. You want to cry but you give a pep talk to yourself that you're a brave girl squishing yourself in your bed, hiding under three blankets.

There's bright sun outside but still you're feeling like someone placed you atop Antarctica's glacier snatching every clothing item from you. Your friends are all out and you wish you could have them. You hate being sick and alone.

When you woke up again. You felt horrible. Feeling like a truck crushed you underneath itself. When you tried to sit up, you fell back a reckless painful sob erupting from your lungs as with wavering fingers you massaged your sweaty forehead. The sheets under you drenched into sweat and hotness. Panic rising in your chest as your vision blurred with blackness so you dialed Harry's number immediately in the fear someone should be with you in case you faint.

"He—" He was cut off with your loud crying. The fork in his hand clanking against the sleek plate gaining everyone's attention. "'S okay. 'M comin'. I'll be there in no time love." He speaks hastily telling his bodyguard not to follow him with a gesture of his hand while striding to his car in big steps.

"Y/N. Darlin'? Yeh' there?" He asks you with his chest tightening with anxiety when the other end of line was dead as grave, "'m, i'm." Your breath spurts into coughs and Harry sighs sympathetically at your condition. It took him fifteen minutes to reach your hotel.

"Which room?" None of you noticed that the phone was still on line. You were half conscious cheeks soaked and smashed into silk pillow case. "Room number, sweets?" He asks you patiently running through different floors to take care of you as soon as possible.

"2-234.." You stutter. Harry halts in the middle of corridor snapping his head everywhere your room was three rooms away from him.

"Can yeh' stand up for me and unlock the door for meh? Can yeh do that sweet girl?" Harry's standing at your door and your sob muffles into your arm when you shake your head in denial. Luckily the door was unlocked.

"Stupid girl." Harry mutters under his breath pressing the red button when he finally tumbles inside your room. He wants to scold you for not caring for your safety when you're sick, fragile and barely able to stand up.

His heart grips into a knot when you turn to your side. The girl he was with last night long gone. Your lips blue and wobbling. Cheeks red and wet. Sweat sheening. Your body shaking. You could be barely seen from under the layers of blankets.

"Oh sweet girl. 'm so sorry." The mattress dips under his weight and he hovers over you taking you in his arms instantly. Squeezing you tight and warm, it feels good so you cuddles your face into the crook of his neck. He gasps when his hand glides down your back and finds it pooling with so much sweat, and you burning like sun outside.

"You're burnin' love." He says with wide eyes cautiously smoothing his hand at your back to make you feel better.

"It hurts, Harry." Harry pulls you from your shoulders rolling his thumb in the dips to massage them, "where?" Your chest rumbles with another whimper as you bolt your eyes shut.

"Everywhere."

He inquires further and you give a drowsy moan when he expertly massages your shoulders and arms, "did you take your medicine?" You nod at this head falling against his chest and if he wouldn't be so worried about your condition his tummy would've flipped so hard.

"And did yeh' ate somethin' befo' that?" When you shake your head in rejection he again pulls you back looking down at you in offend and shock.

"Y/N..." He warns you with a tough expression. Then he cups your cheeks making you look at him even though your eyes are closed he scolds you strictly, "Y/N you should be kind to yourself too."

"Now. 'M gonna take ye' to hospital." He announces and you squirm away from his grip shaking your head like a child. You hate hospitals.

"Y/N..don't be difficult darlin'." Only if he knew he has to deal with this his whole life. As you try to speak your words swallows back when he snakes his arms under your armpits making you stand up.

"No buts. Look at ye'. Yer condition will worsen if yeh' keep refusin' to go." With your whole weight over his side he makes you sit in the passenger seat, stroking your cheek with his knuckles giving you a reassuring smile and rounding to his driver side.

He keeps on checking you through the whole drive. You're still high on fever when he places his palm at the curve of your neck then at your forehead tsking when you moaned in pain, "'s gonna be alright." He rubs your knee trying to give you a smile through his own anxiousness.

They checks you in the ER. The doctor notes your symptoms on his notepad and Harry gazes you in full concentration sitting right beside you, he has your fingers laced with his's and he's continuously rubbing your back to provide you with any warmth.

"I've a very low immune system since I had a tonsillectomy when I was nine. Had an ice-cream last night and quite often I know I get sick in this season." You toy with his silver rings carelessly. Harry admires you. Dunno why. He just do. Because he thinks he might be falling for the way you talk, you behave and try to remain polite in every circumstances.

"Miss Y/N since you've your tonsils removed your coping mechanism from bacteias's less and you've caught a pneumonia." Your head immediately turns to look at Harry and when he sees that fear in your eyes he unwinds his hand from yours leaning to take your chin, "hey...hey lovie'. It's okay you'll heal in a week."

The doctor hands the prescription to Harry. The next thing he announces makes you sob like a five years old, "no. no. no." You shake your head shrinking back and Harry gives the doctor a sheepish akward smile stroking your hair.

Doctor sighs at your behaviour leaving at last, "the nurse will be here soon to give you injections."

Harry quickly stands up shutting the large curtain that's around the stretcher bed you both are sitting at as soon as he comes back you wrap your hands around his forearm. He hisses when you dig your nails to his flesh your tears dropping at his wrists.

"I don't like needles. I loathe them. They scare me." You sniffle and Harry ducks to your level metting your glossy gaze. He caress your head kissing your hair, "you're so brave. I know it. It would just be a pinch. Ye' can squeeze the fuck outta my hand if yeh want to." He has his fingers tucked under your earlobes as he again and again wipes your tears.

The nurse comes to you shutting the curtains behind her. She's old lady in age and observes the couple infront of her. Well, for her you both are looking like one.

You immediately move back to Harry's side as he's sitting now with his front infront of you, "scared of needles." Harry tells her timidly in a low voice puffing his cheeks a bit in gentility.

Harry saps his opal teeth into his lower lip when you wrapped your elbow around the nape of his neck bringing him down closer to you and your face shoved to his chest near his armpit. His other arm wrapping around your waist to flush you closer to him. He tries to drift your attention to himself whispering sweet nothings into your ear and the nurse awes applying alcohol where she has to inject the needle.

"'S okay. We're gonna get home after this, have some soup, will take a nap, watch some telly...." He smoothes his hand over your spine grasping it softly. You stiff in his genial hold twitching and hissing loudly when the needle was poked and pushed into your delicate skin. His white shirt's completely soaked into your tears now but he doesn't give two fucks.

"Just two more." The nurse mutters and you perk your head away from Harry's chest looking at her horrified, "two more!?" You squeak out hiccuping and Harry has to suppress his giggle at your expense from how adorable you look.

He again shoves your head back in his armpit muffling your huffing and tantrums. "Don't move darlin' don't wanna get yeh' hurt." His hold tight and firm.

"Hurts." You pout and Harry traces it stopping himself to just lean down and kiss it. Nurse left you guys to yourself and Harry breaths loudly grinning at you, patting his thighs standing up helping you too.

"Thank you, Harry." You crane your neck to see him properly rubbing your nose once Harry makes sure you're sitting in his car comfortably.

"No problem, love." He kisses your cheek making your lips quirk up for the first time.

***

You're sitting crossed legs on the twin sized bed of your hotel room. Harry takes a quick glance of you pouring soup into some bowl. Your temperature a little bit coming back to normal, sweat still there as you rests your head back at the board of bed. You're room's nothing sort of luxurious it's dinky and compact.

