Zayn Malik is the reason for the teardrops on my keyboard. ▲

Maybe it’s the way he walks

I dislike the phrase ‘Internet friends,’ because it implies that people you know online aren’t really your friends, that somehow the friendship is less real or meaningful to you because it happens through Skype or text messages. The measure of a friendship is not its physicality but its significance. Good friendships, online or off, urge us toward empathy; they give us comfort and also pull us out of the prisons of our selves

John Green - (from the introduction of “This Star Won’t Go Out” by Esther Earl)


if someone asks if youre wearing the same jeans as you wore yesterday and you are just say “have you ever heard of a washing machine” because they will think that you washed them but you are actually just assessing their knowledge of basic household appliances

"i just wanna make music forever and ever"

make me choose | anonymous asked me
↳ zayn’s sexy lip thing or zayn laughing



this was really sexy

So, you were new to the school. You’d moved suddenly, without reason from your parents, away from your friends and really everything you’ve ever known. You absolutely hated at your new school, your new house, the new people that were overly friendly and inviting when you were so bitter about everything.

You deliberately were short and rude in hopes that they would just stop trying, and it worked. By the second day, you’d scared off enough people to where really the only contact you had talking to people was with teachers, if they even chose to ask you a question.

On the third day, however, something changed. You were at your locker, getting your books and folders in your bag to leave, when it suddenly got a little darker, a shadow casting over you. You glanced up seeing a tall blonde with a lip ring, leaning against the locker next to yours.

"Hey," he said, giving you a once over. You, of course, rolled your eyes and proceeded to put your things in your bag.

"You going to acknowledge me, or what?" he said again, this time putting his hand a little higher than his waist, moving his head a little to try to get a peek at your face.

"Fuck off," you mumbled, zipping your bag closed, making sure your locker was free of anything that might jam it in the morning.

You almost missed his raised eyebrow, his tongue flicking out to lick his lips. “You’re really not afraid to be rude, are you?”

"You’re really not getting the message, are you?" you retorted, closing your locker with just a little more force than necessary.

He didn’t flinch, though. Just smirked.

"I’m Luke. Luke Hemmings." he straightened up off of the locker, sticking his hand out.

You studied him for just a moment more, then slung your backpack half on via one of the thick black shoulder straps. “Y/N.”

He broke into a little grin, looking down at you. “Nice to meet you, Y/N. Unfortunately, you’ve told me your name now, so you’re kind of stuck with me. I don’t really scare off easily.”

Zayn at the NRJ Music Awards, Dec 14th