#harry styles busker

[mochie85]

Her

One-Shot Masterlist Complete Masterlist

Summary: Loki becomes captivated by a mysterious woman he sees in a training program. A/N: Inspired by that one scene in 'The Matrix.' IYKYK. Also inspired by this post from @loopsisloops. As always, my ASKS and REQUESTS are open. Word Count: 2.7K Pairing: Loki x Female Reader Warnings: Fluff Dividers by: @firefly-graphics

Loki stood there, daggers out and shining under the artificial sun. His eyes were trained on the Chitauri soldier in front of him. Noting any weak points. Watching for any tells about his next move. He saw just a split second before the soldier moved his weight to his back foot and started to attack. Loki anticipated and blocked his attacking arm with his left and plunged a dagger onto the soldier’s other side.

The hologram disappeared. Making Loki stand back up in attention. “Good work Rudy,” Tony said through the loudspeaker in the room. Now let’s see how easily you get distracted.”

“Distraction? Do you honestly believe I have an attention span of a gnat? Please.” Loki countered. “I would have you know that I do not lose focus so easily.”

“We’ll see. Give me a second as I load the program.”

Up in the control room, Tony and some members of the team had been watching Loki’s progress through the monitors. They were evaluating whether he’d be beneficial to have on future missions. “What do you think, Point Break?” He asked Thor.

“Make it green,” Thor suggested on the color of the dress.

“I’m surprised you didn’t just program her to look like the Tesseract,” Nat said quietly in the corner, earning a laugh from Clint and Bruce.

“Ok, I’m loading the program. Don’t throw up.” Tony said on the mic.

“How very articulate you are Stark,” Loki sneered.

The team watched as the holographic room was transformed into the bustling terminal of Grand Central Station. Loki stood inside the room, marveling at Midgard’s form of magic. He noted the people everywhere. Arriving and departing, hugging family and friends. Buskers were playing to a small, gathered audience in the middle of the busy walkway, annoying Loki as he passed by.

Loki knew that he had to pass these tests. If he was found valuable, he could very well stay here on Earth and live out his sentence in servitude to these people. As opposed to the gilded cage his father had promised him down in the dungeons. At least here, he could use his seidr. And he would have more autonomy than he would have if he had stayed on Asgard.

A sudden flash of color grabbed his attention to the left. There were so many bodies and people that he had trouble seeing the complete figure. That was until they parted to let her through.

It was as if the sun decided to shine on only her that day. Her skin was luminous like fresh caramel. Her hair had waved and flowed freely down to her waist as she walked toward him. Her ample curves were accentuated and held tight by a green satin dress. Her full pink lips smiled as she made her way in his direction.

As she passed, she kept eye contact with him, making him turn to watch her leave. The hologram turned her head back towards him slightly, her smile growing even more as a blush entered her cheeks.

Loki was captivated. He watched her stroll past him and he couldn’t keep his eyes off of her. He knew this was a simulation. That she wasn’t real. But for a split second, a moment in time, her smile made him think otherwise. The moment she turned her head back around and kept walking, Loki turned away too.

Loki grunted when he was met by a sharp stab right into the heart. Done by none other than a hologram of himself.

Oh, the poetic justice.

“Very funny, Stark,” Loki yelled out. The world around him started to disappear. He was left in a vast white room with geometric shapes jutting from the ground and the wall to simulate real-world terrain.

“I’m glad you think so. You are right about one thing, you do have a longer attention span than a gnat, at least.” The doors of the training room opened to Loki. “Come on in, and we can discuss your evaluation.”

“Oh, I was so certain that he would not fall victim to her!” Thor said.

“Everyone falls victim to her,” Nat said still reading her magazine.

“Even you, Nat?” Steve asked. She just looked at him and gave him a half-smirk, pulling her magazine further up her face.

Later that night, after most of the compound’s occupants fell to sleep, Loki found himself in the hologram room again. He couldn’t stop thinking about the program. Is she truly artificial? Is she, perhaps, modeled after someone? Loki didn’t want to ask anybody. Especially Stark. It would make him more of an outcast in the group. And Stark would never quit his incessant teasing if he ever found out about this fixation.

“FRIDAY.”

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson.” The incorporeal voice answered.

“Can you load the program Stark ran earlier in my distraction training?”

“Certainly.”

“Please. Do not mention this to anyone. Especially, Stark.”

“I am inclined to tell him only if you have nefarious intent, Mr. Laufeyson.” The AI said. Wonderful, even the computer doesn’t trust me.

“I mean no harm, FRIDAY. I would just like to see the program again.”

“Certainly,” FRIDAY said as the walls around Loki vanished. Shapes melting into colors and angles of Grand Central Station. As before, there was a loud crowd walking and bustling around.

Loki made his way down the grand room slowly. Watching everyone that passed by with a keen eye. The families. The buskers. The lone people walking to and fro the hectic station.

Just like the last time, out of the corner of his eye came a glint of green. Loki took a deep breath and vowed not to get distracted this time. He looked around. Anywhere and everywhere but her. He anticipated his clone coming from somewhere to stab him as soon as he would turn around. So he was looking for himself.  

But there! In the corner of his eye, she walked straight toward him. Ever as radiant as the first time he saw her. Her skin glowed, showcasing the blush that radiated throughout her body. Her eyes held on to his, gleaming with excitement at seeing him again. At least, that’s how he wanted to interpret it.

She bit her voluptuous lip as she walked toward him. A smile waiting to come through. He couldn’t help but watch her again as she sauntered her way to him. Then passed him. And then away from him.

She turned her head around to keep eye contact with him. That smile finally broke through. He saw her eyes flicker to his left, just for a brief second.

He turned around and stabbed his computer counterpart before he could get to him. Then it disappeared.

Loki turned back around to see if she had gone. The hologram had just started to ascend the steps that would lead to the outside doors. He nodded his gratitude for the signal in telling him about the attack. She beamed and blushed even redder.

And just as soon as she walked into the holographic room, she easily walked out.

“FRIDAY, run that again, please,” Loki called out.

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson,” The computer obeyed.

“Um, FRIDAY? Are these sessions being recorded?” Loki asked rationally.

“Not unless you want me to, sir.”

“No. No. That’s quite all right. And please make sure that no one…”

“I won’t tell anyone, sir.”

“Thank you, FRIDAY. I’ll trust you then.” Loki said. He couldn’t be sure, but maybe he felt the room get slightly warmer. Is FRIDAY blushing?

Loki came back most nights to run the simulation. He asked FRIDAY if there was any way to stop the attack and just keep the program running.

“Unfortunately, sir, that’s how the program was meant to run. You can’t have one without the other,” The AI informed him.

“So be it,” Loki said begrudgingly. “Can you at least make the assailant someone other than me?”

“Certainly sir, who would you rather stab today?” FRIDAY asked pragmatically.

“Hmm. Stark took the last donut with green sprinkles earlier today. I was saving that for after dinner. Perhaps him, for now.” Loki felt petty. FRIDAY was hesitant but did manage to conjure up an image of their inventor.

The bright room turned hollow and dark as the images of Grand Central Station appeared. Instead of walking around, Loki decided to sit on one of the benches and wait for her arrival.

He timed, that at exactly two minutes and forty-three seconds was when the first flash of her dress would appear. At three minutes and four seconds, she would look up and make eye contact. She would continue to keep that contact until Loki’s assailant would come in. That would be around five minutes and twenty-eight seconds.

Most days it was a Chitauri soldier, coming to attack the poor humans of New York. Sometimes it would be whoever pissed off Loki that day. But he knew that in order to see her, he had to fight off whatever was going to attack him. Hence, he fought. Night after night. Sometimes multiple times a night just to see her walk past him.

The timer on his watch read five minutes and twenty seconds. Eight more seconds to go till his attacker would come out. Loki stood from the bench where he sat and blocked her exit. She held eye contact with him. That ‘Mona Lisa’ smile was about to break through.

“FRIDAY, pause the program, please,” Loki yelled out. FRIDAY obeyed. Freezing everything in the simulated world.

She was mid-stride. Her hair flowed down her back. Her green dress looked soft and inviting.  All Loki wanted to do was run his fingers down her cheek. He’s never even heard her talk.

“Is she modeled after someone, FRIDAY?” Loki asked circling her figure.

“She is modeled after <bzzt> no one, sir.” The AI answered. Loki narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

“Can she speak?”

“Not in this program, Mr. Laufeyson.” Loki’s eyes widened in surprise.

“She’s in other programs?”

“She is in about a dozen other programs.”

“Which ones does she speak in?”

“None of them, sir.”

“But you just said she speaks in other programs!” Loki grew agitated.

“I said ‘not in this program,’ sir. She doesn’t speak in any program.”

“Well then load something where I can hear her voice!”

“I <bzzt> can’t do that, sir.”

“Why the hell not?”

“It’s classified.”

“But if she has a voice. Then she’s based on someone?! Who, FRIDAY?”

“She is modeled after <bzzt> no one, sir. All files regarding her identity have been redacted.” FRIDAY answered.

“All right, well why is it classified? Can you at least tell me that?” Loki asked, hopefully. The mystery was eating up at him. Who was this woman who entranced him?

“Mr. Stark wanted to keep the identity a secret. There were competing conglomerates after this technology.” FRIDAY replied regrettably. “He was afraid that they might go after her and force her to develop another training module as they did with his ARC Reactor.”

Loki growled into the air. His frustration manifested into smoke all around him. For once, Loki agreed with the pompous billionaire. He wouldn’t want your safety in jeopardy over something so trivial as a computer program. But it made him so discouraged at ever finding who you were.

The program continued on, his assailant came up behind him and as Loki turned about-face, a hologram of himself stabbed him in the heart.

Loki groaned in disappointment and sighed. When am I ever going to stop sabotaging myself? He left the room not bothering to look back at her lonely figure, standing by the bench. Reaching out to him.

