How would I have done it? I would have done everything he’s done to me and my family. So, I would murder him in many ways. I’d have to cut off his head, too many times. And draw a smiley face on every part of his body that I cut off. Make him look at it. Here’s your foot! With a smiley face on it! And sew wolf parts back on, like a wolf hand. Then he’s a wolfman. And strip him naked and fire at him with a crossbow. He doesn’t get to keep any essential parts. Castrate him too.
—  Sophie Turner on the Purple Wedding

This is my ten year old little sister, Aubrey. Back at the end of May, she got her head shaved for St. Baldrick’s in support of kids with cancer. Recently, however, she’s been going on about how she now hates her hair because she doesn’t think of herself as pretty, anymore. She said that because she doesn’t have long hair, she’s not beautiful. I disagree; I think she’s a gorgeous little girl.

To prove to her that she’s beautiful and it doesn’t matter what length of hair she has, I told her I was going to post this picture of her on Tumblr. I’m hoping you guys can help teach her a lesson about beauty and how you don’t have to be cookie-cutter perfection in order to be beautiful because I just want her to learn, while she’s young, to love herself no matter what. I want her to grow up with the self-esteem that I never had.

Taylor Swift has that music that you could either listen to in your room alone and cry and relfect on life or you could jam out to it with your girlfriends while baking cookies and getting ready or you could dance around to it with your boyfriend at midnight and be all cute or you could sing along to it with your family on long car rides and I think that’s why she’s so universal and loved.

YA LIT MEME (1/5 protagonists) —-> Karou 

“Karou was mysterious. She had no apparent family, she never talked about herself, and she was expert at evading questions—for all that her friends knew of her background, she might have sprung whole from the head of Zeus. And she was endlessly surprising. Her pockets were always spilling out curious things: ancient bronze coins, teeth, tiny jade tigers no bigger than her thumbnail. She might reveal, while haggling for sunglasses with an African street vendor, that she spoke fluent Yoruba. Once, Kaz had undressed her to discover a knife hidden in her boot. There was the matter of her being impossible to scare and, of course, there were the scars on her abdomen: three shiny divots that could only have been made by bullets.”