#moderr

[dontwriggleyourmaggotinherface]

From behind the rim of a perpetually full cup of mead, Helga looked up at the person walking across her line of sight. After placing the cup on the table before her only long enough for it to be filled by arms that in her inebriated mind belonged to no one, she gestured to the space on the bench beside her that they seemed to be mulling over asking about, "You can sit. I don't mind." 

[chainxbreaker-archive-blog]

>> moderr <<

              ❝ Impeccable how a man can so                         easily map out a road to HELL                      with their 'thoughts' and 'theories'                                  on a woman's action. ❞

[bravesttavia]

      Tavia ran town the muddy streets of Bree,       laughing. She was playing with some of the       children there. "I'm coming to get you!" She       laughed, and one of the little girls squealed       with joy when she nearly caught her. Tavia       growled as she chased after some boys, no       older than five, that had joined the game. She       loved to play with the little ones, they were the       only ones who never judged her. She got some       nasty looks from the older people, but shrugged       it off. She made a turn, and bumped into       someone, making both of them fall to the       ground. "Oh Gods, I'm so sorry!"

[northxrnwolf]

[ moderr ]

           The rains had come that day, shuddered weepings at substantial losses. As Stark eyes were cast over the map before him, sprawled across the table, and the heels of callus palms leant his weight on brittle wood, a sigh would roll from the back of his throat. The Lannisters were either side of them, and as Theon clutched his Ironborn fingers around Moat Cailin at the Neck, strategy was failing. (But Robb Stark would remain the undefeated Young Wolf). There would be times where sea-blue irises would turn to the wrought crown at the side, forcing back the bittersweet image of its runes nestled in russet-brown hair; strong he may seem, with the blessings of the First Men littered at his crown, but its weight in his neck only tired him.

There was the treasured peace—the elusive quiet which seemed to haunt Riverrun yet remain so tantalisingly out of Robb’s reach. It heeded the rain’s call and, when fingers were brushed over the slightly-itching whiskered stubble on his cheeks, the crown would be placed on his head once more.

       No sooner had the quiet come than it had been snatched away once more. Heavy boots, the sign of the Greatjon, or the Smalljon in his stead, would patter through the corridors and disturb the King with fleeting apologies and news of arrivals. Civilians. And perhaps it was the touch of his mother which forced a stern nod to stiffly crane from his neck, and the simple command of,  "send them in,"  to fall from his lips.

                                      “… What is your alignment?”

[lannisterns]

           ' quite frankly ----            i'm disappointed. '