Loki hadn’t gone back to run the program in weeks. He accepted the fact that he was never going to find out who she was. He would have to scour the entire planet! You could be anywhere by now. He was resigned to just keeping her as a daydream that lives in his head. She’s not real. She couldn’t be real. And even if he were to find the actual person, how would they rate next to the idea that he has built up in his head?

But it was a futile endeavor – to not think about her. No matter how hard he tried. He kept finding himself in front of the holodeck door, wanting to go in. How could he have fallen for someone who wasn’t even real? An illusion. He felt like the fates were playing a cruel trick on him indeed.

The holodeck was still used for his training purposes. Loki got to witness other programs that she was a part of. She was always the first one that he sees. The one he looks for.

He once rescued her from a political kidnapping simulation. “Part of your negotiation training.” Steve had said to Loki. She clung to him with tears running down her eyes. She feels so real. Small sobs and bated breath were all he ever got to hear from her voice. If it even was her voice.

In another program, Loki had to fight a version of her that was out to kill him. Dressed as if she were going to a rich soiree, she had protected a suitcase filled with toxins that were set to kill mankind. And Loki had to outsmart her to get it.

“Is all this training necessary?” Loki asked Tony one day. “I’m either valuable to you or not. Make a decision! But mark my words Tinman I will not set foot in that blasted holo-room ever again!”

“Don’t get your panties in a twist! You passed your evaluations. You won’t have to train, at least not in the room, again.” Tony said as he typed away at his computer.

Loki sighed in relief. Seeing her was one thing. But having to end her in order to save humanity was heartbreaking. He didn’t think he could go through that again. The only thought that got him through it was that “It wasn’t real. She’s not real.”

The thought depressed him.

He sulked back to his room to recover. He spent the rest of the night sipping scotch, looking outside his window. Out there in the world, there must be someone to take his mind off of her.

“Mr. Laufeyson?” FRIDAY inquired through his speakers hours later.

“Yes, FRIDAY?” he answered groggily, the scotch from earlier fogging his thoughts.

“Your presence is required in the control room.”

“What does Stark want with me now? I am not going into that torture chamber again!” Loki stood up and stretched. He made his way down into the laboratory where he had last seen Stark working away with a program.

Loki burst through the door. “What is it that you want, Stark?” He stopped at the door, frozen in place by a familiar figure.

Your burnished hair swayed as you stood up from the floor. You had picked up a piece of paper that fell and turned around to face him. Your eyes gleamed at the sight of him, your smile breaking from your lips. The same smile Loki memorized from all his secret trysts back to the holodeck. Loki’s eyes ran over the entire length of your body. You were here!

“H-how?” Loki looked at you.

“Um, hi!” You said, slightly puzzled. “If you’re looking for Tony, he stepped out to get some coffee. But he’ll be back.”

Loki nearly dropped to his knees at hearing your voice. He stumbled back, knocking over more papers and books off of the tables. You hurried to his side to pick them up. He knelt down too, watching you the whole time, as his hands absentmindedly arranged the scattered papers.

“Oh hey, Prince of Darkness. What are you doing here?” Stark came into the room with a tray of coffee.

“I was told that my presence was required – here. In the control room.” Loki said, not bothering to look insulted at Tony’s nickname for him. Not once did he take his eyes off of you. You looked exactly like you did in the holo-room except your eyes were brighter. And your skin looked so soft.

“I don’t remember asking for you,” Stark said, putting the tray down. “Have you met Y/N? She’s one of our programmers at STARK Industries. She developed the training modules we all train on. I’m pretty sure you will recognize her.” You smiled up at him and lifted your hand out for a greeting.

“Hi. I’m Y/N. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” you said.

Loki said your name. Tasting it on his tongue. He took your hand gently and gave it a kiss. “The woman in the green dress. How could I ever forget her?”

All Taglist:

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[voxina]

Little update about Harry in Rome.

According to what some people on Twitter, last night Harry was with of some of his friends (I presume there were also Alessandro Michele and his partner Giovanni Attili). He drank some Peroni beer, talked to some girls who were already there and he even offered to buy one to one of them since this girl had just finished hers. All this while listening together to buskers playing some tunes on guitar.

No photos or videos, at least for the moment.

What I find extremely funny, cause it's also something that Harry definitely would do, is that at some point they also started playing ninja on the street in Rome until late in the night.

I love the fact he's seemingly having such a good time in Italy, and he spent a very chill and funny night hanging out with his homies and perfect strangers, like any tipsy thirty-year-old would.

I am grateful that these people did not take advantage of the situation, but respected Harry's (and his friends') privacy.

They understood that at that moment it was not Harry Styles ™️, but simply H.

[hettiesworld]

Nov. 8th 2022

Today is the day I make a comeback and confess a few things. 

I apologise to all of my followers but my real name is not Natasha. My actual name is Heather. Natasha was a pseudonym, which was named after a Marvel character. I have been writing in secret because I was ashamed of writing fanfiction in front of my parents. 

But now they are no longer with us, I have decided after a year of absence, I will be myself. However, everything on my Tumblr page was all real and made by me.

Me being a coloured bisexual woman with social anxiety has made me hesitant to come out, but now I am brave enough to face the shame of having a fake name to write what I am passionate about. 

So, it’s time to start anew and write some more stuff.

Again, I apologise for everything and I hope you can forgive me.

Below is some of the story ideas I am hoping to write in the upcoming weeks...

Unholy (Sam Smith, Kim Petras) - Jeremy Renner

ROXANNE (Arizona Zerves) - Mike McLusky

She Looks so Perfect (5SOS) - Clint Barton

Does Your Mother Know (ABBA) - Jeremy Renner

Kiwi (Harry Styles) - Sebastian Stan

Kings & Queens (Ava Max) - Jeremy Renner

Material Girl (Madonna) - Tony Stark

This Love (Maroon 5) - Mike McLusky

Coast (Hailee Steinfeld) - Jeremy Renner

Unholy - The reader works at an exotic dance club in Toronto, which is the location of filming Mayor of Kingstown season 2. And of course, that is where Mike goes in one of the episodes. Jeremy is uncomfortable with this situation at first, until he finds you in the club.

ROXANNE - A new girl called Roxanne comes to Kingstown, Michigan. She is ex-military for the British army and gets tangled in Mike’s job in hunting down Milo Sunter.

She Looks so Perfect - During his visit to New York, he sees a busker singing and playing the guitar (which is the reader) and he takes an interest in her.

Does your Mother Know - In a 70s AU, Jeremy and the reader fall in love. The reader works in a diner whilst Jeremy is in a band. He sees the reader’s potential as a singer. He gives her a chance in his band.

Kiwi - On the set of Pam and Tommy, you work as a makeup artist. After a one night stand with Sebastian, you find out that you’re pregnant with his baby.

Kings & Queens - In a royalty AU, you and Jeremy are both king and queen from rival kingdoms. But an unknown threat forces the two of you to work together to bring peace to both kingdoms.

Material Girl - You are Stark’s personal assistant after Pepper gets promoted to CEO of Stark Industries. Of course you think Tony is flirting with you. Turns out you’re right.

This Love - You are an ex-police officer and is now Mike’s new assistant. He starts to fall for you after you take care of him every day and save his ass in a bar fight. And that’s when he finds out he likes you.

Coast - You are an aspiring music artist who is sharing an apartment with Hailee. You both attend a party where Hailee is hosting it and you notice she invited Jeremy, your celebrity crush, to the party.

[finelinevogue]

I know you’re on break but just and idea could be writing more about busker!Harry! I absolutely adore him plus the idea of him being signed is amazing. Even though he gets signed I feel like he would still play on the street to thank them for helping him etc.

yes we love busker!harry here! he’s such a soft little bean who loves no one more than you <3 ok here we go, hope it’s alright;

Smiles.

That’s all you take from each day after Harry’s performed his set on the streets of familiar Manchester. As much as you love the music Harry plays and the money that comes as a benefit of how well he does it, nothing quite makes your heart warm than the smiles of the people.

Whether there’s a passing group of teenage school girls who giggle to each other. Whether it’s a couple of men walking from one business meeting to another. Whether it’s just one man and his suitcase making a hurried dash for his train. Whether it’s an old woman on her way home from getting her weekly butchers meat. Or whether it was a baby in a pram not having a single clue what was going on. No matter who it was, they could never pass Harry with a smile. He smiled back, always. Harry would pause his singing to thank anyone who threw coppers in his beaten guitar case. He was genuine and that’s what people loved about him.

Even after he’d been signed to a huge record label, he stayed the exact same down-to-earth humble man you’d always known him to be. Fame and success didn’t change him. You both still lived in the same house. You both still shopped in Aldi. You both budgeted your weeks out, regardless of the thousands that were now racking up in various bank accounts. And Harry still stood in the street, almost every day, singing his heart out to his people. To the old lady, to the baby, to the passing workmen and teenagers. He was the same chipper guy he had been all those years ago and no fame was going to change that.

Just like now was another example of all this.

He’s just finished his 12th song of the day, “I’m Yours’ by Jason Mraz and a woman was trying to get him to take the £20 note she was offering.

“Ma’am please I can’t accept this, it’s too much.”

“Don’t be daft! You played so well and it’s made my day and so i’d like to gift you thanks.” She argued back and really Harry was in a losing battle. If he accepted it he would feel terrible that he’s allowed a woman to give him £20, but if he didn’t accept it he would look ungrateful and unaccepting.

“I appreciate your kind gesture, but it’s really too much.” He smiled kindly, hoping his good smirk would charm her off.

You were stood close by, watching the interaction. You were internally laughing to yourself, because although most people would never pass up the opportunity for money, let alone twenty quid, your Harry wasn’t most people. He was a respectful man, who loved playing music above anything else. Okay, well, he loved you only slightly more than that - but you were okay with that. You envied that he had a passion as harsh as music. It was enticing to see him get lost within 7 lettered notes.

“Chuffin’ take it Harry!” The woman dangled it in front of Harry and he laughed at her eagerness. You laughed too, until you weren’t.

