#PLS GEORGE WINDS

[babybells123]

No but you don’t understand . I need Jonsa to be a tangled mess of depravity and tenderness. Grief haunting them - the ghosts of their past connecting them in some irrevocable way, because perhaps that’s the only way they know how to bond - initially, at the very least. Estranged but bursting with love but not knowing how to show it because ‘we were never close.’ But Sansa used to teach me courtesy, and Jon used to sneak me lemon cakes when no one was watching. I love you so much but I feel as if you’re a stranger to me and I don’t know how to change that. Do you wish it was arya who walked through those gates or I should have been a better brother to you, I should have ridden north for you. Please just let me hold you in my arms until our hardened hearts soften again. Until something ineffable develops. And to their horror, they realise this raw and fresh and beautiful (damaged) bond that they have created. And then comes the angst. The yearning. The unspoken words. Religious disillusionment. Inadequacy. Shame shame shame. Understanding slowly burning brighter, until they realise how similar they actually are and oh my god , you were there the whole time and I never even realised. But she was radiant and glowed brighter than any star in the sky, how could I not ??? Now give me your hands and I’ll kiss your fingers one by one, I’ll gentle each tip the way you’ve deserved. And I’m here, I see you. I’m not leaving, but gods am I a vile being. Look at how this world has corrupted me.

[jonsnowunemploymentera]

This fandom has a disturbing sense of entitlement when it comes to GRRM and his remaining two books. There’s this horrifying lack of empathy towards this man and it’s genuinely scary. People expect him to be like one of those elves from Harry Potter: he just has to turn his magic on and churn out brand new content, who gives a fuck what is going on in his life? Let me remind the audience that this is a guy in his 70s! Yes, he’s rich. But age and its complications bow to nothing. Not to mention that even if his age wasn’t a factor, he could still be dealing with a lot of mental distress that ANY human would? Do you know how deranged you have to be to say that he cannot be affected by losing a close friend? That he, and his writing, cannot be affected by the state of the world? This is a man whose core thesis statement in his work is, “I have a tender spot in my heart for cripples and bastards and broken things”. One of the core protagonists in this series has dedicated her entire arc to fighting institutional slavery. One another protagonist has spent five books unlearning bigotry and trying to reform institutions that operate on it. ASOIAF fictionalizes real world issues. And to get there, GRRM has to take note of it and then make commentary on it. Like do people listen to themselves??? What is wrong with this fandom dear god…

[strangerlittlethings]

I wouldn’t drink today but god how much I miss brienne and Jaime

[medievalsmithy]

Oh Hello ! welcome home, Lord Commander Jon Snow

[throwawayasoiafaccount]

literally so done with rhaegar antis at this point. we know practically nothing about this character besides all the good things other characters say about him and the fact that robert baratheon hates him and says things about rhaegar that ned disagrees with. and robert baratheon is a pos so being hated by him only does favors for rhaegar’s character imo.

but somehow all these characters who think well of rhaegar are just lying. even though almost all of the characters who have spoken/thought well of rhaegar come from different families and have different allegiances. make it make sense. explain it to me like i’m five. what do jamie and ned have to gain by thinking positively about rhaegar? what about jorah? and barristan?

seriously. stop with the “prophecy obsessed freak” and the “rhaegar was mad” bs. none of this is supported in the books.

for 1) the prophecy is real! this is a fantasy series! and it’s very likely that jon snow (his likely son) is one of the azor ahai/prince that was promised figures! the other completely certain azor ahai figure is his own sister! so yes this prophecy seems to be centered around rhaegar’s family.

