MATURE AND EXPLICIT CONTENT. Viewer Discretion is advised. *The people inside of this work are FACE-CLAIMS. This has no correlation to any IRL individual.* *This is messy plot. Made when I was a teen. Beware.* The story of a young woman who finds her style, self worth, and strength through the power of friendship, and true love. With a punk twist. In 2010, living in suburban CHICAGO IL, Alice Mariposa Anderson, 19, wishes for a teenage dream of sex, drugs, romance and fame. A Punk Rock life is a fantasy that corrupts her daydreams every waking hour, and her love of music only fuels it--but it's a life that'll only come true if she abandons the strict religious rules of her parents Christian household, and takes a chance on her new punkstar neighbors across the street. ⭑ ⭑ ⭑ Harlow Silver is a 21 y/o drummer for an underground scene/punk band named Bloody Valentine, moving from a loud, trashy New York City apartment to a quiet house in Chicago to escape his grim, horrific past. While also seeking out answers only Chicago could give him. But when he moves in across the street from a prudent, annoying, religious girl looking to bust out from her protective shell, he's forced to face his fears and break through the mental barriers that bind him to his trauma. And maybe, just maybe, love again. ⭑ ⭑ ⭑ Enemies to Lovers. Slow burn. A.U.

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.

***completed*** NOW PUBLISHED ON AMAZON Harry Styles. The strange one. The freak. The one who was too kind for his own good, trapped in a world where his job was to bring people pain. Sophia 'Spice' Winters. The dancer. The stripper. The one who who trapped in a world where her job was to provide men with nothing but pleasure. -- "What don't you understand?" Harry seethed, his hands gripping the roots of his hair. "I'm not the good guy here, Sophia. I'm bad, everything about me is fucking bad." Harry looked as if he was about to rip his hair out, his wild eyes shinning with madness. He looked unhinged, raw and angry. It should of frightened me. That look alone should of been enough to send me running. He didn't look like the shy man I first met. He looked...crazy. His fingers were coated in red, stained with the blood of another. He didn't seem to care though. "If I was you Sophia, I would run away. Run as far away as you possibly can, because I promise you...An evil part of me won't let you go, and I hate myself for that. I want you to run away, to a place that I can't ever find you. You'll be safe that way."