It happened so quickly that you didn’t realise anything had happened until you’d felt a pain in your lower back and arse. “Shit!” You grunted as you landed on your hands, them scraping ever so slightly on the cold gravel street - that was most likely covered in Pigeon shit and chewing gum.

The woman gasped and Harry had sprinted off before you could even pick yourself back up. You looked over your shoulder, still sat on the floor, to see Harry chasing after some man who had stolen the £20 from the woman’s hand. Oh. The thief didn’t have a chance against your Harry though. He may look cute and cuddly on a good day, but when something bad happens to him or the people he loves he’s a completely different person. He gets all protective and angry. You loved that he had this side to him, but you did prefer his soft side a lot more.

“Oh dear, are you alright pet?” The woman asked, leaning over you worriedly.

“Y-yeah.” You stammered out as your turned to look at her, feeling slightly winded.

“Are you hurt?”

“I don’t think so.” You brought your hands up to examine and saw they were cut only slightly, but mostly just covered in gravel. You dusted your hands off on your jeans and stood up, with the help of a random man and this woman.

“Up ya get, there ya go love.” The man spoke and you thanked him briefly, turning to see whether you could see Harry at all within the crowds of the busy Manchester streets. You sighed in relief when you saw him on his way back to you, guitar swung around on his back.

The woman walked closer to him first as she caught sight of him waving the £20 in the air in victory. You had a few tears in your eyes at the sight of him being so proud of himself, but also hearing onlookers cheering for him. He might’ve got cheers from audiences, big audiences, before but nothing compared to a noble community clap. Harry embraced the friendly woman in a hug and she spoke loud enough so you could hear them both.

“Now you really deserve that £20. Keep it, please.” She begged and Harry gave a side smirk and nodded his head in agreement. He had worked for this, he thought, and he knew just what he was going to do with the money - which in turn, brought his focus back to you.

He thanked people as he weaved his way closer to you, excusing himself so politely. He lifted his notorious busking cap so he could see you better and furrowed his eyebrows in frustration when he remembered how forcefully that thief had pushed you over in order to run off. “Swear to me you’re okay.” He said, knowing you hated being made a fuss of - especially in public.

“I swear.” You smiled at him, allowing him to grasp your hands and kiss his lips all over them, not stopping until not one spot had been left untouched.

“C’mon, let’s finish early today.” He didn’t say it as a question, meaning it was a command and he was ready to leave the city streets for the day.

“Wha— why? And go where?” You stumbled over your words, watching as he started to mess around with his equipment to put it all away.

“Well i’ve got £20 to spend, but apart from that it’s your choice.” He offered, securing his guitar in his case and putting the amplifier and microphone in their cases which you’d carry back to the car - which was, unfortunately, a fifteen minute walk up a hill, but you didn’t mind because you got to do it with Harry. Your other heart.

“Hmm,” you pondered as he packed. Normally you helped but today he wouldn’t let you because of your sore hands and back, “how about we stop off at Tescos and grab a bottle of wine to drink between us, whilst we watch that new crime documentary in the comfort of our bed?” Harry stopped what he was doing to look at you indefinitely.

“This is why I love you Y/N.” He walked over to you and kissed your lips as passionately as he could. He cupped your cheeks and stroked his thumbs against your soft skin. As soon as his lips touched yours, time froze and you were all his for however long he wanted you. You felt his raw emotions bounce off him and he could no doubt feel all of yours.

It was plain and simply, love.

[sock-ness-monster]

I'm at it again folks this is like my only hobby these days

Oh and I also edited an older one it's all the same songs I just changed the name and description

[pingutats]

my dearest darling

in which you and harry spend a sunday morning having coffee & cake, and spontaneously decide to go engagement ring shopping together.

warnings: a little suggestive at the end. mostly just pure fluff!

word count: 3.4k

.                               .                           .                               .                           .

The little alleyway off the main street filled with café tables is a perfect place for you and Harry to sit unseen. In fact, in this little alcove, it’s easy to watch the world pass by the two of you. It’s a nice reprieve from the usual of the world watching Harry. 

He’s wearing sunglasses anyway, just in case—despite the overcast weather. 

You frown at him, resting your elbows on the table and lacing your fingers together to rest your chin on. “I really think that makes you more conspicuous.”

He scrunches up his nose. “Nah. Or at least, if people notice, they’re going to notice an odd bloke in sunnies, not me.”

“They’ll notice it’s you.”

He glances at the busy footpath. “‘S working so far, love.”

A young waitress rounds the corner from the cafe’s front entrance and sets your coffees down on the table. You move your elbows off the table politely to give her space.

“Thanks,” Harry says, reaching for his black coffee. 

You smile at the waitress as you wrap your hands around the latte you ordered, warming up your freezing fingers. You notice the way she hesitates before she leaves, how she looks at Harry like she wants to say something before before quickly spinning on her heels and walking away. When she’s out of earshot, you look at Harry. “She knows.”

He shrugs. “That’s different.”

The waitress reappears a minute later with the little cakes you ordered. This time, she’s braver. “I’m so sorry—are you Harry Styles?” she asks, saying his name in a voice that’s akin to a reverent whisper.

His eyes dart to you for a split second and he raises his eyebrow enough that only you’ll notice, conceding to you, then smiles at her. “Yeah, I am. Sorry, what’s your name?”

You watch him navigate the encounter easily, like you’ve watched so many times. The girl asks for a photo and he politely declines, explaining that he doesn’t want to draw attention, but offers to sign a napkin for her instead. He a short message (nice to meet you, all my love) to her and draws a couple hearts after he signs his name, then passes it to her with a sweetly genuine thanks her for her support. 

“Oh my gosh, no, thank you,” she says earnestly. “It was so, so nice to meet you.” She glances at you, then, and her cheeks go even pinker. “Thanks,” she says again, and then she’s gone.

You let a giggle free at the awkward way his fans treat you, like they don’t know if it’s appropriate to talk to you as well, and how they struggle to find something to say to you anyway. Once it might have bothered you. It’s just amusing to you now. You raise your brows at Harry. “All your love?” you tease, quoting the message he wrote on the napkin. “Where’s my share?”

He pouts from behind his sunglasses. “Don’t be like that.”

You kick his shin gently underneath the table. “I’m kidding around. She was sweet. I like watching you do that, you’re so good at it.”

His foot swings around to trap your ankle between his. “Trying to play footsie at eleven o’clock on a Sunday morning? You little minx.”

You roll your eyes and wrench your foot free, rattling the table as you do so. He laughs—a sharp barking ha! that makes you smile through your embarrassment at causing a small commotion. 

“Who’s conspicuous, sorry?” he asks.

 You shake your head at him and stab your fork into your apple and cinnamon muffin. He keeps giggling as he slides his own plate with the carrot cake to his side of the table and picks up a fork himself.

“Mm, that’s good,” he says after he swallows his first bite. “Better than the one I make.”

“Well, baking isn’t known to be one of your talents.”

He claps a hand to his chest. “I’m wounded.” He leans over the table and skewers a piece of your muffin on his fork, dodging your attempts to swat his hand away with great agility. He pops it in his mouth triumphantly, cocking his head like he’s challenging you. 

In return, you steal a piece of his cake. 

“That was a much larger piece than what I took,” he accuses. 

You shrug.

His phone, face down on the table, dings. He glances up at you. 

“Check it,” you tell him. You know he only has alerts on for his closest friends—otherwise his phone would be ringing all day long. “I don’t mind.”

He bites his lip apologetically and flips the phone over, reading it. “Oh, it’s Tom. Hang on a sec.” He starts typing back.

You crane your neck around to read the message—something about Tom being free at the end of July, and Harry is giving a thumbs-up to that.

“Where are you off to?” you ask. 

“France, maybe,” he replies. You’re aware that discovering this kind of information so suddenly would be jarring for most couples, enough to even incite a fight—but you and Harry aren’t exactly a normal couple, and international trips are just part and parcel of your relationship. Hell, he goes on world tours for months at a time. You’re lucky, you suppose, that you function just as well long-distance as you do when you’re living together. 

“Lads’ trip?”

He sends the message and clicks his phone off, leaning back in his chair. “Nah. Taking you to Paris and getting down on m’knee in front of the Eiffel Tower,” he says, nodding sagely. 

“Is that so?”

“Yeah, Tom’s there to get the photos.” He shovels a forkful of the cake into his mouth and then points his fork in the general direction of a street busker playing a violin across the road. He swallows. “And I’m getting that guy to play a little tune, for the atmosphere,” he adds. 

You raise your brows. “Oh, you’ve got budget for this, then.”

He smiles. “Nothing but the best for my dearest darling.”

You snort.

He carefully cuts a piece of cake with the edge of his fork. “Nah, we’re thinking of doing a trip down to his friend’s studio in—somewhere in France, I can’t remember really. Friends and family welcome too, if you want to come. Apparently it’s a real nice place.” He eats his mouthful and then lifts his sunnies to look at you with clear eyes. “We are getting married, though. I mean that.”

Your cheeks threaten to burst from how badly you want to smile, but you force yourself to assume a serious face, just to humour him. “Of course we are.”

Despite the butterflies it inspires, this conversation isn’t new. You’ve been with Harry a couple of years now and you both know you’re on the same page when it comes to your shared future. There are no hard plans, but the direction is set. You’re getting there someday. 

He puffs his cheeks out. “I feel like you aren’t taking this as seriously as I am.”

You sigh melodramatically. “Well, sweetheart, I haven’t seen a ring yet.”

“A ring? You should have asked,” he drawls, then suddenly sits up straight and points a finger at you. “Don’t take that as a challenge. I want to be the one to ask.”

You shrug. “Can’t make any promises.”

His arm shoots forward to grab at your hand and you almost laugh out loud at the puppy-eyes he’s making at you. “No, please, baby, I swear you can do everything else, but let me do the proposing bit.”

