Jordan. 21. A Roman History and Political Science student; with a minor in Creative Writing. The Great Southern State of North Carolina. Writer. Reader. Political junkie. Lobbyist. Runner. Names all pets after Shakespeare characters.

Currently in love: Game of Thrones/A Song of Ice and Fire, Prison Break, The West Wing, Thor, Avengers and anything related, The Social Network, Criminal Minds, The Good Wife, Justified, Community, the Britta Perry Show, Parks and Rec, Armie Hammer, photography, fashion, shoes, LOST, Faulkner, Bones, TVD, Rooney Mara, 20th century literature.

FIRE & BLOOD

this is the story of a girl who should never have been mistaken for not seizing a moment when she needed it most. 


That had been then, during the day, and this was now though. Now with Amy against the door of the mediocre hotel they’re staying in for the night, her hand pulling on Dan’s stupid green tie, and his lips slipping along her neck as she bites at his jaw with her own mouth. 


a language of their own (clint/natasha)

Their first date, if it can even be called that, if they even want to call it that, give into labels as such, is in the kitchen of Stark Tower. It’s two weeks after they saved the world and proved that Fury had been right to call them in. They all live in the Tower, together, jokingly starting to refer to it as the Avengers Mansion instead of Stark Tower, but that’s really what it is. Each of them have their own floor. Space to prowl and be by themselves when they need it. 

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Stefan, I make up things that I would never say. I say them very quietly.


he adjusts the setting at the table not because it’s wrong, but because he needs something to distract him from enacting a very different scenario involving Elena and that table.


She wakes with a dying gasp still stuck in her throat.

Eyelids peel open and it’s the blackness of the room she’s in as her back arches off the metal slab she’s on. For one second it’s like she’s still in the car, still in the water, still under the bridge, everything muted and quiet, and the slow shut down of her brain as water pushes air from her lungs, and then it’s really not that at all.

Elena blinks and her fingers curve over the slab she’s on, trying to anchor herself because everything is too much. She wants to scratch the skin from her bones to get rid of the air she feels crawling over it, wants to slam her eyes shut because she can see every trace of paint on the wall, wants to cover her ears because there’s a baby crying two floors up and a heart monitor going flat somewhere else. It’s too much. She wonders how she knows all of that, how her sense are so fine tuned and not at all, everything hitting her at once, over and over again without a second of pausing.


She goes to sleep with a wolf in her bed.

In the morning when she wakes, it’s a man stretched out beside her.


The idea first comes to Elena after one evening where she’d wrapped her hand around his perfectly knotted tie so she could pull him closer to her on her bed. As she’d felt the slide of silk on her fingers, the image of him restrained by it had come to mind. She’d been distracted soon after by other things, namely his mouth and hands and other parts on her own, but still the image had not left her.


Anonymous asked:
"please you "somewhere only we know" in some robb x sansa capacity? id be so indebted"

ask and you shall receive:

Sansa does not believe in stories anymore. She has long since seen the reality of Westeros and what it offers and takes from its people, has born the blows and hits from its knights and princes who are supposed to save the lovely maiden, and so they have no use for her anymore.

That does not mean she does not remember.

In the cold nights of the Eerie, when she is curled under covers that will never be warm enough, when she is Alayne Stone, bastard daughter, she thinks of the stories her brother once told her; she’d learned them from someone, had she not? And her brother, never brother, dead brother, had believed just as she had in the songs and tales. She closes her eyes and thinks of red hair that matched her own and a promise that one day she’d be the queen and her brother would protect her, a kingdom of their own, just for the two of them. In the morning, she will wake and be a bastard daughter again, but here she is safe. In her mind, she is safe.