"Here love." Harry hands you the soup making sure to be careful that you don't get burnt and you takes it from him with a series of appreciation.

"Feelin' better now?" He asks you rubbing your ankles as you places your feet in his lap. Blowing onto your soup and he does the same shoving spoonful in his mouth.

"Way better. Felt like dying honestly." Harry couldn't imagine how bad your condition was he saw it himself and he gives you a weak smile, his man-bun getting loose now.

"Where are your friends? they should have known that you weren't feeling well."

"They asked me but—" Harry's low voice cut you off. In just a day he got to know what your nature's like.

"But you didn't wanted to spoil their fun." You roll your eyes playfully wiggling your toes in his lap to tickle his tummy but he catches them making you squeal through sore throat.

He giggles when you slurp purposedly attaching your lips to the rim of your bowl. Once you're full he places your medicine in your palm and when you makes an icky face he gives you a stern gaze, "uh-huh. Take 'em."

When you swallow the bitter medicines down with a huge gulp of water he pats your head, "good girl." He puts the glass at nightstand. Caressing your jaw, "wanna take a nap?" You nod.

"W-would you lay down with me, ...'s just my body aches and—" You tried to explain without letting heat to creep at your cheeks. He bobs his head furiously more than okay to fulfil your wish.

Without any word he shifts gently to your side getting rid of the hair band that was trapping his long curls into a bun, squeezing into twin sized bed with you, "sorry." he quips when you hiss at his cold bare feet touching your warm ones.

"It's okay." You smile up at him moving closer to him. Sheets rustling underneath as you rests your head over his sprawled forearm. Your bodies reacting automatically like one of soulmates when your knee nudged his legs and he parted them so that you could place your sore one in between them. You molded into him like a piece of puzzle, that was just meant to fill the part of him that was scraped out because of his fate leaving him shallow and empty.

"Sorry for ruining your day." You mumble into his neck fingers brushing the baby curls at the nape of his neck. He shakes his head running his thumb in circles under your hair that were sticking to your neck, "No, thank you fo' makin' my day better. 'M havin' fun babying you." You titters at this and he sighs. There's calm. Heart beats in sync. Yours was racing moments ago. You're tangled into eachother's embrace and he pulls thin blanket ontop of both of you.

You purr wishing he could be always with you at how he's a walking talking heater, "you're warm." Harry senses come to a pause at the kitten voice you just let out snuggling into him deeper and exhaling the breath he was holding in. He melts into you kissing your forehead and petting your cheeks.

"Sleep sweet girl." His breathing lulls you to deep slumber.

***

It's late in night. Harry squints his eyes to street lights coming from the balcony window. He groans and when pushes his face away from you, a huge lovesick smile dances at his lips. He slept so good after so long. Your warmth and sweet flesh pressed into him made him drift to sleep so quick.

He brushes your loose hair back, adorning every feature of you. Fever making you look more glowy and swelly. Then when he leans to kiss your forehead he hears the quite whimper escaping from your lips.

He places his hand at your neck to check and you're again burning. Sighing he wakes you up by smoothing his hands down your arm, stroking your hair gently and tapping your cheek with his two fingers.

You're murmuring weepily in your sleep. "Wake up y/n. It's time for your second dose." He keeps his voice slow not to startle you and your eyelids fluttered taking it's time to absorb his presence.

You shift back against the headrest. He brings the glass closer to your lips after giving you medicine. One hand on your head other making you sip water.

"W-wanna go home. Home Harry." You say in your breaths hiccuping and Harry feels so helpless. He tries to calm you down in every way possible.

He knows you're not talking about going back to London. Your talking about your actual homeplace. Then it hits him, that you're both missing that feeling. Even though you're bubbly, happy and cheerful girl you still miss home as Harry does too. You're perfect for eachother.

He takes you in his arms bringing you back to bed. You hug him close to your heart tearing in his embrace, soft whimpers in his ears that's a knife to his stomach. He pecks the side of your head multiple times.

"Home." You sniff eyes dropping. Harry messages your scalp. Your body moving up and down as he breaths. Your continuous blabbering of 'home' dulls to your sleeping breath and Harry's own eyes craved for more drowsiness with you.

He bolts his eyes shut when his phone vibrates under him. "What!?" He spats whisper yelling, you still over him. He doesn't want to disturb you by any means. Not when you're sick and went back to sleep with so much difficulty.

"'M not coming." He declares dryly as his manager tries his best to coax him back to whatever place they want him asap.

He throws his phone onto sheets cuddling back into you, letting your scent to consume him fully. His heart prancing at the thought of serenity he'll feel while sleeping else it's just jolts of anxiety.

***

Next morning your arms were holding onto nothing, there's no shoulder on which you were crying earlier. The room's dull and sheets cold. Sun refused to outshine for today it didn't got any emarld to beam at.

"Harry...?" You whisper innocently rubbing sleepiness from your eyes and when the silence laughed back at your face you sigh sadly.

You knew from the very start that his presence was just a mere touch of heaven and it's not his fault that you never got to complete dive into him.

It's just you and your homesick soul staring blankly at the flower wallpaper. His soft, giddy vanilla smell hugging you from every side. Consuming your body and you didn't realized you'll miss him until now.

Maybe, you and your love was contagious to him.

.

𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 a 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞!!! Don't forget to give your feedbacks.

#harry style imagines #harry fanfic #harry angst #solo harry #harry x y/n #harry x reader #cute harry #harry styles fluff #harry styles blurb #harrystyles smut #dirty oneshots #harry smut #romantic harry #dadharrynation #dad harry styles #harry dirty #hsh #harry styles fanfiction #harry harry solo #harry styles #fluff #harry styles smut #harry fluff #young and beautiful #dark academic aesthetic #harry alternative universe

[feynites]

*sneaks this into @justanartsysideblog‘s bag*

Their first attempt at becoming parents does not go well.

 Werewolves, as it happens, are somewhat prone to miscarriages, and to multiple births. No one is entirely sure why. In part because they’re mostly a secret society, and not prone to letting doctors and scientists poke and prod at them. There are some experts within the community, of course. Sympathy is a doctor and also a magical healer by trade, and so is Lensa, and Olwyn herself knows a good deal of first aid and has taken some online medical courses. But their facilities are pretty limited, and without exposure - which carry its own host of dangers and likely destruction - there’s only so much they can do.

 Still, when Olwyn finds out that she’s pregnant, they celebrate. With sparkling apple juice, and friends who pretend that they’re getting drunk on it anyway, and an impromptu sort-of-baby-shower that features a lot of unsolicited (but mostly fun) advice, and a whole lot of speculation. Marassal, eager soul that he is, is the first one to turn up with baby gifts - three sets of adorable footie pyjamas, in different patterns, all soft and small enough for a newborn. But he isn’t the only one to turn up at the apartment complex. Especially considering most of the pack lives there. In the span of the first month, they are given baby booties and blankets, toys and supply kits, and Beauty and Sym even come by to help paint the nursery room.

 And then…

 Well.

 Olwyn wakes up bleeding in the night. Trying not to panic, but somehow they both just know what’s happened even before Kel carries her out to the car, and gets her to the clinic.

