If you could take flight, where would you go? Migration starts in the fall; as the world becomes fire and the air develops that beautiful, burning crispness; like the first bite of an apple, or that first feeling of diving into freezing water. The kind that sends a shock into your body. Lightning bolt nerves. The feeling of your hand falling into mine, or the feeling of your gentle lips. A short story about love, and loss, and growth, and birds.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8. Dance was Phoebe's one true love. More than frozen grapes. More than lavender. More than the mountains in Tacoma. More than me. In which, Phoebe Mitchell, aspiring ballerina and part-time gas station clerk, meets Harry Styles, vet tech and all-around sweetheart. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8. **Warning: contains mature content**

Harry was always a little bit different than the rest; a little bit better than the rest. Captivating. A debonair movie star hidden behind the safeguard of a leather jacket. The drippy yellow yolk of an egg protected by its stark white fortress. He was fully his, and maybe that's what made him so enthralling. So compulsive. Set in the 1950's, in which Harry, leader of the greaser gang, The Wasps, meets Delilah Butler, kindhearted nurse with a fondness for red lipstick.

The summer of 1988. A small Italian town. Estella Baretto has been staying in Bassano Del Grappa every summer for the last four years. When she decides to return the summer after her college graduation the last thing she expects is Harry Styles, a writer from London looking for inspiration for his debut novel. They fall fast and hard but summer only lasts so long. "You were mine for the Summer"

a collection of moments with jojo and h. if you haven't read chrysalis, don't read this :) these are all transferred from my tumblr account but keep an eye out for new ones.

"And the coastal town we wandered 'round had never seen a love as pure it" Maggie Kay is a simple girl living out her California dream. But when she keeps crossing paths with sunset obsessed Harry Styles she has to ask herself at what point does coincidence turn to fate? "Take a picture Curly, it'll last longer"

[COMPLETED] *STORY CONTAINS MATURE AND EXPLICIT CONTENT* !! Disclaimer: Harry Styles is used as a face and name claim, these characters DO NOT represent who he is as a person, this is purely fiction and not tied to Harry Styles in ANY WAY. !! It's 1973, Marijuana has just been legalised, festivals are booming and rock and roll has become bigger than ever. Oregon is the hot spot for many festivals - psychedelic mushroom festivals, music festivals, rave drug festivals. It's what all young adults dream of in a world where they feel alone. But what happens when those festivals turn into nightmares? What happens when a body unexpectedly shows up? And what happens when the main suspect is the lead singer of the band that headlines every single festival? Are they tied to the murder, or are they being framed? What happens when more bodies start showing up? Join Mary Jane - a twenty four year old cannabis and rave lover, and the mystery of what's going on behind the scenes of these festivals she loves oh so much. It's a journey filled with sex, drugs and rock and roll. What could go wrong? Or what happens if it's all just pretend? "The Summer Of 1973" Harry Styles 1970s AU **CURRENTLY NOT ACCEPTING ANY PRINTING OR TRANSLATING OF MY WORK**

It was all things cliché: If I was the storm, he was the calm. In a hot desert, he was that splash of water that had me gasping. In my cold heartedness, he was a fire that roared to life. But I snuffed out any light I touched. And I didn't need anymore blown out candles, I was already suffocating in smoke. *** A love story that will burn you.

Purple was never kind to the ones in reality. ~ "Get out of here." The familiar boy told the redheaded girl, her heartrate rising with each erratic breath. "He never lets you leave." Purple struggled greatly with mixing blues and reds, ensuring their dye joined as one. Never were they allowed to function on their own. Never were they allowed as individual colors, nor were lighter shades of violet. There was either dark purple, or there was six o'clock. Trembling under the Blue lights, the Red peered over the boy's shoulder at the grandiose poster plastered on the wall. If she couldn't leave Wonderland, then she would watch it burn.

In which a figment of Harry's imagination becomes reality, in the best and worst possible ways. . . WARNING: MATURE CONTENT