stydixa:

30 Days of The 100: Day 3 - Favorite Familial Relationship(s) → Bellamy/Octavia (The Blakes)
↳ “O, listen to me. I told you my life ended the day you were born. The truth is…it didn’t start until then.“

beigency:

The water filled my lungs, I screamed so loud but no one heard a thing

dramione au: draco’s world falls into pieces when hermione doesn’t survive at malfoy manor

and if holding her means, that I have to bleed
then I am the martyr, love is to blame
cause she is the h e a l i n g, and I am the p a i n

No words entered or left Draco. All there was, was silence. The kind of emptiness that isn’t void, or even incomplete, but blatantly shattering. His heart’s strings stretched like elastic when he watched her head drop to the floor, the lean and bony fingers of her hand dropping onto the marble that was now as pale as her skin. A haze of movement surrounded him as Weasley and Potter hurtled past him, but all he could see was the pitch dark. Flashes of light flew around the room, probably spells being cast, but Draco was blind. Her quivering lips, soaked with blood, and her inky eyes, swimming with pain and utter hopelessness - they were the only images that remained, scorched into the back of his eyelids and surrounding his sinking frame.

The color had withdrawn from his senses, and blotches of red dotted his raging mind as he remembered the shade of her dress on the day that he’d first caught her off guard. The different hues of his breath when she had first said that she loved him, and the color of her cheeks when he had countered that he didn’t deserve it. The same red that clotted around the carved out ‘mudblood’ on her arm, staining the unblemished skin that would never heal. The goddamn red that wouldn’t desert his crumbling chest as he watched her lay still. Not the kind of stillness he had admired her for, not the kind that she possessed when she was thinking hard, or recovering from something unexpected, or the way she slept, trapped in his arms, but inching into his warmth without knowing. This was the stillness of a dried up river, the aftermath of a storm - this was the absence of the turbulence threatening to take over her mind, and the dearth of her courage to fight back.

And in all the chaos and havoc materializing around him, Draco could only feel the hollow stillness. Gnawing into his bones from the insides, and pulsing dangerously against the veins that he tried so tirelessly to purge of her. But she still lived, no longer breathing, in his bloodstream, and he was afraid her lingering whispers and comforting smiles would turn him into a ghost as well.

direwolfes:

“I might be in love with you. I’m waiting until I’m sure to tell you, though.”