 She tries to be objective about it. And, mostly, she finds that she can succeed. There are so many ways in which the process can go wrong. So many factors outside of their control. She tries to think of it as a false start, for her own sake, but Olwyn takes it harder. Blames herself, even when she knows that she shouldn’t - even when she tries to act like she doesn’t. Kel can see it, can hear it in the way she cries and struggles with it, and burns the bedsheets she bled on, and can’t go into the nursery for the first few days afterwards.

 Kel holds her, and tries to offer comfort. But sometimes there’s nothing for it, except to be there, and to share the grief.

 Even that is subject to Olwyn’s capacity for guilt, though.

 “I know it doesn’t… that I’m, I’m focusing too much on…” she tries to offer, one evening. After another night of crying, and Kel getting them both up and making them tea. Her wife’s hands curl around her favourite mug, soaking in the warmth. But she doesn’t sip it. Just sits and stares at the cracks in the old tabletop.

 Kel reaches over and steals one of her hands from the mug. Threading their fingers together.

 “It matters,” she says. “You’re allowed to focus on it, Vhenan.”

 Olwyn closes her eyes, and lets out a long breath.

 “You don’t,” she says.

 That stings.

 “Of course I do,” Kel replies, unable to hide it. But Olwyn shakes her head, then, in wordless apology.

 “No, not like that. Not like you don’t care. I just mean… you’re not fixating on…”

 Ah.

 Well, that’s true, too. She can admit.

 “It’s easier for me, on that front,” she says. “It happened to both of us, in a way, but in a more physical sense it happened to you. I was on the outside. So, I can be the one who looks at the practical things right now. And you can take your time. It’s alright, love, it really is.”

 Olwyn closes her eyes, and lets out a long breath.

 “You want to try again,” she says, with certainty.

 Kel doesn’t deny it.

 But…

 “There are a lot of ways to have children,” she says. “I’m good with all of them, to be honest. And I’m not in a hurry. If it doesn’t happen, then it doesn’t happen. Life’s still good. I’m not going anywhere, Olwyn. Even if you don’t want to try again - then we won’t, and we’ll live.”

 That gets her a surprised look. Which might sting a little too, except that Kel knows how hard it is to get over the idea that the people you love will leave you. That at the first sign of trouble or failure, the first ounce of suffering, they’ll decide you’re not worth it anymore, and then just cut themselves free. Olwyn’s fingers tighten around her own. She tugs, a little, and after a moment Kel goes. Standing up from her chair, and settling in front of her wife’s. She wraps her arms around her, and sinks into a long, slow kiss. The full moon is a few nights away, and usually when it is things start heating up between them. But not this month. This month everything is slow and steady, soft and careful. The both of them handling one another with a keen awareness for the fragility of everything.

 “It’s the curse,” Olwyn murmurs, before closing her own arms more tightly around her.

 Kel sighs, and squeezes her back.

 “Maybe. Or maybe this is just a bad thing that happens to a lot of people, for no good reason,” she counters. “Either way, it’s not your fault.”

 And that is the mantra for the next while, too. Not your fault.

 Sometimes Kel wonders if it’s hers, instead. Something she did or didn’t do. Something she could have noticed. Maybe she should have argued more, when Olwyn offered to be the one to carry their child. Maybe that would have been wiser or more practical. But at the time, her wife’s enthusiasm had been infectious, and Kel wasn’t really all that enamored with the concept of pregnancy.

 She thinks on it more, though. Through the full moon and the end of the month, through the pack meetings, and into the next, and so on. Gradually, things begin to regain their equilibrium. They sort of have to, she supposes - life doesn’t actually pause for grief or trauma, and both of them are trying to get back to it anyway. Their love life starts to heat up again. On their anniversary, Kel scoops her wife up into her arms, and carries her much more happily. Carting her off to bed after a long and romantic dinner; taking her time to pull off Olwyn’s jewellery, and free her hair from the fancy braids she wove it into.

 And Olwyn slides her hands up Kel’s dress, and hums as she unhooks her bra, and cups her breasts. The full moon is on its way again, and it shows in the way Olwyn shivers more at her touch. Pressing in closer, nipping with her kisses, and letting off a few soft growls of frustration whenever their clothing impedes them. Kel teases her, drawing it out. She pins her to the bed, and trails her lips down the sensitive side of her neck. Lets her touch linger at Olwyn’s hips, and knees, and leaves her in her dress even as she gets a thigh between her legs, and watches her breasts escape the flimsy straps of her top.

 “You look good enough to eat,” she declares.

 Olwyn huffs, and then twists her position enough that she can wrap her legs around Kel, and squeeze her close.

 “Then get a move on, before I flip us over and take care of this myself,” she replies, tauntingly.

 Kel laughs.

 “My pleasure.”

 She migrates her way down with kisses, even so. Letting Olwyn’s breasts stay in her bra, because it’s a pretty one and they look good in it. She pauses at her navel, and dips her tongue into it, first. Before she finishes unzipping the dress, and lets go of Olwyn enough so that she can pull it away. Then Kel takes a moment to admire her matching set of panties. Blue and lace and lovely next to the soft spray of freckles on Olwyn’s thighs. Those, of course, need kissing, which she indulges in, until Olwyn’s hips are twisting and her fingers and pressing very pointedly against the skin behind her ears. Hurry up, the gestures say.

 Kel toys with the band of Olwyn’s panties, but in the end, her first move is to press her mouth to them, and leave them on as she drags her tongue along the smooth center of the fabric.

 Already damp, and the scent of arousal is very strong.

 “Delicious,” she hums.

 Olwyn pinches one of her ears. The moonlight spills into the bedroom, but the heat that’s building up inside of her feels too fiery for it. It looks good on the two of them, though. Landing gently on Olwyn’s curves, and catching on the shine of her lips as she opens her mouth. But whatever she had been planning on saying turns into a soft moan, as Kel presses her legs a bit further apart, and then sets upon the task of devouring her through her panties. Dragging her tongue in long, deep strokes, until the fabric is thoroughly askew, and she can’t resist the tantalizing offer of the heat beneath it.

 Then she pushes the fabric aside, and indulges her fingers and her tongue. Pausing only to look up and enjoy the view, to watch as Olwyn struggles her way out of her bra and cups her own breasts, and bites her lip, and rocks her hips into her licks and touches. Unhesitating in a way that makes something in Kel’s chest ease. An unspoken apprehension, built up from months of carefulness, that finally loosens its jaws.

 She even feels inspired enough to go and retrieve her favourite strap-on, leaving Olwyn perilously close to her edge as she casts her own dress aside, and shimmies her way into it.

 “This alright?” she checks.

 Olwyn looks at her, her gaze all fervent in desire, and then reaches over to grab the belt of her strap-on, and tug her closer.

 “Yes,” she says, emphatically. Before she flushes even more, at her own boldness, and bites her lip again.

 It makes Kel laugh with relief, and steal a kiss from her lips. Pressing close enough to feel Olwyn’s breasts against her own, to feel her pulse hammering, and breathe in the send of her. Then she lines them up, and her wife grips her biceps tight, and lets out a low moan at the inward press of the strap-on.

 This particular toy isn’t two-way, but it still presses pleasantly on Kel’s own parts at the briefest bit of pressure. It means that she has to make fairly deep strokes to get much stimulus on her own end, though, and she takes it careful at first. At least until Olwyn reaches down to her ass and grips her tighter, pulling her in abruptly enough that the both cry out at the sensations. Her nerves tingle and Olwyn’s eyes are yellow-bright in the moonlight, her teeth a little sharper than usual, the whole of her spread out in an invitation that hedges as close to a demand as she ever gets.