In your heart, you’re happy he’s so insistent, because this is exactly how you want it to be too. In your mind, though, you really enjoy tormenting him. 

“I’ll think about it,” you concede, and he groans.

“I’m buying a ring soon as I can, just to lock it in,” he tells you as he destroys what’s left of his carrot cake.

Once you’ve finished and Harry’s gone up to pay for the coffee and cake (he also took a moment to lean over the counter to snap a group selfie with the waitress who served you earlier and a couple others too) you walk back up the street in the general direction of your car that’s parked a few blocks down. The weather is pleasant today and the sun is even peeking out from behind the clouds now, justifying his sunglasses. 

Your mind starts to drift (his arm wrapped loosely around your waist anchors you to the real world) as you think about how nice it is to be with Harry, how you’ve learned to appreciate each physical moment you have with him because they are so precious. After the tours, the promotional trips, the film sets, and all the little things in between, you understand how to be with Harry. You know not everyone can handle a life like this, and you’re sure that if it wasn’t Harry whose return you awaited, you wouldn’t be able to either. But he always returns. 

Harry comes to a sudden halt in front of a shop window, gazing in. You’re nearly yanked off your feet as you keep trying to walk with your arm around him—he’s so steady that he doesn’t budge. You stand next to him and look into what you realise is a jewellery store. 

“What do you think?” he asks. 

“Huh?”

He looks down, his arm squeezing around your shoulder. “Said I’d get you a ring, didn’t I?”

Butterflies erupt in your stomach. “What, today?”

“‘M not asking. Just preparing.”

You raise your eyebrows up at him. “That is… that is really a technicality.”

“Humour me,” he says. “C’mon.” He shepherds you into the store, steering you by your shoulders. 

It’s small and pretty in here, the air from the fans cool against your sun-warmed skin. There are hardly any other customers at the moment, so you have some kind of valuable privacy. There are a couple of glass counters that run along either side of the store with meticulously placed themed displays inside them. You gravitate immediately to the closest thing, a cluster of rough amethysts hanging from necklaces. 

“Aren’t these so cute?” you comment to Harry.

His arms wrap around you from behind and you reach up to grasp onto his crossed forearms resting against your chest. “Oh, yeah, they are.”

You stay there looking at the necklaces for a little too long—it’s not like you’re really that fascinated by the jewels, but more that you’re just enjoying Harry’s head leaning over your shoulder and his chest pressed to your back as you stand there. When your gaze meanders along the counter and you see something new, though, you shake free of his grip and follow your whims.

This store isn’t labelled out front with a massive brand. You’re pretty sure it’s an independent jeweller, judging by the neat description cards that accompany each small collection, explaining the theme in a lively and personal manner. This is what makes you really fall in love with the place and feel sure that this is where you’ll find the perfect ring. You know Harry could afford any ring from any famous brand, the heaviest jewels imaginable, easily worthy of a feature article in Vogue magazine. He could probably organise to have a diamond dug up fresh specifically to go on your finger. 

It’s the fact that Harry could give you anything in the world that makes you not want it at all. Special, to the two of you, isn’t something that you’ll find in wealth or the crowds that adore him.

It’s found in a day like this.

“Oh, my god, H, look at this one,” you gasp, grabbing his wrist and pulling him over.

He bends over the counter, his gaze following the line of your pointing finger. “Oh, that is pretty,” he says. 

It’s a simple gold band with a small, neatly carved diamond fixed to it. It isn’t flashy at all, which is what drew you to it. You knew he’d like it too. Despite the decadence of his performances, he can be a different man behind closed doors and you love that part of him. The secret part, the one that only you know so well. 

“I’m in love with it,” you tell him.

Harry nods. “Yeah, I think that’s the one.”

You never doubted that he would agree, but his assent sends a bolt of excitement up your spine. It’s all so real, suddenly, and you can’t wait to see him on his knee for you, to see that ring on your finger. You know your ring size off by heart (how could you not, being in a relationship with the jewellery connoisseur that Harry is), so there’ll be no need for you to try it on today. You’re left with only the raw anticipation of the day he’ll slide it onto your finger. 

His hands come down to rest on your hips as you both stare at the ring. You imagine you can hear his heart, knowing that it’ll be beating erratically because his excitement must match yours—you know how he feels about the idea of marriage. 

He spins you around to face him, leaving his hands on your hips. He looks at you very seriously. His sunglasses are resting on top of his head now, pushing back his curls and revealing his green eyes and furrowed brow to you.

“You know, if we’re seen buying an engagement ring…” he begins, trailing off. He shrugs. “Just want to think about that.”

You screw up your nose. “According to some magazines we got married last week, and also six months ago. Just being in here is probably going to spark something.” You glance behind you, as if you’ll see journalists scribbling away on their theories, then flatten your palms against his chest, smoothing out his shirt. “I’m happy to ignore it. I want to just do our thing, H.”

He nods, pursing his lips, and gradually the crease in his forehead disappears. “Okay. Good.” Twin smiles spread over your faces and you have the feeling of being two giddy kids, high-schoolers about to have their first kiss. Something new, unknown, exciting, that the two of you are going into together. His eyes are practically sparkling at you. If this was a cartoon, you think his pupils would be shaped like hearts right now. Something is starting to bud and you can feel it growing up inside you and between you, preparing to bloom. 

“Alright,” you say, breaking the insulating silence to draw you both back to the real world. 

He blinks a couple of times as if he’s just waking up. “Alright,” he echoes. “Let’s get it.”

He waves over a man drifting through the store in a neat suit and points at the ring. “Excuse me, can we please have a look at this one?”

The two of you watch the man unlock the cabinet and slide the plate of rings out, placing it on the counter. He picks up the one Harry pointed out. “It’s a lovely one, sir.”

“It is,” Harry says. His hand finds yours and squeezes your fingers. “What size is it?”

The man checks the price and tells you, and your mouth drops open. Surely there is something supernaturally perfect going on, because it’s exactly your size. You and Harry look at each other incredulously. 

The man seems to notice your unspoken conversation, because he helpfully adds, “We can resize it if you need.”

Harry chuckles. “No, it’s perfect. I think…” he trails off, looking at you. “What do you think?”

You nod at him, grinning. You rub your thumb over the back of his palm as he tells the man, “Thank you. We’d like this one, please.”

You stand slightly behind him as he pays for it, flexing your hands and wringing them in front of you. You know it’s all in your head, but your left ring finger is tingling as if it senses that it’s missing a piece. You really just want to wear the ring at this minute, but when the man selling it to you offers, Harry shakes his head quickly. 

“I’ll hold onto it for now,” he says. He accepts the little box from the man and slips it into his pocket. “Thank you so much.”

“The pleasure’s all mine, sir. Enjoy it, and congratulations to the two of you.”

Harry snakes his arm around your waist as you walk back out to the street. His hips knock against you as he squeezes you into his side, and you can feel the little box in his pocket. You can’t help the grin that takes over your whole face. You worry you look like an idiot, smiling so widely at nothing, but when you glance up at Harry, he looks exactly the same.

Your car is parked down a quieter road and you get to relax a little once you’re away from the crowds of the main shopping strip. You can walk a little more slowly and Harry loosens up a bit. His hyper-vigilance starts to strip away. You can see the tension in his shoulders dissolving and here’s your Harry, emerging from his defensive layers. Most people wouldn’t notice this change, but you do. You feel how he adjusts the grip of his hand on your hip, how he leans into you a little more as you walk. In your closeness, you can smell his cologne and you think of how you watched him spray it on this morning—and how you’re going to be watching him do that for the rest of your lives.

He glances over his shoulder and you copy him. The narrow street behind you is empty, but you don’t get a moment to really register this before you feel his arms tighten around your waist and you’re swept off your feet for a second as he crashes his lips into yours.

You close your eyes, letting the kiss envelop all your senses. The sweetness of the cake’s icing lingering on his lips; his arms locked around your waist, holding you up; the rapid beating of your heart. He pulls away slowly and your eyes flutter open. His face is just inches from yours and he’s looking at you with such intensity you feel naked. Not for the first time, you’re in awe of how impossibly green his eyes are; you could make a palette from every forest in the world, and it wouldn’t hold a candle to what you see in front of you right now.

“Y/N,” he says. He cracks a grin. “I’m so fucking happy.”

Your reply is simply to grab him by the back of his neck and pull him in for another kiss. Your hand tangles in his hair and you feel his tongue running along your bottom lip before he pulls away again quickly.

“Fuck,” he says, sounding lost for breath. “Need to stop before I make a fool of m’self in public.” He even physically takes a step back from you, his eyes comically wide.

You giggle. Your gaze travels down his body and you notice the indent of the box in his pocket. “Is that a ring in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?”

He shakes his head at you. “You’ve gone all giddy. ‘M getting you home right now and then we’re celebrating properly.” He turns around and starts walking towards the car, his long legs carrying him faster than you can keep up.

Your stomach flutters imagining what his idea of celebrating might be. Suddenly, the only thing on your mind is getting back to your house as soon as humanly possible. You run after Harry, skipping around in front of him and jogging backwards as you waggle your fingers in his face. “So, when are you going to pop the question?” you ask.

“Oh, honey,” he says, patting his pocket with the ring. He grins. “It’s going to be when you least expect it, I’ll promise you that.”

.                               .                           .                               .                           .

thank you for reading! hope you enjoyed—if you did, a reblog or a message is really encouraging and lovely for me to see!! the title is taken from the song by etta james.

this fic is the first part of a series called “here we are in heaven,” and i’m really really excited about it. you can read my earlier fic, at last!, if you want to see where this will end up, but there will be more parts to fill the in-between. plus blurbs and stuff! let’s chat about it! 

my masterlist can be found here. have a beautiful day!

[benoitblanc]

for the writing asks: 1, 2, 4, 7?

