We're all mad here, it's Wonderland. ~ Harry latches onto my passionate on-beat arms as he keeps me from moving forward. "Are you fuckin' mad?" He grits through his teeth. "I'm in Wonderland, Pretty Boy," I throw my free arm in the air, motioning to the surrounding world. "Of course, I've gone a little mad." He flips me around as the level of infuriation rises throughout his clenched jaw, trying to remain composed. "Don't try and be something you're not, Presley." I rip away from his hold, furrowing my brows from the curt statement, the honest revelation that should've just stayed within his mind. "We'll never be the heroes, and you know that," he says, colder than the Arctic's towering waves. "We'll never win." We'll never find Purple. Purple, the color of the Star-Crossed Lovers.

Although she wouldn't like to admit it, Isabel Allen can be selfish, argumentative, and more than a little insecure. When she and the moody, tattooed and positively infuriating Harry Styles are forced to work together at a bowling alley three days a week, Isabel thinks she's living in her own personal hell. But time changes more than just the seasons, and one year is a long time to work out not only each other, but yourself, too. A story about messy hair, heavy drinking, marathons, film trivia and being okay. (This story isn't mine, all credit to oxegenstyles!)

This is a story of what you wish would happen when you go to college. So buckle up and settle in, because Harry Styles is gonna make us all feel alive again. Highest ranking: 59 in #harrystyles 176 in Fanfiction

Elle Grey doesn't need anyone. She only needs herself, a paintbrush, and if she gets desperate enough, there are the few people she actually tolerates that she can talk to. She knows that there's more out there in the world - in fact, she spends most of her time either daydreaming or painting about it. She knows that the South Dakotan town she's grown up in is only suffocating her. That's why she finds Harry so intriguing. He's different and he brings out something in her that she wasn't sure was still there. Suddenly she's second-guessing everything she has known her entire life - maybe she does need someone.

Alexis chose the summer of 1996 to visit her Nonna in small, poorly known Clarkesville, Georgia. This year happens to be her favorite. Because a certain guy with ripped flannels, loose thick curls, and piercing green eyes won not only his thrilling illegal drag-races, but won the best trophy of them all. Her heart. [will contain mature content and much, much fluff]

Don't you call her baby. We're not talking lately. Don't you call her what you used to call me... A story in which a girl who writes songs falls in love with the boy who sings them. "Color...What a deep and mysterious language, the language of dreams." - Paul Gauguin. DO NOT PRINT MY BOOKS! *TW: story contains mature topics such as mental abuse, PTSD, minor drug usage, and minor sexual content.*

Eastmount Psychiatric Hospital Project Black Widow Patient n. 384 Name: Harry Styles Date of birth: February 1st, 1883 Date of admission: March 20th, 1905 Date of death: - Additional Information: Disappeared on September 6th, 1906. 24/11/19 #15 in fanfiction