 Kel moves faster, then. Picking up the pace and giving in to temptation again, until she’s lifted Olwyn’s hips, and the bed is rocking in time with her thrusts. Each inward stroke tantalizes and teases her further. Drawing her perilously close to her own finish, by the time Olwyn arches and then stiffens in a very distinctive way.

 She has to stop herself from carrying on, then. Mindful of the sensitivity of the aftermath. He chest heaves with her own breaths, but while she thinks Olwyn is still coming down from her own heights, her wife pulls her down for another kiss, and then very pointedly does roll them over. Closing one hand over the strap-on, still slick from being inside of her, and pressing it down, before she undoes the belt. And then she takes it off of Kel, and turns it in her grasp. Sending her a questioning look, as she lines it up with Kel’s own entrance.

 “My turn?” she suggests. Her voice sounds shaky, and the light in her eyes is bright enough that if Kel didn’t know any better, she’d think it was the full moon.

 She stretches her arms up, and spreads her legs wider in invitation.

 “If you want-”

 Her acceptance barely gets any further before her breath catches, then. As Olwyn presses her thumb to her clit, and starts to work the slick toy into her own entrance. She doesn’t put it on, not this time. Instead she just uses it by hand, making shallow strokes and rubbing firm circles against her, mindful enough of her nails that she switches to her knuckle after a moment, but this evening she doesn’t need to take them off, as Kel is close enough already. A few more strokes and she comes, calling for Olwyn.

 Who answers it by climbing back up onto the bed. Her limbs a bit shaky, her grip possessive as she wraps her arms around Kel. But Kel can’t claim the high ground on that, as she clutches her back just as fervently - and with no moonlight to blame for the covetous note in her murmured affections.

 All in all, a pretty normal anniversary for them.

 A few nights later, she wakes up with Olwyn’s head on her chest. Fingers idly tracing patterns over the bedspread. When Kel starts carding her own through her wife’s hair, she glances up at her.

 “Sorry. Did I wake you?” she asks.

 “Maybe. S’alright,” Kel replies, because it is, and she likes the way Olwyn smells when she’s halfway asleep. Likes the way she feels when she’s relaxed and easy against her. She presses a kiss to the top of her head - and mostly gets hair, but who’s counting - and eases into the rhythm of both of their breaths. Almost slipping away again, before Olwyn speaks.

 “I want to try again,” she says.

 Kel’s brain takes a minute to catch up with her, and she finds herself murmuring in reflexive agreement - of course, dear, if you want to - before the real meaning hits her. It wakes her up more, and has her sitting up against the pillows. Olwyn shifts so she’s beside her, and they can look at one another.

 “You’re sure?” Kel asks. Because, whilst Olwyn is not a doormat, she is an exceedingly generous person. And generous people need to be given the space to not be, when it’s needed.

 There’s no furrow to Olwyn’s brow, however. Just a steady - and very awake - sort of contemplation in her gaze.

 “I do,” she affirms. “But I… I’m not sure if… well. If it went wrong again, I don’t think know if I’d be able to try even more. Maybe, but… I’m just, I know I want to. I think I knew I would want to even before, but I just couldn’t let myself. It felt too much like I was just casting aside…”

 She trails off.

 Kel gets it, though. She brushes some strands away from Olwyn’s face, and then cups her cheeks in her hands, before pulling her close again.

 “We’ll talk specifics in the morning. It’ll be okay,” she promises.

 They don’t decide it that night, or even the next few days. But that’s the start of how Kel ends up on the ‘receiving’ end of the ritual, this time. An old elven one, which is neither as sexy as one might hope, nor as invasive as one might fear. It takes them a few tries, another six months in fact, but just when they’re starting to consider that the process might not actually work on Kel for some reason, she takes one of her scheduled tests and sees the blue lines come back positive.

 It fills her with more feelings than she can readily describe. Trepidation not the least among them - and that makes her wonder if they shouldn’t have maybe looked at other options more thoroughly. Though most, of course, were further complicated by the whole ‘werewolf’ thing. Adoption was especially tricky when you knew that any kid you took in was essentially being brought into that, on top of everything else.

 Though, of course, a baby being born into it probably isn’t much better.

 But then she takes a few breaths, and lingers in the bathroom for several minutes. Reminding herself that they’ve been over that. And that there really isn’t much problem with the whole werewolf thing.

 It’s been a while since surreal turn of her life has caught her off-guard. But it strikes her again, as she stares at the positive test. She was just… normal. All her life, just a normal elf. And now she’s married to a werewolf, and it turns out magic is more than she ever might have imagined. And she’s in love and she’s going to have to go on maternity leave and there is a person growing inside of her, which was dizzying enough when… when it was Olwyn. But there’s an added layer of strangeness to the experience, when it’s her own body that’s going to grow and change and… and hopefully accommodate what’s going on inside.

 Creators, she hopes it doesn’t… doesn’t go wrong.

 She’s not the praying type. But she maybe manages a few, just on the off-chance anyone is listening, before she leaves the bathroom. Olwyn knows when she’s testing. They have an agreement that she’s not supposed to wait, because when she sits and waits she gets worked up and over-thinks everything and worries if it takes too long. So she’s on the couch, in front of their television set, pretending that she’s watching House Hunters and not the clock next to it.

 But there’s really nothing for the look in her eyes, when she turns and stares at Kel, and the test in hand.

 Normally Kel just throws them out, when they’re negatives. Comes back out empty-handed.

 This one, she holds up.

 What should she say? ‘Surprise’ doesn’t really seem accurate or appropriate, and ‘congratulations’ seems weird when they’re both going to be celebrating the news.

 “It, um… it took,” she says, and then almost smacks herself in the forehead, because what the hell, that’s the probably the least romantic or enthusiastic or happy way to deliver the news. Which is, indeed, happy news.

 But Olwyn doesn’t seem terrible bothered, as her eyes go wide, and she shoots up from the couch like a rocket.

 “Really?!” she exclaims.

 Kel nods, rapidly, a few times. And then Olwyn reminds her that werewolves are fast, as she’s barely opened her mouth to attempt some slightly less awkward commentary before there are arms around her. Squeezing her tight - though only on the backs of her shoulders, she notes - as Olwyn makes a sound of incoherent joy, and then spins them both around.

 “It worked!” she exclaims. “It worked, it worked!”

 A laugh, equal parts delighted and nervous, bubbles out of Kel.

 “According to the test, anyway,” she says.

 “We have to go to the clinic,” Olwyn decides, immediately.

 And even though Kel isn’t quite as convinced that an immediate visit is called for, she gives in. Sym is on duty, and he takes the time to do a basic check-up, as well as pretty much just confirming what the test told her. It’s early days, yet, for anything more extensive. At Olwyn’s behest he does an ultrasound, too, but even that can only just confirm that there’s a speck of something in there, and not really give much more information either way.

 They do things differently this time, though. Telling everyone right away had also meant that everyone knew when they’d lost their first attempt, too, and that had stung throughout the community. And Kel’s pretty sure it had made Olwyn feel even worse in the end, too. Like she’s somehow let people down, in addition to losing the pregnancy.