1. tell us about your current projects.

original work: my big original project right now is a crime drama television show currently titled erebos. the very brief overview is that it follows a team of petty thieves who accidentally try to pull a con on the mob. the mob is NOT happy. the team is forced to learn their way around the inner workings of the parisian organized crime underworld if they want any chance of making it out of this alive. turns out it is REALLY hard to draft a tv show, but i love the characters enough that i'm willing to fight through it. i would always LOVE to talk more about anything erebos related if anyone has any specific questions :)

fic: the monster agent carter time loop fic is eating up most of my writing time right now. i have all of the beginning done, a good chunk of the end, and scraps of the middle. i am very good at writing more introspective fics, so this is a huge leap out of my comfort zone, but i'm very pleased with where it's at so far, though it does make me want to tear my hair out on a regular basis. charting the narrator's (spoiler: it's peggy) emotional journey throughout the loops is really challenging but will hopefully have a high payoff

2. tell us about what you're most looking forward to writing in current or future projects.

i really just want to get to the point of actually being able to start writing erebos. i'm still very much in outlining and research. the issue with creating a tv show is you're really only supposed to write the pilot yourself and then just have everything else outlined in broad enough strokes that a team of writers can still have input. it's a really fine line to walk.

4. share a snippet of your writing that you're really proud of.

it took me SO long to find something suitable, but this is from a short story i wrote last year about a young woman who busks in the manhattan subway system. i love this short story and i love my busker. not a lot of plot happens, but it was such a fun character study. (the character studied? new york city, of course):

There are always the regulars. Sam, who can’t be more than twelve and hasn’t spoken once since telling me his name, brings his squeaky old violin to duet with me. His little sister Charlotte often fishes through my spoils to see if there are any state quarters. A harried-looking businesswoman always drops several Euros into the case on her way home from work. Where she gets them from, I have no idea. There’s an old man who comes to sit on the platform every Tuesday and Thursday. I don’t know his name, but he knows mine. “Hiya, Angie,” he calls. “Play something for us, won’t’cha?”

So I play the “Maple Leaf Rag,” his favorite, and when I’m through he nods and says, “Thanks, darlin’, that was real nice.”

unfortunately, there's also a line in this story about the old man being around the same age as christopher plummer and betty white, which, um, has been edited to angela lansbury and queen elizabeth for obvious reasons

7. what do you think are the characteristics of your personal writing style? would you say others agree with you?

i have been told by several professors that my strengths lie in characterization and weaving together various storylines/themes in a manner that definitely isn't effortless but comes across that way. i would also say that a lot of my writing voice is subtly stereotypically british. it's very dry a lot of the time, and while it isn't exactly overly verbose, i do use a lot of quites and rathers and other various modifers. outlook is always after me for this.

writing asks!!!

[oldsmobile-hotdogs]

hotdog and speedbump 🌭🛹 (a playlist)

i don’t like that nickname; it’s how i died ! <3

contains:

rocket - seventeen

i don’t know - lisa hannigan

oh my! - seventeen

take me to church - hozier

strawberry blond - mitski

run to you - seventeen

sk8er boi - avril lavigne

adore you - harry styles

together - seventeen

love like you - rebecca sugar

color - todrick hall, jay armstrong johnson

flash mich - mark forster

what can i do - day6

thought of you - john park

new - yves (loona)

naughty boy - pentagon

so emotional - whitney houston

kinder an die macht - herbert groenemeyer

so bad - stayc

cherry blossom ending - busker busker

listen to it on spotify here !

[kinobasel]

DIDDLY SQUAT from Frank Lebon on Vimeo.

A film about home.

"In this hyperkinetic short drama, a young couple in need of shelter breaks into a rundown South London carpentry studio only to find themselves in an escalating faceoff with the building’s owner… Told from the perspective of both the squatter and the squatted, Diddly Squat pulls off an electrifying style combining live action, still photos and animation." Le Cinéma Club

CREDITS

Writer, Director & Editor - Frank Lebon Producers - Nat Baring & Jill Ferraro Executive Producer - Anastasia Ehrich Director of Photography - Molly Manning Walker Composers - Mount Kimbie & Cedie Janson Production Designer - Jabez Bartlett Sound Designer - Will Berger Casting Director - Georgia Topley Casting Director (Supporting Artists) - Sarah Small Costume Designer - Edie Ashley Colourist - Joseph Bicknell 1st AD - Joseph Jones Gaffer - Owain Morgan

Archy - Charley Palmer Rothwell Rachel - Rebecca Stone Kenny - Mark Monero Hak - Hak Baker Simon - Jack Rolf Santi - Raf Shah Phylis - Sonya Baring Busker - Marla Mbemba Police Officer - Deborah Oyelade Heavy - Tayla Clarke Heavy - Haroun Bangura Heavy - TJ Silon Preacher - Carlton Sweeper - Eyasu Developer - Tyrone Lebon Estate Agent - Sonia Krishna Brother May - Brother May

SQAUTERS Cosima Von Moreau, Jake Hurley, Momin Mukhtar, Alistair Kleboe, Lola Gentry PARTY PEOPLE Seyi Adelekun, Hector Henderson, Charlie Farley, Agathe DeLussy, Genc Kuci, Ruby Lake, Sorcha Bacon, Emil Torrens, Finbar Lenahan, Gilbert Bannerman, Tancred Campbell, Daniel Simpson, Bryant Mclaughlin Vanlow, Carmen Rosy Hall, Natty Wylah

1st Assistant Camera - Rhys Warren 1st Assistant Camera - Benjy Kirkman 2nd Assistant Camera - Rory McLean Steadi Cam Operator - Rick Woolard B-roll Operator - Joel Kerr Spark - Rory Cole Spark - Sam Donvito Spark - Max Conran Grip - George Nock Make Up Artist - Bagy Winwood Make Up Artist - Phoebe Llewellyn Hair Stylist - Takuya Uchiyama 2nd AD - Sidney Arthur 3rd AD - Nana Quartey Production Coordinator - TJ Silon Production Coordinator - Celeste Doig Production Assistant - Maria Grierson Production Assistant - Joshua Collings Production Assistant - Lachlan Monroe Production Assistant - Luca Ward Catering - Adam Davies Art Assistant - Ellen Wilson Art Assistant - Phoebe Shakespeare Art Assistant - Harry Beedle Sound Mixer - Will Berger Boom Op - Gus Collins Animal Wrangler - Trevor Costume Assistant - Charlie McCoskers Colour Producer - Alexandra Lubrano Grade Facility - Company 3 Assistant Editor/VFX - Rory McLean Music Supervisor - Alex Grey Script Editors - David Young & Karim Khan Second Poster Design - Frankie Browne

Special Thanks To Michael Kopelman, Gimme 5, Panavision, DoBeDo Represents, Judith & Danny Kleinman, Roi Cydulkin, Carmen Hall, Mark Lebon, Camilla Arthur, Mica Levi, Paddy Gibson, Marta Cruanas, Tyrone Lebon

[diluvioaluglio]

IDOL PLAYLIST w/ Stray Kids

song recommendations:

chan's

The Weeknd - Blinding Lights

minho's

Harry Styles - Falling

changbin's

Post Malone - Circles

hyunjin's

Sam Smith - To Die For

jisung's

Epik High - Happen Ending

felix's

Surfaces - Sunday Best

seungmin's

Busker Busker - Yeosu Night Sea

jeongin's

Pink Sweat$ - Honesty

[ferryboatpeak]

NYC aus

well @moondoggiestyle​ and @ticklefightharry​ and i have spent a pleasant weekend in NYC, a city where everything is a harry styles au. here are some of our likeliest possibilities:

Subway busker: Harry and Niall are poor candidates for this. Liam, however, is just shameless enough to hold a subway car hostage to listen to his earnest song stylings.

Keano the psychic au: This subway psychic sign suggested a wealth of aus. In any of them, Harry is the psychic.

Jeff calls, hoping for help with his business. “I think what we really need to work on is your marriage,” Harry tells him. Harry’s solution is to insert himself into Jeff’s marriage. This is his solution for every caller’s marital problems.

Keano becomes so successful that Harry has to hire other people to staff his call center. He hires the rest of 1D, obviously. (Jes, please post the rest of your notes on this one, and the Keano pic.)

Hell’s Kitchen firefighter au: Niall is a firefighter, Harry works in the neighborhood bakery where the crew gets coffee and pastries every day. Possibly Jack is also a firefighter and/or Niall’s ex.

Baby handler au: Harry is the person backstage at The Ferryman who’s in charge of the babies, keeping them fed and alert and happy and ready to go onstage. Niall is the animal trainer for the same show.

Hotel lobby au: This also has multiple possibilities:

Tom is a struggling Broadway actor who performs at hotel lobby happy hours twice a week. Harry is a bellhop (he gets to wear a lil hat.)

Harry is a hotel lobby musician, Niall is a local businessman who stumbles upon Harry’s act and keeps going back. He has to pretend that he’s traveling to town for business every time. Harry hears his accent and assumes he’s coming from Ireland. The big reveal comes when Harry says, “Let’s go up to your room, I don’t care if I lose my job,” and Niall has to admit he doesn’t have a room, he just took a cab uptown. Harry drags him into the luggage check room instead.

IRA au: I’m not even going to get into this one, my inbox is crazy enough right now.

Central Park carriage au: Harry is a carriage driver. Niall is the horse. Harry is completely incompetent and Niall keeps making him look good by ignoring all of Harry’s incorrect commands.

Crypto au: Harry accidentally becomes a cryptocurrency manufacturer despite having no idea how it works. This may happen because he sleeps with Wall Street financier Ben Winston.

