YOUNG WOLF.

meme times !! accepting@coldhonovr​

HE FELT THE PATIENCE DRIP from his mind with each passing second. felt that surge of resentment burrowing further and further into his heart, while it simultaneously seemed to break a little more with every moment he had to look at the man he had once called a friend. a brother, even. for the longest time Robb had believed he would forever think fondly of the years him, and Wyllas, and Theon had spent growing up together at Winterfell. learning how to fight, to shoot arrows, to ride, and eventually to woo the girls in the town close by. young and stupid boys they had been but the carefreeness of old days had allowed them to be so reckless. then war had come. then Theon had betrayed him               and then Wyllas. and when he looked upon his old friend now, he felt a knot tightening his throat.

Ramsay Bolton was dead. the Dreadfort nothing but an abandoned ruin soon to be claimed by someone, and Robb Stark was alive. despite the dagger buried into his chest by Roose Bolton at what people now dubbed The Red Wedding. the King in the North lived, assembling his old banners now against a threat even bigger than anybody could have anticipated. and with Jon and Sansa urging, he had been willing to offer chances to Houses that once had been loyal to the Starks. bend the knee again, and swear fealty. and you will find protection from whatever it is coming from north of the Wall. he had not expected to be sassed by the man he had once loved like family.

meme times !! accepting@dutyandhcnor​

“PEOPLE’S EXPECTATIONS OF YOU.” the reply was muttered thoughtlessly, words laced with fatigue, and perhaps a touch of childish exhaustion. Robb believed his ears to be ringing. Lords from all Houses constantly drowning him in chatter, in wishes, in questions, in demands, in assumptions            left, right, center, there was no escape, and nobody to ever stop and ask if perhaps he needed to breathe before his own camp threatened to choke him. now, with the night fallen on them, the voices had died down a little, and a cup of ale and the warmth of a fire made the newly crowned King in the North drowsy enough to let his guard down with a friend. 

meme times !! accepting@reekcd

EVERYTHING ACHED. every single bone, every single muscle, every tendon, hells if blood vessels could hurt, Robb was sure they’d do just that as well by now. his fingers felt raw, his ribs dented from the pressure of the heavy armour he wore day in and day out, and whether he’d ever regain any feeling in his feet would forever remain a mystery                  and yet the yawn he didn’t even try to stifle broke through an almost boyishly happy smile. a new day, a new victory upon the battlefield, and from here on out they would move on. with the Kingslayer bound in chains. who could claim to have ever accomplished that?

“we’re alive, the sun is shinin’, the Lannister forces are defeated, an’ that girl in your bed didn’t run away screamin’ this mornin’ at the sight of you. how’s that not a beautiful mornin’?” cockiness, people called that usually. but who could blame him; still merely a boy on a war high, now that he had gotten a taste of victory. so long as Robb wouldn’t grow careless over it, a little cheer surely didn’t hurt anyone.

accepting ALL the sibling loving, always !!@wolfqueennamedstark​

MISSING HIS DIAPHRAGM BY ONLY AN INCH, Robb was forced into a tumbling half step back if only to keep his footing at the surprisingly glomp to his person; long auburn hair for a moment blocking his sight, before he managed to wind an arm around his sister’s midriff and save her from simply bouncing off his frame. it had been long, hadn’t it? a month almost, spent in the wilderness up North, but it had been worth the while. the carts coming back with the small troop of men that had left, after all, are laden with game. enough of it to last them a month or two.

bloodied knuckles | tear-stained cheeks | rust | a busted lip | claws | fangs | a bloody nose  | chattering teeth | a dark space underneath the bed | scratching noises on a wall | creaking metal | fog | dancing under moonlight | blood dripping lips | heavy breathing in the dark | a feeling of unexplained dread | a figure in a dark corner | dirty peeling wallpaper | a bloody hand print on the wall | sobbing in the dark | bite marks on the skin | eerie whispers | a hood covering a stranger’s eyes | the growl of a hidden animal | the sound of a blade being sharpened | a deep, dark forest | walking on the streets alone at night | a cobweb-filled, abandoned building | eyes darting in paranoia | a heavy beating pulse | the feeling of being trapped | struggling to get out a scream | boards covering broken windows | a quiet graveyard | a road that never ends | heavy fog rolling in | the scent of blood in the air | eerie old photographs | a chill going up the spine | gathering crows | a dusty, dimly lit study | mist over a deserted cobblestone street | ghost towns | shadows around a campfire | the sound of chanting | church bells tolling | an orange harvest moon | a broken down carnival | a dirty stuffed animal abandoned | wiping bloody hands on fabric | nightmares | waking up in a panic | a power outage | heavy lightning storms | a secret trap door | the feeling of being watched | fear from trauma | an eerie doll | a scream of anguish and pain | withered plants | a room that’s been forgotten and gathered dust | owl eyes in the dark | curled, dead tree branches | a ritual altar | flickering candles | a lantern held up in the dark | fear of being followed | creaking floorboards | repressed, horrible memories | clenched teeth | soft, echoing piano keys | an old book covered in dust | many pairs of glowing eyes | stumbling in pitch black darkness | being stranded in the middle of nowhere | tarot cards on a table | a trail of blood

You got: Self-doubt. Think of the toughest, meanest, least understanding person you've met in your life. Your inner voice is ten times as cruel. The fact that you've managed to accomplish anything despite that bully is a miracle. Do yourself a favor. Next time you start telling yourself there's no point in trying, have a quiet talk with your inner voice, and tell it to buzz off.

tagged by: @zoklotala​​

It was far worse than he had expected. He had prepared himself for an icy gaze, for anger. But Robb did not even give him that– could not even look at him, it seemed. Theon couldn’t blame him. Not for any of it.

                “… I… understand.”

He stayed silent for what seemed like years, then, rueing over his words, debating what to say. What could be said? He had known not to expect forgiveness. He had hoped for it (Robb always had been the forgiving sort, even when they were boys), but he had not expected it. 

               “F… for what it is worth. I… I have paid for                  what I did.” 

Not that it was enough. It would never be enough, not even if Ramsay had seen fit to take all his fingers, and all his toes, too. 

       “paid?” was it anger that now bubbled up in his chest? rose past his heart, up his throat like bile he was unable to SWALLOW. Robb liked to think it was; a safeguard for himself, more than anything else, for the boy stood heartbroken and was too proud to admit it. no matter how it ate away at him.

                    ( you were my brother !! )

      “I should BEHEAD you for this!” the words burst from him with a force that entirely betrayed the previous, tired calm. restraint gone and parted, was it not the King in the North standing there, but merely Robb Stark. no king, but a boy who would have needed his best FRIEND by his side.

meme times !! @rcsethcrn​

       festivities           part of him likes to believe them Cersei’s most favourite kind of TORTURE now. with lanterns hanging from the trees, light breezes from the sea carrying the scent of roasted meat; there’s jugglers and musicians, an elaborate garden party allegedly held in honours of her son. a few weeks merely after his father’s MURDER. to Robb, it feels like mockery. and black has become the colour of his choice, unwilling to change into whatever colourful fabrics the king’s mother had her maids pick for him. gravel crunches beneath his boots, blue eyes lifted the moment he hears a, by now, somewhat FAMILIAR voice ahead            and something akin to a sheepish smile tugs at the corners of his lips. a little boyish charm goes a long way; an apologetic bow of auburn curls a little longer even, the moment he finally ARRIVES by her side. Margaery too is new to the lifestyle of this southern city. yet she seems to fit in seamlessly.