 So this time, they don’t have to debate much to agree that they’re going to take a different approach. They keep it just between the two of them, and Sympathy, and Lensa, for the start. Kel goes into the nursery to take stock of what all they have again, though. And Olwyn ventures in too, though they don’t really talk about it. She runs her hand across the side of the crib, and dusts everything, and gets new curtains for the windows.

 The nursery looks out over the small, square park behind the housing block; and staring straight out gives a view of the forests, in the distance, rather than the city skyscrapers.

 If Kel starts acquiring a few more charms for good fortune and health, and happens to leave them on the nursery windowsill, Olwyn doesn’t bring it up, either.

 The first trimester is mostly marked by a lot of nausea. Pregnancy is uncomfortable, Kel finds. She throws up a lot more, and becomes infinitely more neurotic about her food. And not even in the ‘weird cravings’ sense that she’s expected - though she does find herself suddenly wanting to eat things like liver and curry and blackberries, that she’d never been entirely keen on before. Those aren’t weird foods, though, and the biggest shift is that she starts getting more particular about what she has with what. Suddenly fruit with cereal is unappealing - it has to be fruit or cereal. And meat she just wants on its own as often as not, too. Her normal breakfast-lunch-dinner habits break down into something more like six smaller meals a day,

 She throws up in the evenings pretty often, too, though not with enough regularity to cause concern.

 Concern doesn’t really make itself known until she goes in for her first proper ultrasound, and a check-up that has been slightly bumped up because Olwyn is convinced that she’s vomiting more than she should be, and is worried about preeclampsia. The check of her blood pressure doesn’t turn up any major problems, though - which is a relief.

 But the ultrasound provides another explanation for Kel’s increased quality time with the porcelain throne.

 “Lupine fertility strikes again,” Lensa declares, as she moves the wand around Kel’s stomach, and gestures to the blurry and - to Kel, anyway - undecipherable shapes on it. She’s too busy trying to parse what’s on the screen to really register the comment’s implications, at first. Olwyn is quicker on the uptake, and squeezes Kel’s hand tightly as her lips part a little in surprised.

 “Two?” she says.

 Wait, two what?

 And then Kel remembers. Werewolves are known for complicated pregnancies, and for multiple births.

 “Twins?” she asks, as her eyes go wide.

 Lensa grins at them.

 “At least,” she declares. “It could be triplets, it’s a little early to be completely sure. But it’s definitely more than one.”

 Kel blinks.

 She feels weirdly faint, for a few moments.

 It’s strange, she supposes, because obviously on some level she knew it was a possibility. But they’d had to work so hard to get pregnant - Olwyn’s pregnancy hadn’t taken in a hurry, either, and while she knows there are people who’ve gone through a lot more, it still feels like it took a monument combination of luck and effort to get here. And now somehow it’s not even just one little baby, it’s two. Two people, growing inside of her. Depending entirely upon her actions to make it to birth, and then depending on her and Olwyn to survive once they’re here.

 Two.

 At least.

 “Kel?” Olwyn asks her, as she blinks some more. She moves closer, obviously concerned, and brushes a few fingers across her forehead. “Are you okay?”

 She considers that. Olwyn’s wanted kids and Kel has too, and as big as this is… well…

 “We got a bargain,” she finally says. “Two kids for one pregnancy. What a steal!”

 Olwyn lets out a breath, and Lensa snorts at her. Kel leans her head against her wife’s, and stares at the weird little screen blobs.

 She can do this.

 They can do this.

#kelwyn #citrus #fen'sulahn au #modern fen'sulahn au #werewolves au #jump forward #not sure if this is canon or not but hey #also maybe more to come? #x3

[foodieworldmelbourne]

'The big fella never stopped smiling': Jarrod Lyle's life celebrated at memorial

Updated September 27, 2018 21:03:52

Photo: Lyle died last month at the age of 36. (AAP: Paul Miller) Golfer Jarrod Lyle has been remembered as a man whose enthusiasm for life was infectious, and who faced the disease that would ultimately claim his life with courage. Hundreds of people, including Victorian Premier Daniel Andrews, turned out for Lyle's memorial service at The Sands golf club in Torquay, where Lyle spent the last years of his life. The golfer died last month at the age of 36 after a long battle with acute myeloid leukaemia. There was a no-ties policy at the memorial, with guests asked to dress casually and wear a splash of yellow. Lyle's friend Ian Bull told guests Lyle had wanted the service to be a celebration of his life. "He did not want those who attended his funeral to be too morbid or too sad," Mr Bull said.

Photo: Ian Bull said Lyle's enthusiasm for life was infectious. (ABC News) Lyle had twice beaten cancer in 1998 as a teenager and again in 2012, and Bull said his friend's ability to inspire others with the way he fought his disease was in many way what inspired him. "These were special qualities that he possessed, and why he was so loved, and why he was so admired. "Jarrod didn't just fight for himself, he fought for his family and for others, displaying unbelievable courage in everything that he did. "Jarrod's was a short life, a life full of many challenges, but a life nonetheless very well lived, despite the total unfairness of his recurring illness and the sadness that his own life journey only lasted 36 years. "Yes, Jarrod was a wonderfully gifted and talented golfer, but more importantly he was a wonderful young man, a courageous young man and a man who did not dwell on the unfairness of his own battles.

Photo: Lyle's family, including daughter Lusi, were "his world", close friend Gareth Scott said. (Supplied) "He faced life with great enthusiasm and positivity and his attitude to life was indeed infectious. "You couldn't help but be drawn to him. "Whatever he did in life, his big smile and all-too-familiar laugh went with him." David Rogers, the chief executive of cancer charity Challenge, paid tribute to Lyle's efforts in supporting people living with cancer and their families. "He would call many families living with cancer personally and listen to them, cry with them, laugh with them," he said. "He would send them gifts and he would cheer them up where he could." "I love you mate, and I hope you're swinging well up there." Professional golfer Robert Allenby described his close friend as a "true champion" who always put others first. "I don't think there's one person in this world, that has met or known Jarrod, and could ever say that he did not give back," he said. "He is and was the nicest, the most loving, the most caring. He always thought about everyone before he thought about himself." Mark Washington, from Shepparton Golf Club where Lyle learned to play, said even after he turned professional he always had time for junior golfers and other members of his first club. "He would stop and talk to the locals who encouraged him and played golf with him as a kid. He didn't forget where he came from," he said. Another friend, Gareth Scott, who had known Lyle since high school, served as his friend's caddy when he played in the 2013 Australian Masters, his first tournament in 20 months after a second bout with cancer. Mr Scott told of Lyle's nerves as the pair walked to the first tee on day one of the tournament. "Jarrod told me, and we all know he has some colourful language, he was absolutely shitting himself and wondered if he could even manage to hit the ball," Mr Scott said. "But we made the cut, and the rest is history."

Photo: The 2013 Australian Masters was the first tournament Lyle played after a 20-month absence due to illness. (AAP: Joe Sabljak) Mr Scott spoke of the time he and a group of old friends visited Lyle shortly before his death. "That Friday night we watched the footy, ate pizza, drank beer. The band was back together," he said. "The big fella never stopped smiling while we were there. "He was making one last effort to get up and about and his banter and sledging to all of us was as good as ever. "We ignored the elephant in the room as best we could, but we knew the end was near."