[artwalktv]

A film about home. "In this hyperkinetic short drama, a young couple in need of shelter breaks into a rundown South London carpentry studio only to find themselves in an escalating faceoff with the building’s owner… Told from the perspective of both the squatter and the squatted, Diddly Squat pulls off an electrifying style combining live action, still photos and animation." Le Cinéma Club CREDITS Writer, Director & Editor - Frank Lebon Producers - Nat Baring & Jill Ferraro Executive Producer - Anastasia Ehrich Director of Photography - Molly Manning Walker Composers - Mount Kimbie & Cedie Janson Production Designer - Jabez Bartlett Sound Designer - Will Berger Casting Director - Georgia Topley Casting Director (Supporting Artists) - Sarah Small Costume Designer - Edie Ashley Colourist - Joseph Bicknell 1st AD - Joseph Jones Gaffer - Owain Morgan Archy - Charley Palmer Rothwell Rachel - Rebecca Stone Kenny - Mark Monero Hak - Hak Baker Simon - Jack Rolf Santi - Raf Shah Phylis - Sonya Baring Busker - Marla Mbemba Police Officer - Deborah Oyelade Heavy - Tayla Clarke Heavy - Haroun Bangura Heavy - TJ Silon Preacher - Carlton Sweeper - Eyasu Developer - Tyrone Lebon Estate Agent - Sonia Krishna Brother May - Brother May SQAUTERS Cosima Von Moreau, Jake Hurley, Momin Mukhtar, Alistair Kleboe, Lola Gentry PARTY PEOPLE Seyi Adelekun, Hector Henderson, Charlie Farley, Agathe DeLussy, Genc Kuci, Ruby Lake, Sorcha Bacon, Emil Torrens, Finbar Lenahan, Gilbert Bannerman, Tancred Campbell, Daniel Simpson, Bryant Mclaughlin Vanlow, Carmen Rosy Hall, Natty Wylah 1st Assistant Camera - Rhys Warren 1st Assistant Camera - Benjy Kirkman 2nd Assistant Camera - Rory McLean Steadi Cam Operator - Rick Woolard B-roll Operator - Joel Kerr Spark - Rory Cole Spark - Sam Donvito Spark - Max Conran Grip - George Nock Make Up Artist - Bagy Winwood Make Up Artist - Phoebe Llewellyn Hair Stylist - Takuya Uchiyama 2nd AD - Sidney Arthur 3rd AD - Nana Quartey Production Coordinator - TJ Silon Production Coordinator - Celeste Doig Production Assistant - Maria Grierson Production Assistant - Joshua Collings Production Assistant - Lachlan Monroe Production Assistant - Luca Ward Catering - Adam Davies Art Assistant - Ellen Wilson Art Assistant - Phoebe Shakespeare Art Assistant - Harry Beedle Sound Mixer - Will Berger Boom Op - Gus Collins Animal Wrangler - Trevor Costume Assistant - Charlie McCoskers Colour Producer - Alexandra Lubrano Grade Facility - Company 3 Assistant Editor/VFX - Rory McLean Music Supervisor - Alex Grey Script Editors - David Young & Karim Khan Second Poster Design - Frankie Browne Special Thanks To Michael Kopelman, Gimme 5, Panavision, DoBeDo Represents, Judith & Danny Kleinman, Roi Cydulkin, Carmen Hall, Mark Lebon, Camilla Arthur, Mica Levi, Paddy Gibson, Marta Cruanas, Tyrone Lebon

[thunderoad]

3.3k of a time traveller au; 2017 harry wakes up in december 2012, and 2017 niall finds himself responsible for helping 2012 harry get home

Jeff slings his arm around Harry’s neck and pulls him in close, tucking him up under his chin. Harry tries not to smile but he’s just hammered enough to know he’s grinning like a Cheshire cat. He snakes his hand under Jeff’s blazer and curls his palm around Jeff’s hip. It makes Jeff huff - he must’ve touched a ticklish spot - and then laugh and shake his head.

“You did it, Hersh,” he says. Harry can’t crane his head up to look at Jeff’s face with his cheek pressed to his collarbone, so he regretfully pulls away to stand up on his own. Well, mostly on his own. He still needs Jeff’s arm around him to stay upright.

“It’s a great party, isn’t it?” Harry asks, raising his voice to be heard over the din. His assistant, Marilou, always does such a fabulous job with the lighting and with making sure that there’s lots of little trays circulating with lots of interesting things to eat; since they’re in Japan, the platters are stacked high with sushi, and Harry thinks she might have even called to hire street artists to demonstrate how to swallow a flaming sword. A troupe of buskers sing a mournful song in a language Harry doesn’t know, and a flash of annoyance shoots through him. He can’t tell if he’s annoyed with himself for not understanding or with them for playing such sad music, but he does his best to shrug it off.

Jeff squeezes Harry’s shoulder, his smile wide. “Not the party, man! I meant the tour!”

“The tour!” Harry shouts agreeably, and snags a sparkling pink drink off a tray passing by to raise his glass in a toast.

“First tour done!” Jeff goes on. Glenne squeezes between two vigorous dancers and takes Jeff’s hand. She puts her other hand on Harry’s shoulder and gives him a friendly squeeze. Harry’s careful not to slosh his drink all over her when he leans in for a proper hug.

Harry repeats, “First tour done!,” clinks his glass against Jeff’s, and knocks back the drink in one go.

“Many more to come,” Glenne adds. She takes the empty glass from Harry’s hand, sets it high on the heaping table near where they’re stood, and pulls them both into the throng of dancing bodies. Harry goes easily, feeling the bass thunder up from the quaking floor right into his very bones.

***

A beam of sunlight shoots through a chink in the blinds and lands squarely on Harry’s eye. He groans and rolls over, but rolling entails moving, and now his swimmy stomach feels like it’s trying to swim right up through his mouth. “No,” Harry whines weakly, and waits, and hopes, and the need to puke recedes minutely.

Complaining would feel good, Harry thinks (he feels like he’s dying and his bladder is about to burst and his mouth tastes like Jaeger), but the amount of effort required to form his thoughts into sentences puts him off it.

Room service. If he can find the phone, he can dial room service, and room service can bring him some paracetamol. But first he needs to get up and pee. Harry concentrates, but he can’t remember the floor plan of his hotel room, and he doesn’t fancy smashing his face into any walls, so he unwillingly cracks an eye open.

And it’s...not his hotel room, that’s for sure. Did he go home with someone last night? Maybe. (Probably.) But this doesn’t even look like someone’s room, really, unless that person has the personality of a member of the Queen’s Guard. The sheets and duvet are twisted up round Harry’s legs, but they’re mystifyingly white and tan. There’s a TV and a writing desk across the room on the opposite wall next to a lamp bolted to the floor.

Alright, Harry thinks, so definitely a hotel room. Whose hotel room? Are they still here? “Hello?” Harry tries. He twists his fingers in the sheets to ride out the wave of nausea like he’s back in Jamaica gripping water through his fingers to stay afloat. “Is - Is anybody there?”

No answer. Maybe he changed hotels last night? Normally, if fans figure out where he is or whatever, he just changes rooms.

The need to pee pushes all other considerations out of Harry’s head, and he slides his weight carefully onto his feet. He’s a little surprised his legs hold, and more than a little proud of himself. He hustles to the en suite bathroom and drops trou, surprised to find that he’s still wearing his pants.

Ordinarily he sleeps naked, and if he took someone home with him - but maybe he didn’t? Maybe they took the party on the road and Jeff checked him in here to sleep it off. Jeff. Harry’s phone. Yes, brill plan. As soon as Harry’s done emptying his bladder he’ll get right on it. And he might call room service, too.

Someone bangs on the door, making Harry jump so hard he nearly sprays the toilet lid like he hasn’t done since he was just an itty bitty lad. “We’re leaving for the airport in five, and if you’re not in the car we’re leaving without you!”

Bus? Harry’s on tour, yeah, but they mainly travel by plane; they hadn’t had the tour bus shipped all the way to Japan for a couple of dates. Had they?

“Sorry,” Harry clears his voice, “I think you’ve got the wrong room.”

“Ha ha,” someone says. They don’t really sound like they’re laughing. “Very funny. Not really, that was awful. See you downstairs!” The doorknob jiggles like someone’s trying to let themselves in, and Harry freezes with his pants gathered round his ankles and his hand still wrapped around his willy, defenseless. He holds his breath.

The door stays shut. “Five minutes!” The person repeats, and Harry lets out a breath. He tugs his pants up around his hips, washes his hands quickly in the sink - he’s not an animal, this might be a strange situation but he has standards, thank you very much - and hurries to find his clothes so he can get dressed and out of here before whoever thinks he’s coming with them finds out he’s very much not. He can call Jeff just as easily from the lobby, huddled behind a potted plant. He’s done it before.

His own clothes are nowhere to be found, but he discovers an open suitcase with a heap of jeans and ratty t-shirts inside, contemplates theft for a moment, realizes he has no other options, and quickly pulls it on. The clothes look familiar for some reason, like maybe he shops at the same store, but he doesn’t stop to think about it. He’s sliding his feet into a battered pair of trainers and pats his pocket for his phone before he realizes he never found it.

Harry freezes, torn between two equally awful possibilities. Look for his phone and wait to get caught, or leave it and be effectively alone in a city whose language he doesn’t speak?

Fuck.

Harry’s still frozen when he hears the distinct sound of a key card sliding into the lock. He closes his eyes again. The door swings open, and Harry braces for the worst.

“Harry?” says a familiar voice. “What are you doing stood there for? We’ve got to be in the car five minutes ago, or we might miss our flight! What have you done to your hair?”

Harry opens one eye, then the other. Liam fucking Payne is stood across from him with his arms folded across his chest like a disapproving father and his brow wrinkled like Harry’s nan’s. “If you’re hungover, that’s not our fault,” Liam says crisply. He steps sideways, shuts the door behind himself, and sets about tidying Harry’s room for him. He heaps the shirts and jeans and pants he finds lying around into the suitcase and sits on it to zip it closed.

“Liam?” Harry squeaks. He clears his throat. “What...are you...in Japan?”

Liam looks up at him. He’s buzzed his hair again, Harry thinks absently. His face is soft and round, though; Harry’s heart gives an unwilling surge of affection. “Japan? What are you on about? We’re not in Japan.”

“Not...in...” Harry blinks. What was Harry drinking last night? Maybe he wasn’t drinking, maybe he took something? What could he have taken that’d let him wake up in another country? “Where...are we?”

