"Oh, you have got to be shitting me." Adelaide thought as she turned the corner into Gampel stadium, seeing a certain blonde she never expected to see again, let alone here. At her job. Almost three years later. 'After all these fuckin years' she thought. After taking a paid internship and so-called 'media girl' position on the other side of the country her Junior year of college, Adelaide Winslow never expected to reconnect with the hot blonde stranger she met on a school trip way back in high school, yet here she was, walking into her new job, suddenly aware of the fact interacting with said blonde would be inevitable. "Yay me," the freckled brunette mumbled under her breath as she shouldered her camera bag and attempted to fake confidence, strutting onto the basketball court and towards her new boss, Geno. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- What happens when a student journalist and yearbook editor turned media girl reconnects with a tall blonde she met in a fleeting moment all those years ago? And what happens when that girl turns out to be her new photo subject for the next year?

BOOK 2/3 OF MALIGNANT SERIES (MATURE READ!) "We need to go, they're coming for us." He yells over the rain that's slapping repetitively against the cement. "For us?" I begin until he grabs my hand and pulls me down the road. "For you, Amelia. They want you. But they can't have you." "W-why?" I swallow the lump in my throat. "Because what's mine, is mine." Harry and Amelia's developed relationship has been tested to many extents, but what happens when their choices have made them both the most wanted people by other men just as dangerous as Harry? Not to mention some shocking surprises along the way. #1 IN FANFICTION #1 IN DARK #1 IN HARRYSTYLES BOOK (2/3) *COMPLETED* ALL RIGHTS RESERVED @happydays1d/// CONTAINS VULGAR LANGUAGE, VIOLENCE AND SEXUAL CONTENT. READ AT OWN RISK///

SEQUEL TO DUPLICITY. Complicity- to be involved with others in illegal activity or wrongdoing. After sacrificing herself for Harry's freedom, Aven Brooks is no longer the innocent photographer with big dreams and a bigger heart. Now under the notorious control of Malikai, she becomes brainwashed into being the perfect asset for his organized crime. Harry, a fugitive, spends his days trying to find his angel and reap her out the path he once walked. When that stroke of luck comes his way, he smacks into the harsh reality to what she's actually become. Needless to say, she's no longer an angel. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED TO @HAPPYDAYS1D ALLOWING NO TRANSLATIONS. CONTAINS MATURE LANGUAGE, SEXUAL CONTENT, DRUG USE, VIOLENCE, AND MENTAL HEALTH. READ AT OWN RISK!

*CONTAINS MATURE AND EXPLICIT CONTENT* Have you ever met someone that made falling feel like flying? ~•~~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~ Preview: "Do you think, if you jumped from this roof - it'd feel like falling or flying?" I ask, keeping up with our theme of asking random useless questions that we've been going back and forth with for the past half hour. I stare at my feet swinging back and forth, looking down at the alleyway behind the building; pondering the question over in my head that I often wonder too much about. I glance over to Harry when he doesn't answer straight away and he's watching me with a look I can't read. "Unless you were a bird or could fly, it would just feel like falling. Because you'd know you were going to hit the ground" he decides to answer, staring at me like he's somewhat bothered that I asked him that. I look back down at the ground, and shrug my shoulders, "I think if you didn't care about hitting the ground it could feel like flying for a few seconds." ~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~ STARTED 11TH MARCH 2019 - ONGOING

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.