She pictured the two of them sitting together in a garden with puppies in their laps, or listening to a singer strum upon a lute while they floated down the Mander on a pleasure barge. If I give him sons, he may come to love me. She would name them Eddard and Brandon and Rickon, and raise them all to be as valiant as Ser Loras. And to hate Lannisters, too. In Sansa’s dreams, her children looked just like the brothers she had lost. Sometimes there was even a girl who looked like Arya.

reblogged from bronzedragon
reblogged from littledrunkunicorn

heritance:

Never fuck with someone who cries when they’re mad. They’ll stab you 48 times and cry in your stab wounds.

reblogged from maroders

hybridthry:

wearing all black today to mourn the death of my motivation

reblogged from i-n-e-f-f-a-b-l-e-m-e

SLYTHERIN APPRECIATION WEEK → day four » favourite slytherin trait
↳ Fraternity

reblogged from emotionslikeateaspoon

daftlypunk:

i hit my coworkers shoulder lightly and he was like “you’re going to make me cry like a girl” and i was like “what’s wrong with being a girl?” and he was quiet for a moment then he looked into the distance and whispered “the social standards they’re forced to live by”

reblogged from sophietheadventurer
s1uts:

givemeinternet:

When suddenly remembering something stupid that I did like ten years ago.

I have never seen an more accurate depiction

s1uts:

givemeinternet:

When suddenly remembering something stupid that I did like ten years ago.

I have never seen an more accurate depiction

reblogged from hannahwitton
reblogged from elegant-classics
reblogged from elegant-classics
source: ana-rosa 2,774 notes 9.16.2014 6:26 PM
"Somewhere there is a woman in China holding a black umbrella so she won’t taste the salt of the rain when the sky begins to weep,

there is a 17 year old girl who smells like pomegranates and has summer air tight on her naked skin, wrapping around her scars, like veins in a bloody garden, who won’t make it past tomorrow,

there is a young man, who buys yellow flowers for the woman in apartment 84B, who learned braille when he realized she couldn’t read his poetry about her white neck and mint eyes

there are people watching films,
making love for the first time,
opening mail with the heading of ‘i miss you’,
cooking noodles with organic spices and red sauces,
buying lemon detergent,
ignoring ‘do not smoke’ signs,
painting murals of his lips in abandoned warehouses,
chewing the words ‘i love you’ over and over again,
swallowing phone numbers and forgotten birthdays,
eating strawberry pies,
drinking white wine off of each others open mouths,
ignoring the telephone,
reading this poem

somewhere
someone is thinking
i’m alone
somewhere
someone finally understands
they never really
were

"

'poems from the grave' (via saeltskin)
reblogged from rilken
source: irynka 84,728 notes 9.16.2014 4:34 PM