“New York,” Liam says briskly. He puts his hands on his hips. “Seriously, how much did you and Taylor have to drink last night?”

“Taylor?” Harry repeats.

Just then, a series of rapid knocks lands on the door.

“Don’t answer it!” Harry squawks.

Liam shoots him a bewildered look and ignores him entirely, the traitor. He pulls the door open quickly, and someone dutifully recites, “Paul says to come and make sure you didn’t get killed so he can kill you himself. What the fuck’s taking so long?”

“Harry’s on a bender,” Liam answers primly. Harry’s scowling before he can think twice.

The other person whistles lowly. “Is he really? What’re you having, then, Styles, did you save any for me?”

Irish lilt, skinny legs, pink cheeks. Harry knows this other person, too. “I think I need to sit down,” he says, and can’t think how to move, so he doesn’t. “What are you two doing here?”

There’s the fractured silence of two people sharing a meaningful look, followed by Niall’s thoughtful, “You reckon he hit his head?”

Harry stiffens in surprise. He does have a headache. Maybe this is all just some weird hallucination, and his subconscious is speaking to him through his old bandmates. He bends his head obligingly for Niall to check, only Niall clucks in disguise. “I’m going to need a feckin chair to stand on. When did you get so tall? And what happened to your hair?”

Even as he talks his hand finds its way carefully to Harry’s head. It comes as a shock when he combs his fingers gently through Harry’s fringe before setting about feeling for any lumps. Harry looks up at Niall through the screen of his hair while Niall investigates him for brain damage, and realization trickles in first slowly, then in a rush.

The tips of Niall’s blonde fringe poke out from under his gray beanie, and his face is entirely smooth, no stubble to be found. He doesn’t even really look like himself, he’s so young. Liam, with his buzzed head, too...and no tattoos on his bare arms.

“I’m having a panic attack,” Harry announces, and waits to faint, or something.

There follows a mystified silence, ended abruptly by someone throwing the door open with all the force of a wild karate kick. “What’s wrong with him?” another familiar voice asks.

He must be dying, Harry thinks. He must have a brain tumor or some other serious illness. Something must be very, very wrong.

“He says he’s having a panic attack,” Liam answers Louis quietly, like Harry’s a proper mental patient.

Niall offers, “That don’t look like no panic attack to me,” thoughtfully.

“He’s going to make us late to the airport, and if we’re late there, we’ll miss the Jingle Ball,” Louis says in his brisk important way. To the others, he says, “He and Taylor probably had a row.” Then, to Harry, “Get your things and let’s go. You can finish your meltdown on the plane over coffee and brekkie.”

It’s the promise of coffee and breakfast that, more than anything, convinces Harry to go along. It isn’t till they’re stood in the hallway waiting for Paul to come and collect them that Harry musters up the strength to ask, “Jingle Ball?”

“Yeah,” says Niall. He starts chewing on his thumb nail. “Back in London.”

Harry frowns. “You going to be alright on the plane for that long?”

“Are you?” Niall fires back.

Harry falls silent, chastened. To himself, he murmurs, “Jingle Ball, London...”

“December 8, 2012,” Niall nods along. “Now you’re getting it.”

&&&

Niall’s cycling through the apps on his phone backstage and considering whether to launch another Instagram livestream when Conor whomps him in the face with a pillow from the sofa. “What the hell?” Niall splutters.

Jake and Gerry both laugh. “We can hear you thinkin’,” calls John from his spot over by the huge gift basket they arrived to find set out for them with Guinness, peanuts, and candy in. “The boys and I agree: no more livestreams till you think of something to do during them.”

Niall splutters again, this time to keep from laughing. “I’ll have you know I’ve been doing absolutely nothing on streams since before there even were an Instagram,” which may not technically be true, but whatever.

“What was that?” Jake stage whispers to Conor, who grins. “A year ago?”

“Bet it was just as boring then,” Conor agrees.

“You’re all fired,” Niall says, going back to his phone. “I’ll go out there on me own and play the show acoustic. And no puppy, either,” he adds, though so soft probably only he can hear it. He’s just got the strangest email he’s ever had, and he’s had some whoppers. Niall reads it again, then once more just to make sure he’s really seeing what he thinks he’s seeing.

The boys go back to teasing him amongst themselves; Niall overhears Conor’s, “Check out the look on his face, bet that’s him watching the viewers drop ‘cos I’m not onscreen,” before both Jake and John punch him in the leg. Niall taps back a response, careful not to put too much thought into it:

Are you fucking w me? How do I know this is really you?

And sends it off. Niall still gets fanmail to this email address, and sometimes it’s mad entertaining, but this message looked different from the get-go. The subject line read: NIALL IT’S HARRY I NEED YOUR HELP, which was enough to raise several flags.

All the flags, really.

Niall hasn’t seen Harry since...which came first, was it his show or was it the one they were both on the bill for, the one Niall was surprise guest at? He’s done so many shows over the past year that he can’t quite keep them straight anymore, and the itch to start a new spreadsheet gets stronger.

It’s probably just someone fucking with him, he reasons. He gets enough nutters on all platforms to know better, really.

But who could resist a cry for help?

Niall pops his thumbnail into his mouth and starts absolutely wrecking his cuticles. He’s not sure which is more strange: Harry needing help, or Harry needing his help.

While Niall’s busy pondering that, Gerry drops down beside him. “Everything ok?” he checks, cuffing Niall on the back of the head in a friendly way.

“Just got the weirdest email of me life,” Niall admits, forcing his hand down to his lap. Gerry’s eyebrows go up, and Niall’s just wondering whether he ought to explain when Lucy, the showrunner for tonight’s Jingle Ball, knocks twice on the open dressing room door.

“Five minutes to stage, guys!”

The lads all jump up to get ready, equipping themselves with their instruments like a troupe of powerfully unintimidating warriors. Niall reaches for his guitar with no small amount of relief, happy to force everything out of his head except the next five songs. It’s his last live show like this for the next few months, and he’s been looking forward to it and dreading it in equal measure.

‘Course, his problems are still there when he gets offstage. He pauses in the cinderblock hallway backstage while the boys pile into the dressing room for snacks and bottles of water before going to catch the rest of the show or to share a few drinks with the mates they’ve made over the Jingle Ball tour. His email correspondent (allegedly Harry, but Niall’s not yet convinced) has sent back,

It’s me. Followed by, You’ve got a huge crush on Katy Perry, your favorite song is “Desperado,” you’re terrible at cuddling, and I need your help!! I’m really not fucking with you!!

The message is followed by an avalanche of distraught emojis. “Fuck,” Niall says to the empty hallway, just for the sake of hearing himself say it. Then he emails back his phone number. Not but five minutes later does his phone start ringing. Niall swipes to answer and damn near crushes his ear, he claps his phone to his ear so fast. “Hello?”

“Oh, thank God it’s you,” Harry sighs over the line. “I’ve had,” his voice wobbles, “the most awful day, the bath had three showerheads in and there was sushi everywhere -”

Niall very nearly slumps in relief. He’d know that posh drawl anywhere, and he doesn’t sound like he’s dying, so that’s Niall’s worst fears sorted out. He opens the first door he sees for a bit of privacy and finds a cramped utility closet he wouldn’t cram himself into if his life depended on it. He keeps looking, and asks Harry, “And that’s a bad thing?”

“Well, no,” Harry sighs, sounding put out. “It was top. But then I found my phone, and there were all these messages on it from people I didn’t know, and I started getting these angry phone calls from people asking why I’d missed these meetings, and I didn’t know what to say, and I didn’t know who to call, nobody’s number is in service, and...” he sniffs.

Quietly, Niall argues, “Your mum’s number hasn’t changed.”

“I couldn’t tell my mum this! She’d probably have a heart attack, Niall!”

Niall ducks into the loo, darts into a stall, and plops down on the closed toilet lid. He rubs his forehead with his fingertips, too tired and befuddled to know what to think. The faint, euphoric he called me, Niall quashes ruthlessly. “And what exactly is ‘this,’ then?”

“I’m a time-traveller,” Harry says, “obviously.”

***

Together, Niall and Harry arrange for Harry to fly out to LA, where he’ll take a car out to Niall’s place in Laurel Canyon. Meanwhile, Niall will leave from New York tomorrow morning, which puts them both in California with just a few hours’ difference.

“And then we’ll...” Niall draws up short. He’s back in his hotel room with his laptop open on the bed in front of him and his shirt unbuttoned over his chest. He hung up on Harry so he could say goodbye to all his Jingle Ball mates, and then he and the lads had to stop by a local bar for a few celebratory pints before splitting up for the holidays, and now they’re gearing up to do a proper night.

Harry’s silence on the other end is hardly vacant. “We’ll figure something out,” Harry says sleepily. “Hey, Niall?”

Niall gazes at his reflection in the mirror atop the bureau. He’s gone tense all over like he’s expecting a blow, and he has to remind himself that this Harry - if he really is telling the truth, somehow, if he’s not just away in the head - is from 2012, and as far as he knows, Niall’s just one of his good mates. Someone to call in a panic, someone to help him.

“Yeah, Haz.”

“You promise you won’t tell my mum or Robin?” Harry asks. His voice has gone treacle slow with drowsiness, and Niall pops his cuticle into his mouth. “I just don’t want them to worry, or tell me I can’t tour again. Not that she could stop me,” he tacks on, though he doesn’t sound convinced.

“I promise,” Niall says. “I don’t think anybody would believe me anyway.”

His phone buzzes with a message; it’s Tara, forever every evening’s organizer, letting Niall know everybody’s waiting for him in the lobby.

“I gotta go.”

“Okay,” Harry says, and from the sound of his voice Niall knows he’s worrying at his bottom lip. “See you soon.”

“Yeah,” Niall says. “Will do.”

