Why did you make David a vampire, even though he told you no? Why did you keep hurting that woman, when she told you no, too? You always said that you only wanted people who were willing. You scared me. I’m going to try not to think about it.
I learned that part of being alive is screaming your heart out to something. Anything. That sometimes crying and listening to the Rent soundtrack is a good thing. A necessary thing. And, most of all, I learned that some of the best thinking is done on long, silent drives.
You. Bastard who rose high in the world. Humble. Kind. Primal. Loyal. Beautiful. Master of Longclaw. Destroyer of White Walkers. Friend to the lost and fat and cowardly. Lover to Wildling. Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. And, for now at least, King In The North. You command all of our attention.
A part of me — not my ass, particularly — would normally find this sort of chauvinism deplorable. Still, somewhere between traumatizing-sexual-encounter and needing-attention-from-men, my indignation evaporates.
It’s Molly’s ‘go to hell’ attitude flowing through me when I tell off Rachel’s grandfather for misgendering her in public and refusing to accept her — for putting conditions on his love.
Spike is my greatest weakness. He's my fandom and first fictional boyfriend. He also paved the way for all of the blonde, blue-eyed boyfriends I would ever have.
They loved Frank Sinatra and cigarettes and bell-bottoms and platform shoes and sneaking out in the middle of the night and being all kinds of Dazed & Confused. Absolutely brilliant.
Diana Ross and Crystal Gayle had a Beautiful Hair Baby, and she has great clothes and the fierce confidence of a thousand 3rd graders. She is terrifying.
I have to be friends with her.
He pleads with God for answers — something to ease Charlotte’s suffering. His fingers drum nervously on the wheel as he pulls up to the church. He sits for a minute. Finally, he kills the engine.
