#jackthelass

1. Mal and Regina are proper ladies.

(Quote courtesy of @thought-I-to-myself)🖤🎩😍🏳️‍🌈❤🤯

Thank you!!

Tywin Lannister: I'm gonna be boring and say a nice house (complete with a gardner because I hate yard work).  If I and my family had that security, I'd be happy.

Arya Stark: IRL? No one (haha, no pun intended).  In the fictional world it's pretty much Ramsay Snow (preferably by the jaws of Nymeria after being hunted through the forest after the real Arya greets him with "Hello, Husband".)

Letters from Sài Gòn: Áo Dài Học Sinh

After school, in the early summer, we would roam the city streets. The royal poinciana trees that line the sidewalks have begun to flower, lining the ground with a lush, red carpet of petals. Carelessly trampled by feet and wheels.

You know what I love?

Bad people. Bad people in all forms. From the murderers to the Wall Street cronies. I love them. I love them all. Why?

Because this society needs them. Who else will we turn our noses up at and go on our merry way knowing that "Hey, at least I didn't ruin someone's life today." They help us sleep at night because, god knows, we've never committed one of the cardinal sins of societal living.

When you see that man convicted of murdering his wife, you sleep a bit more soundly at night. Because you might be a philanderer, but God knows you never had the audacity to kill your wife in cold blood and dump her body in a ditch. 

When you see look into the face of that woman who killed her kids, you'll KNOW that no matter how many times you call your gay son a faggot, at least he's still alive.

When you look at the skinheads and the rapists, you can rest assured that no matter how many racist jokes you make or how many suggestive comments you throw at girls on the streets, at least you've never followed through. 

I love bad people, but, more than that, I love people who watch bad people do bad things. I love the news. I love the bystanders who gently "tut tut" and shake their heads as they pray for the victims. I love people who admire people going through hardships. I love people who tell other people that adversity makes you stronger. I love these people.

 As you grow older, you come to appreciate the little things more. I remember always hearing people comparing people and events to a “cool breeze on a hot summer day.” Yeah, sure. I understood what they meant logically, of course. Yet, as they so often do, metaphors for our affect can have meaning as words, but you just don't really get them until you experience them.

I was sitting in my car, baking in the California heat, which was a drastic change from the gloomy sprinkle that enveloped the sky not more than forty-eight hours previously. At this moment, my windows were down, and a breeze passed through my car's cabin. That's when I felt it. I felt the breeze that served as my two-second-salvation, and I finally understood why people love to use these modica of relief in their clichéd declarations of appreciation.

The fact of the matter is, life can be so cruel so often. Hell, it's downright shitty sometimes. So when something really good happens for once, you cannot help but feel the hell out of that amazing feeling. Unfortunately, it's also a fact that good feelings always end, even if you only go back to a neutral state. It's not like you always have to hit rock bottom right after to understand that the high of a good thing will eventually wane. That's why they call it a high.

So when something or someone brings you joy after an especially strenuous streak, they are like that breeze that tickled my skin (and, not so poetically, the hairs of my underarms.) I understood it so clearly in that moment, because that cool feeling brought a flood of memories that coursed through my brain at a dizzying speed. They weren't specific or anything, just flashes of imagery. Most were pleasant, like a particularly blue sky some time during my childhood. Some were bittersweet, which I'd rather not divulge on the internet. I couldn't tell whether the memories triggered my “epiphany” or vice versa.