Photo: Gareth Scott had been close friends with Lyle since secondary school. Mr Scott said it was "gut-wrenching" to say goodbye to his friend on the Sunday morning, but Lyle sought to lighten the moment by telling one of the friends that when he died, he would sit on the edge of the friend's bed as a naked ghost for the rest of his life. "Ghosts are scary enough, but to have the big fella on your bed, and use your imagination, as a ghost, with no clothes on, that is the stuff of absolute nightmares," Mr Scott said. Mr Scott spoke of how important Lyle's wife Briony and daughters Lusi and Jemma were to him. "He wasn't a lovey dovey bloke, but by god he loved his girls he told me on plenty of occasions how much Bri, Lusi and Jemma meant to him. They were his world. "To you Bri, you are such a strong woman, and there is no way that he would have gotten this far if it wasn't for you and the girls, and I can say that because he told me that the last time I saw him.

Photo: Lyle told his friends his wife and daughters gave him the strength to fight his illness. (AAP: Julian Smith) "In the end mate, you were comfortable, and it was a merciful release. "You flew away knowing that you'd made the right decision and that your girls will be OK. "What a great time we had mate. I know you're still with us, but it was way too soon." Lyle's eldest Lusi, 6, shared some of her memories of her father. "When Daddy stayed at the Challenge house in Torquay, he let me paint his toenails all different colours," she said. "I will never forget that. "We will tell Jemma what a great dad she had. We all know he loved us with all of his heart." The memorial ended with Lusi and two-year-old Jemma each releasing a yellow balloon into the sky in a tribute to their father. Finally, the guests were encouraged to shout in unison the words Lyle had shouted when he hit a hole-in-one at the Phoenix Open in 2011: "You f*cking beauty!" Topics:sport,golf,cancer,diseases-and-disorders,health,death,community-and-society,torquay-3228,vic First posted September 27, 2018 16:53:04 http://www.abc.net.au/news/2018-09-27/jarrod-lyle-memorial-golfers-life-celebrated-after-cancer-battle/10310972

[funnythingshere0-blog]

'I'm playing on': Brave Neale Daniher continues incredible MND fight ahead of Big Freeze at the 'G 4

New Post has been published on https://funnythingshere.xyz/im-playing-on-brave-neale-daniher-continues-incredible-mnd-fight-ahead-of-big-freeze-at-the-g-4/

'I'm playing on': Brave Neale Daniher continues incredible MND fight ahead of Big Freeze at the 'G 4

A BRAVE Neale Daniher says he’s “playing on” as he continues his incredible fight against motor neurone disease (MND).

The former Essendon player and Melbourne coach is spearheading the fourth Big Freeze at the ‘G at the Queen’s Birthday clash between the Demons and Collingwood this Monday.

All 18 AFL coaches will head down the slide into the ice bath before the game in an incredible show of support for the infectiously positive – and still hilarious – Daniher.

The AFL 360 Ultimate Sporting Auction closes Monday at 4pm. See the unbelievable memorabilia available here – all money raised will go to Fight MND.

Round 12

“MND is a progressive disease, it takes things from you. All the things you love,” he told Fox Footy’s AFL 360.

“I love to run, I love to play golf, I love to play tennis. You can’t do that. You can’t drive. I can’t dress myself. I’m struggling to talk. And I miss that because Robbo, as you know, I’m a very funny guy! I’m hilarious.

“But there’s one thing it can’t take from me. MND takes everything from you except your last great freedom; and that’s your right to choose your attitude.

“You choose your own way. And my attitude is don’t give up, don’t give in. It can’t take that from you.”

TO DONATE SMS “FREEZE” TO 0429 000 333 OR HEAD TO FIGHTMND.ORG.AU

Daniher says he isn’t scared by the disease, which slowly paralyses the human body. AFL 360 co-host Mark Robinson said frankly to Daniher as he returned to the show, “I didn’t think I’d see you back here.”

An honest Daniher replied: “I’m realistic. This will probably be my last opportunity to talk. Next year, if I’m alive, I’ll be grunting, trying to grunt funny jokes.”

“If you dwell on what will eventuate, it can’t help. You’ve got the freedom to choose what you think, the freedom to choose your attitude, and I’ve got a positive attitude to focus on what I can do. And if I stay there, I’m OK.

LISTEN TO THE LATEST EPISODE OF THE FOX FOOTY PODCAST BELOW, OR TAP HERE TO SUBSCRIBE IN ITUNES

“But if I move away from that, and you do fall, we all fall for playing the victim, everyone’s a victim. Everyone has injustice in their life, bad luck. But if you stay there, you go nowhere.

“So I choose to think, what’s the opportunity, what can I do, what’s our next laugh? If you focus on that, you can get by.”

Fight MND campaigner Neale Daniher and Hawthorn coach Alistair Clarkson. Pic: Michael KleinSource: News Corp Australia

Well over 80,000 Fight MND beanies have already been sold this year, with his daughter Bec joining Daniher both in the campaign and on the show on Wednesday night.

“We’ve got a family philosophy – play on. Just play on,” Daniher said.

“In football, if you play on, something happens. If you go back, don’t play on, nothing happens. So we’re the same. We’ll play on, and we’ll keep playing on.

“I don’t know how many laughs I’ve got left, so I’m going to use them all up.”

Oh, and Daniher talked a little bit of footy too – and given he was the coach the last time the Demons made a Grand Final, he understands the excitement.

“I tell the Melbourne people, get excited, but let’s keep a lid on it,” he said.

LIVE Stream every match of every round of the 2018 Toyota AFL Premiership Season. SIGN UP NOW >

[afltickets]

PORT ADELAIDE POWER TICKETS: YOUR GATEWAY TO FOOTBALL

SECURE YOUR PORT ADELAIDE POWER TICKETS NOW!

Do you love the game of football? Port Adelaide Power tickets allow you to watch competition in a premiere league. See Australian football in person in 2017. Reserve your Port Adelaide Power tickets as early as possible this year. You won’t want to miss a second of the exciting action on the football field! Australian Football League games draw huge, delighted crowds. (No wonder Port Adelaide Power tickets sell quickly.)

THE THRILL OF WATCHING LIVE AFL GAMES

During their long history, Port Adelaide Power has achieved some memorable victories. The club began in 1870. With their good-lookingblack, white and teal uniforms, this team stands out during football matches. The club has attracted a growing number of fans. Many people seek Port Adelaide Power tickets to attend thrilling matches. Fans enjoy cheering when the Power dominate play on the football field. Would you like to join this audience? You’ll want to obtain your Port Adelaide Power tickets soon.

PORT ADELAIDE POWER TICKETS MATTER

Why do Port Adelaide Power tickets matter so much? These tickets enable you to watch some outstanding football play! Particularly if you value powerful football, you’ll enjoy supporting this popular AFL club. Port Adelaide Power ranked first in the Finals in 2004. Fans hope they’ll repeat this accomplishment someday. If the team performs at its best this year, you’ll want to reserve your Port Adelaide Power tickets very early. Ensure you obtain great seating to watch incredible Australian football. Celebrate some dynamic athletic feats on the field with your family or friends!

PORT ADELAIDE FOOTBALL CLUB VISITS CHINA

As an AFL football competitor, the Port Adelaide Football Club decided to broaden its ties with its growing number of fans in China during 2014. This decision probably also helped introduce many new enthusiasts to Australian Football League games. The City of Adelaide has become a sister city to three Chinese cities: Dalian, Chengdu and Qingdao. Now Port Adelaide Power enjoys support from many loyal fans on the Chinese mainland. Many Chinese-owned businesses root for the team’s success on the field! Some companies in China promote the exciting game of football! (This trend has also likely increased competition for tickets to attend Port Adelaide Power games at Australian stadiums.)