[finelinevogue]

busker!harry sounds adorable!! can u do a full blurb w him!!?

busker harry is my new baby! send me concepts for him if u want :((

Harry strummed the last few chords of ‘Let Her Go’.

He had been on the familiar streets of Manchester since 7 am this morning, singing with the birds as they woke up the world.

Harry’s voice was unlike no other. He was soft and mellow and his pitch range was exceptional. His voice calmed those around him, especially you. He could sing songs as rough as ‘Sex on Fire’ but he could also sing songs as sad as ‘Falling’, which was an original. There was nothing his voice couldn’t do.

It was now just after midday and he’d just got back after lunch, which was a Tesco’s meal deal that you’d grabbed earlier on in the day.

He was on the acoustic part of his set now and had his guitar strapped around his neck. The guitar was sacred to him, mostly because it was a personal gift from you to him. It was a classic Yamaha, but only you’d painted it. It had been a gorgeous wooden brown, but you thought it could do with a bit of colour to liven up the atmosphere. You’d used all bright colours and painted a meadow of flowers all over the front. The back was carved with both your names - an addition Harry deemed necessary.

Once he’d finished the song people applauded.

Harry had drawn quite the crowd and you were so proud every time he finished a song. People would always stop, thinking they’d only be there for a few seconds at most, but would always find they stay there until the song finished completely. Harry was just too captivating.

“Thank you. Thank you so much.” He congratulated every person who put money in his guitar case in front of him. You continued clapping until the people had cleared. “Was that okay?” He always asked you this, making it clear that your opinion was his most valuable.

“Absolutely beautiful.” You nodded your head, wanting him to get on with playing so he didn’t catch the tears in your eyes. ‘Let Her Go’ always made your emotional because it was the first song he’d ever played for you.

“Aw darling, hey lovie don’t cry.”

Harry walked to where you were sat on a bench next to his set up. He leaned down and used his fingers to wipe away your tears, before planting a long kiss to your forehead and letting his lips linger there until he could sense your comfort.

“Love you.”

“Love you, baby,” he stood back up and smiled at you widely, “what do you want me to play next?”

Your mind racked through the possibilities, but one stood out amongst the rest.

“Girl crush.”

Harry laughed, knowing that you loved his version of this song was your absolute favourite. He was always a little jealous that your favourite wasn’t one of his originals, but he only had 3 songs out at the moment. It was only a matter of time before he let you know and hear the whole album that he’d written, sung and produced for you. Every song would be yours.

“Ok, lovie. Just for you.”

Harry walked over to his mic stand, adjusting it as he turned it to face you. You pursed your lips as you tried to hold in the oncoming tears. He was singing to you. The surrounding people were nonexistent. It was just you and Harry, and it always would be.

[avaliveradio]

Jax Daily December 2020 Music Issue | Best Music and Podcasts of the year

What’s happening today in our Music and Art world?

From Podcasts to watch in 2021 to songs that are leading the Global streams in 2020 and which music group is setting up a content creation studio..

Don’t miss the Jax Daily Newsletter arriving on email to you daily featuring the latest in our music and art culture.

December 2020: In this Issue

Song that exceeded our expectations Globally in 2020

Podcasts you should be listening to

Why Spotify is invested heavily in Podcasting 

What New Indie Music came out today : December 2020

How Artists like Liam Gallagher are debuting music today

Which music group is building content creation studios in LA and London

Get the scoop on social media apps on the rise

What will the music industry be like in 2021?

Coming up…

Most Streamed Artists Globally

#1 : Puerto Rican rapper Bad Bunny claims the top spot with more than 8.3 billion streams this year from fans around the globe. His album YHLQMDLG—released in late February and featuring collaborations with Sech, Anuel AA, and Daddy Yankee—is the number one streamed album as well. The superb Puerto Rican vocalist is now the most streamed artist on Spotify globally, but has never had a UK hit – something he’s determined to change.

#2: is Drake  : Drake Now Has Twice as Many Streaming Songs No. 1s as the Next Closest Act. "Toosie Slide" debuts at No. 1 on Billboard’s extends Drake's record with eight leaders on the chart. 55.5 million U.S. streams in its first week (ending April 9), according to Nielsen Music/MRC Data.

#3: is Latin star J Balvin : a Colombian reggaeton singer.. In March, J Balvin released his audiovisual album Colores, which took home the award for Best Urban Music Album at this year’s Latin Grammys. In addition to his many recent accomplishments, including a McDonald’s partnership and a Fortnite appearance, Balvin made the 2020 TIME 100 List.

#4: is the late rapper Juice WRLD from Chicago was the most-streamed artist on Spotify. His album “Legends Never Die” was the platform’s most-streamed album in the U.S., while Ricch’s “The Box” was the country’s most-streamed song.

#5: most streamed is The Weeknd : The Weeknd's "Blinding Lights" is Spotify's Top Song of 2020 with close to 1.6 billion plays. The single was the subject of a popular dance on the social media platform throughout the year.

Most Streamed Female Artist

#1 Billie Eilish continues her reign. ( for the second year in a row)

#2 Taylor Swift 

#3 Ariana Grande 

#4 : Dua Lipa 

#5: Halsey

Most Streamed Songs Globally

#1: The most-streamed song of the year is The Weeknd’s “Blinding Lights,” which held out strong after being the second most-streamed song of the summer with almost 1.6 billion streams this year.

The Weeknd earned his first career GRAMMY wins for 2015, including Best Urban Contemporary Album for Beauty Behind The Madness but seemed to be Snubbed by The Grammy's this year ..

They Tweeted:

“The Grammys remain corrupt. You owe me, my fans and the industry transparency...”

#2: In the second spot, Australian ex-busker Tones And I’s viral 2019 earworm “Dance Monkey” released on 10 May 2019 as the second single from the debut EP The Kids Are Coming.

And who doesn’t secretly sing this song when it comes on the radio?? lol You know you do !!

#3 : Roddy Ricch’s “The Box” : "The Box" is a song by American rapper Roddy Ricch, released as the fourth single on January 10, 2020, from his debut studio album Please Excuse Me for Being Antisocial.

#4 : The very catchy “Roses – Imanbek Remix” by Imanbek and  SAINt JHN : a song by American rapper Saint Jhn, originally released on July 22, 2016 and later included on his 2018 album Collection One. It was then remixed by Kazakh producer Imanbek and released as a single on September 18, 2019.

#5 : “Don’t Start Now” by Dua Lipa : a song by English singer Dua Lipa from her second studio album, Future Nostalgia. Lipa wrote the track with Caroline Ailin, Emily Warren, and its producer Ian Kirkpatrick.

Most Streamed Albums Globally of 2020

Bad Bunny’s YHLQMDLG with over 3.3 billion streams

The Weeknd’s After Hours 

Post Malone’sHollywood’s Bleeding. 

Harry Styles’ Fine Line 

Dua Lipa’s Future Nostalgia

Most Popular Podcasts Globally

Spotify invested big in podcasts during the 2020 year. Now streaming over 1.9 million titles, there’s now something for everyone.

The Most Popular Podcasts you should listen to at least once are:

The Joe Rogan Experience, which holds the number one spot for most popular podcast of the year.

 TED Talks Daily  : Every weekday, TED Talks Daily brings you the latest talks in audio. Join host and journalist Elise Hu for thought-provoking ideas on every subject imaginable

The Daily : This is how the news should sound. Twenty minutes a day, five days a week, hosted by Michael Barbaro and powered by New York Times journalism.

New series from a well known voice: The Michelle Obama Podcast. the former First Lady diving deep into conversations with loved ones—family, friends, and colleagues

The comedy/advice show Call Her Daddy : the racy, weekly Barstool Sports podcast originally hosted by Sofia Franklyn, 27, and Alexandra Cooper, 26, where the two discuss their lives and sexual experiences in New York City — what they call “uncensored, real, female locker room talk.” In the two years since it launched, the podcast has gained legions of loyal fans, and rocketed to the 20th spot on Apple Podcasts. But the pair posted their last episode together on April 8, and according to reports, they were feuding with both each other, and with their higher ups at Bartstool. The podcast came back on track with Cooper, May 17th with Daddy Speaks..

Other podcasts you should check out:

AVA Live Radio: featuring new indie music, Behind the Music Stories and Jax Daily music & art culture news.

Impact Podcast: a Podcast on the fascinating journey of being an artist in todays complicated world. Jacqueline Jax narrates stories on struggle, getting past creative hurdles and how to become a better human.

Most Popular Podcast Genres Globally

Now that Podcasts are so popular as a form of consuming everything from news to inspiring chats by successful people, Spotify offers a large range of topics that cater to the varied interests of listeners.

But What genres were people most drawn to in 2020?

Society & Culture, a genre that includes both spooky stories and foodie content.

Comedy, which is no surprise as many are looking for more ways to laugh this year. 

Lifestyle & Health, demonstrating that listeners love turning to podcasts for wellness.

Arts & Entertainment fill your ears with culture, music and creative stories.

Education ranks fifth, proving that people are turning to podcasts for both a break and learning.  

Watch the Video

Coming up next:

Which music group is building content creation studios in LA and London

Get the scoop on social media apps on the rise

What will the music industry be like in 2021?

Taking a look inside how Artists feel about the Pandemic.

What’s happening inside our music genres?

Breaking New in the Art World : events, trends, and people shaping the art world.

[ao3feed-larry]

It ends with you and me

by yourlionheartx

AU where Louis is a recent graduate who just got a job in a bank in Manchester and has a terrible sense of direction and Harry’s a homeless kid who knows Manchester like the back of his hand (also Zayn’s Harry’s streetwise friend, Niall’s a busker and Liam is Louis’ workmate)

Words: 11467, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: One Direction (Band)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: M/M

Characters: Louis Tomlinson, Harry Styles, Zayn Malik, Liam Payne, Niall Horan, Lottie Tomlinson

Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Zayn Malik/Liam Payne

Additional Tags: References to Drugs, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Mentioned Racism

via AO3 works tagged 'Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson' http://ift.tt/2q7rlqi