All stories are about wolves…escaping from the wolves, fighting the wolves, capturing the wolves, taming the wolves. Being thrown to the wolves, or throwing others to the wolves so the wolves will eat them instead of you. Running with the wolf pack. Turning into a wolf. Best of all, turning into the head wolf. No other decent stories exist.
(Source: ceedawkes, via jonahchill)
the only domestic instinct my parents have managed to pass on to me is the tendency to hoard multiple plastic bags in another plastic bag despite the fact that I will probably never need this many plastic bags in my adult life
As Daenerys Targaryen rose to her feet, her black hissed, pale smoke venting from its mouth and nostrils. The other two pulled away from her breasts and added their voices to the call, translucent wings unfolding and stirring the air, and for the first time in hundreds of years, the night came alive with the music of dragons.
(Source: stannisbarathcon, via thehoundsof-marah)
When you wake up and get your period and you’re like “oh that’s why I was crying uncontrollably last night over a jelly bean”