RESERVE YOUR PORT ADELAIDE POWER TICKETS TODAY

If you’d like to treat your close friends and family members to the memorable experience of attending Port Adelaide Power matches, you’ll want to reserve your seats as early as possible this year. Consider how much fun everyone will share rooting for this beloved team! The intense, infectious suspense of watching highly trained athletes expertly keep control of the ball on the playing field will delight, your family and friends. Share a memorable excursion to watch superb, determined game play. Order your Port Adelaide Power tickets right away. Attend live games and enjoy your Adelaide Power tickets to the max!

The team at Ticketblaster has been involved in AFL tickets for almost 15 years. Our Australian based customer service team is here to help you 24/7.We have a large range of AFL Footy Tickets available for purchase. Ticketblaster supplies many supporters with Medallion Club AFL Tickets. In addition, we sell tickets all AFL venues. A few of those venues include: Adelaide Oval AFL Tickets, Etihad Stadium AFL Tickets, MCG AFL Tickets, SCG AFL Tickets, The Gabba, Blundstone Arena AFL Tickets, Domain Stadium AFL Tickets, Metricon Stadium AFL Tickets, Spotless Stadium AFL Tickets, Kardinia Park AFL Tickets, Subiaco Oval AFL Tickets and more!

Ticketblaster supplies AFL tickets to all rounds and teams. We have the following tickets:

Adelaide Crows Tickets

Brisbane Lions Tickets

Carlton Blues Tickets

Collingwood Magpies Tickets

Essendon Bombers Tickets

Fremantle Dockers Tickets

Geelong Cats Tickets

Gold Coast Suns Tickets

GWS Tickets

Hawthorn Hawks Tickets

Melbourne Demons Tickets

North Melbourne Kangaroos Tickets

Port Adelaide Power Tickets

Richmond Tigers Tickets

St Kilda Saints Tickets

Sydney Swans Tickets

West Coast Eagles Tickets

Western Bulldogs Tickets

#AFL tickets #AFL Footy Tickets #Medallion Club AFL Tickets #Adelaide Oval AFL Tickets #Etihad Stadium AFL Tickets #MCG AFL Tickets #SCG AFL Tickets #The Gabba #AAMI Stadium #Skilled Stadium #Manuka Oval #Aurora Stadium

[footyplusau]

Tiger Dylan Grimes part of vintage crop

Dylan Grimes is a good footballer. He is also a very good wine-maker, the owner of a vineyard that makes very good wines. Unlike other footballers about whom the cliche is applied, he actually does have something worth bottling.

Grimes is a vigneron. To our knowledge, he is the only one in the AFL. Last October, he bought Mount Macedon Winery. 

Taste test: Tiger Dylan Grimes at Mount Macedon Winery, which he purchased last year.  Photo: Chris Hopkins

Grimes loves wine, its complexity and nuance and how subtle changes can have a significant impact on the quality from the same grapes vintage to vintage, but he didn’t set out to buy a winery. It wasn’t about the wine. He and partner Elisha were hunting for the right rural property close to Melbourne that they could operate for weddings, receptions and corporate functions.

It was about lifestyle more than wine. Elisha was in wedding management at wineries in the Yarra Valley and Dylan came off a hobby farm at Panton Hill at the base of Kinglake mountain in the north-eastern part of the Yarra Valley when he stepped into football at Richmond. They wanted to have the lifestyle shift to the country and run a business.

Dylan Grimes with teammate Connor Menadue. Photo: Getty Images

The winery sits at the base of Mount Macedon on slopes that sweep down to state forest. The winery is now named after the mountain it nuzzles up to but when it was first bought and planted out it was owned by the singer Olivia Newton John for her Koala Blue label. The label went bust in 1991.

The winery changed hands a few times and one of the owners ripped out acres of ill-suited grape varieties and concentrated on pinot noir and chardonnay. Both are extremely good (well you can’t guess at these things, it’s best to be thorough in your research).

“We knew from the start it was very much a lifestyle choice. I come home all the time and I am in the paddock and it doesn’t feel like work. We are lucky to find something we both love and can work on together as well,” he said.

Get the latest news and updates emailed straight to your inbox.

“We were looking for all different types of farms and originally this place had 20 acres of vineyards, now it has about six-and-a-half. The vines that were left were the original lot that was planted in 1989, so this was by far the better block and they kept these and pulled out the others. The irrigation and stuff is  there so we will look to replant them in the long term, but with more pinot probably.”

Grimes talks about the vineyard with infectious enthusiasm. They started small in October, just planning to get things right for weddings, but then a connection with Matt Harrop at Shadowfax had them bottling their own wine (the pinot will be under their label, the chardonnay has been sold under Shadowfax). They reopened the cellar door which had been closed for six years and now they are busy every weekend with lunches, wine sales and weddings. The property runs Black Angus cattle, poultry and has a herb garden to supply the cellar door restaurant.

Dylan splits his time between the vineyard and the city. When he is training and playing, he stays in Richmond with his brother Jack who recently retired after captaining Melbourne for a period.

The work on the vines and the paddocks draws him out constantly. The summer was hard. Pre-season is difficult and around that he was trying to renovate the cellar door facility and work in the vineyard. Having cracked into the work from the moment they settled, he arrived back for pre-season training the only Richmond player to have lower fat levels than when he left.

“I have never been happier. The first few months were challenging, pre-seasons are hard and I am tired and you come back here and work and often there are long days at the club as well.”

As a vineyard owner, and producer of his own wine, he understands about balance. About getting conditions right to produce something special. His football club has done something similar this year in finally getting its balance right. Certainly in defence, where Grimes plays, they have.

After a run of seasons regularly interrupted by injuries, Dylan is playing the best and most consistent football of his career. Whether it is a cause or effect of getting the balance right in his life away from the game, being so occupied and stimulated is academic but he suspects that it is so.

“Whether there is a link I am not sure, I strongly believe players who have a balanced lifestyle play their best footy. I guess at the moment I am finding that balance,” he said.

The balance is there on the field most notably in the trio of tall defenders at Richmond who bring the best out of each other. Alex Rance is popularly accepted to be the best defender in the game. Grimes and David Astbury are important in allowing him to be as good as he is. And in turn Rance’s game elevates Astbury’s, Astbury’s complements Grimes’.

“The bond that Alex, Dave and I have formed as a deep three defence has been huge. We invested a lot in playing together, our backline has been unchanged other than a few injuries with Reece Conca going down and Bachar out more recently, but there has not been much of a shake up to the backline which helps us so much because the more you play with them the better you are.

“We are all three very different players, Dave is an absolute brute, he is the typical fullback who can win the ball back for you and take those marks and Rancey is just a freak of nature the way he plays and then I try and fill the gaps in between if there is a small forward playing deeper I take him or try and leave my man a bit to chop them out.

“When the ball is going in and you see Rancey going one on one I can hedge my bets and know that he is probably going to win that contest and the same with Dave so that allows me to be slightly more attacking with my position but playing with someone you haven’t played with before you have to still stay on your man because you don’t now what the result of the contest is going to be.”

