Don proposes taking and taking and taking and taking, until there’s nothing more left to take. But there are people like Lane, who don’t know how to do anything but give. They’ll just keep giving up things, until they’re giving up pieces of themselves, until they don’t know how to stop and they’ve lost everything. No one should blame Don for Lane’s death — Lane got himself into that stupid situation — but it’s also important to understand that Don has enough money to buy himself the luxury of a clear conscience, of doing the right thing. Lane has no such thing. He’s always boxed in. Don spends so much of this season — this series, really — talking about happiness, as if it’s a thing you can buy, but what he never realizes is that if you climb the pyramid far enough to start thinking about that top step, to start thinking about actualizing yourself, to even get to a point where you think you can buy happiness, you’ve naturally left a lot of people behind you. Some people climb higher and higher, and it never occurs to them that the people they pass are stuck on level three or four, stuck trying to find the way to be so cocky as to worry about something as simple as merely being happy.
I started doing this “time zone meme“ with the six stark kids! for ‘present’ i chose Rickon the wild and his Shaggy Dog. Those guys are pretty crazy.
Robb & grey wind, I love when he threatens people by putting his sword for show!
Brann & Summer howling, loosely based on this image’s costumes
those huge sunglasses are not only fashionable, but perfect for hiding tears and domestic violence evidence, it’s a useful fit for Sansa & Lady!
Arya & Nymeria the warrior queens of the free people! I wonder if we’ll ever hear of Nymeria again…
and finally, Jon Snow and Ghost are the watchers on the digital wall! whew, that was fun.
All the better to eat you with.
The girl burst out laughing; she knew she was nobody’s meat. She laughed at him full in the face, she ripped off his shirt for him and flung it into the fire, in the fiery wake of her own discarded clothing. The flames danced like dead souls on Walpurgisnacht and the old bones under the bed set up a terrible clattering but she did not pay them any heed.
Carnivore incarnate, only immaculate flesh appeases him.
He’d won, after all; he’d gotten what he wanted. She hadn’t hit him, in the end, but blood was blood. And this blood was his. (x)