Rupture: [noun] a separation into parties or within a party; a schism. In a world of destruction, riot, and division, she was set to kill all, stopping at none. Then he came along, and he reminded her of what it was like to feel. When everybody else chose the rupture, they chose to unite.

I never understood why he ripped his jeans. Don't trust a boy who rips his jeans. He somehow manages to rip up everything else, everything that matters anyway. He said that everybody and everything rips eventually, so why not speed up the process? I didn't know what to say. His mind was complex is ways I could never fathom. He said I was too pretty to rip up but he did it anyway. He did it anyway.

There's three things you should know about Harry: 1. When we were in ninth grade his biggest aspiration in life was to start a punk ukulele band. 2. Once I made him a bracelet with plastic beads that didn't have a pattern in the slightest, and he wore it for years until the pink string holding it together couldn't take any more wear and tear. 3. He's been my neighbor for more than half my life, and that hasn't changed now that we're in college. There's three things you should know about me: 1. I'm banned from the putt putt golf course in my hometown... but that's actually Harry's fault. 2. I'm not a fan of math, but I'm good at it, which has turned into a constant battle in my head. 3. I'm not about to fall in love with my best friend. I'm not.

This is the Sequel to Dark. This is not mine it belongs to han-rawr on tumblr.

Harry doesn't believe in coincidences. Neither should she.

Flashing lights. That's all he could see: the pulsating strobe of a white brightness blinding him from the indistinguishable scenario playing out around him. He could not feel. Not the cool, autumn breeze, not the fog-like droplets of British showers, nothing. He couldn't hear anything. Maybe a dull thumping deep within, but nothing recognizable. Attempting to speak, he opened his mouth, trying to form words. He couldn't tell whether he was making any sound, letting out any kind of sign that he was distressed, but he knew it was worth a shot. As he began to fixate on his disabilities, he began to panic, and that's when it all went black. That is, also, where the story begins. // previously called Nirvana //

she whines and he sells wine. maybe he can help her out.

"To have her in his bed, in his arms, with her breath on his neck and her hair tickling the corners of his mouth -- he was finally able to think of his life as not only just a dark hole of violence. Maybe, just maybe, his life could mean something more." || mature hs fanfic. Cover credit to @pillow-case © highstylin

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.

maybe he can help me touch.