The effect is Richmond are among the best defensive teams in the competition. They rank first for keeping opposition side from converting times inside their forward zone to a score or a goal. They have conceded the second lowest number of points of any side.

They are the best team for a turnover in defence not resulting in a goal, and third fewest score from clearances at stoppages.

All of this is relevant because of the last 12 premiers, nine have been ranked in the top three for defence. Presently Richmond sit second.

Like a good wine, depth is found when everything is in balance.

The post Tiger Dylan Grimes part of vintage crop appeared first on Footy Plus.

from Footy Plus http://ift.tt/2u0s8dU via http://footyplus.net

#Footy Plus

[wavenetinfo]

Posted June 04, 2017 05:19:23

Photo: Rebel Wilson’s mother has declared in public she is a ‘bogan’ — in the Supreme Court of Victoria, no less. (AAP: Mal Fairclough)

There was a time when it was a vicious insult to call someone a bogan, but latterly it’s become just as common, if not more so, for people to self-identify as bogan, and do so with upturned faces and swelling chests.

Indeed, bogan pride made headlines this week when the mother of Australian actor and comedian Rebel Wilson declared herself to be a bogan in court.

“I accept I’m a bogan. I live in the western suburbs of Sydney,” Sue Bownds told the Supreme Court of Victoria.

(Ms Wilson is suing magazine publisher Bauer Media for defamation after it published a series of articles that Ms Wilson claims lied about her age, real name and “bogan” upbringing.)

I was surprised by Bownds’s assertion, for two reasons.

First, because I myself grew up in the western suburbs of Sydney, and the kind of rough-and-ready, plain-spoken, pub-rock-loving, mullet-and-flanno-wearing salt of the earth that the word usually signifies was never known as a “bogan” — we were “westies”.

Second, because Rebel Wilson attended Tara Anglican Girls’ School, which is a school for bogans in much the same way that Cambridge University is a rural TAFE.

But what didn’t surprise me was that Sue Bownds was willing to declare her boganism in public. After all, she’s not the only to do so recently.

New Bachelorette Sophie Monk’s friends have affectionately declared her a bogan looking for bogan love, and when a Bachie goes bogan you know it’s mainstream.

And as one social researcher put it this week, Schapelle Corby’s “bogan element” has endeared her to Australians — and there’s no greater bogan trifecta than pot, Bali and boogie boards.

Perhaps Wilson’s own comedy television series Bogan Pride started the revolution — or would have if anyone had seen it. Whatever the origins, bogans have reclaimed the erstwhile slur and wear it as a badge of honour.

Still, this new paradigm has made the question of what bogans are, and what to do about them, even more complex.

What makes a bogan?

To define a bogan is not a simple task — like pornography, it’s more a case of knowing one when you see one. And also like pornography, you can find a lot of bogans in the pages of Picture magazine.

Photo: Bogan Pride: Did Rebel Wilson make boganism cool? (SBS TV: Bogan Pride)

This points to the essential element of the bogan character: they are not ashamed. Where others might see the comfort of Ugg boots or the infectious chorus of a Nickelback song as a guilty pleasure, the bogan sees only pleasure.

In this sense, the bogan represents humanity at its most authentic.

Although not existing in a state of nature in the material sense — preferring to surround themselves with concrete, cars and clotheslines — bogans possess a kind of innocent purity of the mind.

As Adam and Eve, prior to eating the fruit of knowledge, did not know they were naked, so bogans do not know that they are not supposed to wear stubbies to a funeral and frankly, that kind of lack of pretence is refreshing.

So then how do you spot a bogan in the wild?

The visual cues are obvious: the mullet, the Uggs.

But there’s more variety in Bogan fashion than is often assumed — the modern bogan’s tastes run the gamut, from desert boots to knock-off NBA tops, and shaved heads are if anything more prevalent than mullets nowadays.

And of course, bogans come in all genders; lady bogans are a lot less likely to sport the classic mullet, and a lot more likely to be wearing enormous sunglasses or leggings.

Photo: The foxy lady bogans of Fountain Lakes, Kath, Kim and Sharon. (Supplied: Screen Australia)

Sometimes one can identify a bogan situationally: for example, a person spotted at a motor racing event is a bogan — and the fact you’re at the event means you’re one too.

It’s also likely that a person you encounter at an all-you-can-eat buffet restaurant is a bogan.

If you see someone drinking alcohol on the street in daylight, they may or may not be a bogan: if they threaten you with violence for looking at them, they are one.

That’s the key to spotting a bogan: attitude.

Overwhelming self-confidence, a resentment of authority and pretension, eagerness to engage strangers in conversation on a range of topics from football to panel-beating to those c***s at Centrelink (admittedly, a topic of conversation quite widespread among all sectors of society nowadays) — these are the hallmarks of the bogan.

The cashed-up bogan

Crucially, it should be noted that if socio-economic status were ever a reliable indicator of boganosity, this is no longer the case.

The cashed-up bogan has become so ubiquitous that it’s barely worth considering it a separate category anymore; CUBs now dominate our cultural landscape, from Our Rebel herself, to Eddie McGuire, to Kyle Sandilands.

And the prime ministership of Julia Gillard showed bogans are certainly not barred from the corridors of power.

Photo: When first approaching a bogan, use a neutral greeting such as ‘hello there’, or ‘what’s the score?’ (AAP: David Crosling)

But once you’ve spotted a bogan, how should you behave? First, take things slow. The bogan is a generally amiable individual, but also a wary one.

Years of snobbery and contempt from rich wankers and arty hipster co**spanks have made them suspicious of outsiders looking to make contact — any suggestion you might be about to look down your nose will cause the bogan to lash out, potentially leading to physical violence or having Bacardi tipped over your head.

Approach with caution and make no sudden movements; keep your hands visible at all times and accost the bogan with a neutral greeting such as “Hello there” or “What’s the score?”

The important thing is to reassure the bogan that you mean them no harm. If you can also offer them some Winnie Blues, all the better.

Bogans are just like you, just more honest and fun

Second, try to establish common ground. This isn’t anywhere near as difficult as you might think. Bogans are actually just like you and me, just more honest and fun.

Many non-bogans are also interested in automotive repair or football — though if discussing the latter it’s important to be aware of your surroundings.

In New South Wales and Queensland, talking about the footy with a bogan means rugby league. Elsewhere it means Australian rules. Get this wrong and the bogan will immediately identify you as an enemy and probably try to steal your girlfriend.

In a pinch, just chat about music — this is easy to do because everyone knows, deep in their hearts, that bogans have better taste in music than anyone.

The wonderful thing about chatting with a bogan is that you can relax and admit that Appetite For Destruction is your favourite album.

If you can successfully ingratiate yourself, you can experience the beautiful phenomenon that is bogan friendship — for nobody is more loyal than a bogan, nobody is more devoted, more willing to key the cars of those who do their friends wrong.

In time, you may learn just why bogan pride is so fierce, and why even the mothers of private school girls-turned-Hollywood stars would rather be bogans than anything else.

For in its bracing authenticity and joyful self-love, it could be that bogan life is the noblest life of all.

Topics:

popular-culture,

offbeat,

courts-and-trials,

national-days,

population-and-demographics,

australia

3 June 2017 | 7:19 pm

Ben Pobjie

Source : ABC News

>>>Click Here To View Original Press Release>>>

(adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || []).push({}); June 04, 2017 at 01:49AM