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HARRY STYLES Harry’s House | May 20

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The Making of Fine Line - A Timeline

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V: Pre-Battle Rounds // Coming Soon

Catch up here! 

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“I was trying to get him away from you and Harry,” she explained, setting the pitcher on the counter before opening the fridge in a huff.

“Yeah, that part was obvious,” you rolled your eyes and leaned your elbows on the counter, “I don’t know how to work a blender!” you mocked with a high pitched voice.

Cece slammed the fridge and glared.

“Oh yeah, go right ahead. Make fun of your best friend who’s just trying to save you from getting cockblocked.”

You snorted. 

“There’s no cock to be blocked,” you lied, fiddling with the cap on the bottle of Jose Cuervo and sliding it across the counter towards her.

“Sure, Jan.”

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Stage 12 

Harry x Reader OU 

In which Harry Styles is this season’s newest coach on The Voice and you’re currently the three-time reigning champion.

He’s aiming to dethrone you- both of you no strangers to friendly competition- however, he just might find himself fighting for something else along the way.

Prologue 

I: The Newbie 

II: Promo

III: The Hedge

IV: The Blind Auditions 

V: Pre-Battle Rounds // Coming Soon!

fic tag

faceclaim 

Extras: 

Hollywood Reporter: One Direction Reunion Coming to The Voice?

Harry’s GQ Cover 

[let me know if you want to be a part of the taglist!]

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Archie Yates as Yorki Jojo Rabbit 2019, dir. Taika Waititi 

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© 2019-2020 / AU / ENEMIES TO LOVERS / ON-GOING Fem!Reader x Harry     -     Total word count: 43.2k

BB ASKS | PLAYLIST | INSPIRATION TAG | WATTPAD

After your sister breaks both her legs in a climbing accident, you have to step in as a model in her absence. Instead of spending your summer getting ready for your last year of veterinary school, you are now set to spend time in Italy with a painter who has a bad reputation, a permanent frown, and an immense talent. Forced in each other’s company, neither think you could ever hate another person more. However, a whole month, Italian mountain air, summer, and art, might just be able to change your minds. Eventually.

I.

II.

III.

IV.

V. COMING SUNDAY 5 JANUARY

VI. COMING SUNDAY 19 JANUARY

VII. COMING SUNDAY 2 FEBRUARY

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falling is to harry styles what liability is to lorde

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Harry Styles - Falling

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the whiplash between treat people with kindness and fine line wowow

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From The Dining Table

13 Hours Later.

When she woke up, she was still alone.

Initially, she’d forgotten all about the night before. The first thing she noticed was the strange buzzing sound of the thermostat in the corner, which was obviously not working at all because the room was freezing. The chilly air nipped at her cheeks, and she snuggled further into the mattress as she tucked her head into the comforter with a soft whimper, trying to ignore the buzzing in her head.

Her eyes were still stinging from her tears the night before mixed with the lack of sleep. She’d managed to finally drift off at around four in the morning, but she couldn’t tell by the window whether it was eight in the morning or two in the afternoon.

Their screams from the night before still echoed in the walls.

She slid the covers off of her head and opened her eyes slowly, staring at the pale yellow motel ceiling. It was the color of Easter yellow, she’d decided, and it reminded her of chocolate and gardens and everything happy. It reminded her of some distant life where she probably would have done something to be proud of.

The ache in her chest resonated throughout her entire body, and her head was pounding to the rhythm of her heart—it was the only way she could be sure it was still beating.

She felt like someone had torn it out of her chest.

She turned onto her side and looked at the space in the bed beside her, clutching onto the soft material of the comforter until her knuckles turned white. Waking up on her own wasn’t new to her—she’d done it time and time again in the past two years, so much that she’d become numb to the loneliness that came with it. But this time was different…

This time, she knew he wasn’t coming back.

She suddenly felt a tear roll down her face, and just like that, she couldn’t get him out of her head.

He was everywhere.

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Make Tea, Not War.

If it weren’t for the sturdy construction of a late 2008 MacBook—yes, white (well, more like off-dingy-white) shell and all—and the soft, fluffy rug—a housewarming gift from your mother–that covered your hardwood floors, the computer would have been shattered when you vaulted from the couch after the article—sent from a friend that was in desperate need of a lesson in softening the blow–loaded on the screen. “Fuck!” you cursed, haphazardly picking your laptop up by the corner and tossing it on the sofa. “Shit, fuck!” Snatching your not-yet-empty wine glass from its perch, you stomped into your flat’s little kitchenette and uncorked the bottle of red while downing what remained in your glass. You poured and downed another. “Really?!” you screamed at the pocket pig calendar hanging opposite you, a bit of spittle and wine flying from your mouth. Poor Darius; he and his little cowboy hat didn’t deserve any of this. You tried to calm yourself, really you did, but after a few huffing breaths that were anything but calming, you gave up and grabbed the bottle of wine before heading back to the couch. Your phone was at your ear, number selected and dialed, before the blankets and pillows had even settled from the force of your entire body weight slamming dramatically into them. “Honey, are you alright?” Despite the hint of worry in her tone, your mum’s voice managed to calm you a bit; suddenly air wasn’t being forced in and out of your lungs as a more natural rhythm took hold. “No,” you answered tartly before taking another swig of wine. It was silent as you both waited for the other to speak. “Well are you going to tell me or can I get back to bed?” Mum was always impatient when it came close to bedtime; she was a solid eight-hour sleeper—nothing more and nothing less—and she coordinated her bedtime and wakeup time perfectly so she always got the right amount of sleep. “He’s…engaged,” you said bitterly, lips puckering around the words, a sour taste left in your mouth at the admission; it didn’t feel right coming off your tongue. And it wasn’t jealousy—or at least you didn’t want to admit it was—because you weren’t entirely sure that if He were replaced with We you would be left with the same sour feeling.

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i really thought i could make it to my 11:10 class after the tickets dropped. i am indeed a clown

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Tell me what you hate about me

Whatever it is, I'm sorry

I know I can be dramatic

But everybody said we had it

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if you’re a white man and you have lips i have feelings for you

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HEY did anyone ever figure out what “her light is as loud as as many ambulances as it takes to save a savior” meant or