2) rhaegar being “mad” is not supported whatsoever. prophecies and magic are very real in asoiaf. so believing/trying to figure out prophecies is not an act of a madman. if anything, we should praise rhaegar for having the foresight to be actively concerned about this world ending threat! he was right. and one mention, if not the first mention, of the song of ice and fire comes from a vision in the house of the undying… from rhaegar. please remember what the title of this series is…

now, it is fair to criticize rhaegar for how he treated elia at the tourney at harrenhall. he was wrong there and that was a terrible thing to do to elia. however, saying that rhaegar was awful to elia throughout their whole marriage is not supported. and saying that rhaegar was awful to his children is not supported at all.

also, getting angry at a fictional character for needing a son to secure the succession to the throne is hilarious, especially since it was necessary for not just rhaegar, but also for elia to secure their own positions at court. they both needed a male heir, but elia needed to have a son more than rhaegar to secure her position. so why are people so mad that rhaegar and elia had aegon? andal tradition says that a son comes before a daughter and a daughter before an uncle… but aerys had viserys to threaten rhaegar with because aerys was king and had the power to change the succession. having aegon was very important for both rhaegar and elias futures and protected rhaenys position as well. just look at what happened to alys karstark when all of her male brothers were gone. she was almost usurped by her uncle. do you really think aerys would let the throne pass to a girl? aerys??

anyways, we don’t know enough about rhaegar and elias relationship to actually make any concrete statements about them, but, from danys house of the undying vision of rhaegar and (likely) elia, their relationship seemed fine and they seemed open with each other. not every marriage of duty ends in nedcat and five kids, but their marriage was clearly far from the robert and cersei nightmare.

another thing rhaegar antis love to harp about is how he is a pedophile. i’m literally so sick of it. rhaegar, someone who seemingly struggled with some form of depression, finally found some joy outside of a marriage of duty. the author himself called rhaegar a love struck prince. ned never thinks ill of rhaegar, even though if the stories robert baratheon would have us believe were true then ned would be the first character who thinks rhaegar is some sort of monster. but ned doesn’t. back to the pedo argument… anyways i have issues with the age gap as well. but i know where to lay my criticism. with george. he’s weird about ages and it pisses me off. however, i won’t let this change the way i see a character, especially since westeros doesn’t have any age of consent laws.

god just criticize george already.

but to be clear, rhaegar, a tragic character who died trying to protect his family, who’s daughter hid underneath his bed for protection, is not some monster. he was born in grief, lived in grief, found some joy, and died whispering the name of the woman he loved. that’s sad. and it’s horrible that he’s blamed for his family’s deaths even though he fought and died trying to protect them. and then robert baratheon sat on his throne and drunk and whored the realm into debt. thank you mr. boar. and good riddance. cersei slayed with this one.

now if you want to blame someone for the war and what came after, then blame aerys for his cruelty. blame brandon for his foolishness. blame robert for his warmongering. blame tywin for his monstrous actions. blame gregor and amory for their terrible violence.

stop blaming the guy who died trying to protect his loved ones.

and tbh, we literally have so little knowledge of what happened before the rebellion and after harrenhall. we just don’t know what happened between rhaegar and lyanna besides what george has told us and whatever small scraps we get in the book. we don’t know if it was a rash decision or if there was some plan in place when rhaegar and lyanna ran off. we just don’t know.

so please stop treating your headcanons like canon facts. especially when your headcanon isn’t supported anywhere in the books! it’s so tiring to see! i get it! you hate this character! whatever! but stop acting like what you’re saying is canon!

rhaegar is simply a ghost haunting the narrative. but his legacy lives on in dany and (likely) jon. and both of them are saviors fighting the good fight. and based on the descriptions we have of rhaegar, i can say that he’s likely very proud of his sister and son.

[ratcorvo]

oh daenerys stormborn the bisexual woman that you are…

[thepigeonsfanart]

I think we should do with George R R Martin the same thing Victor Hugo's wife did to get her husband to write: get all his clothes away so he can't go outside

[philippeducdanjou]

IM NOT A MONARCHIST IM A BERTIE ENJOYER

[twinge-of-cosmicangst]

Daenerys Targaryen has had the shits for the same amount of years as her age in AGOT. If TWOW doesn’t come out in the next year and a half, Dany will have had the shits for half of her existence.

[midnight--sadness]

we're really not getting twow

[yaneznayunichego]

Today I finished reading adwd and twow’s sample chapters (it was my first time and I was soooo slow, hoping hoping hoping…)

Now all I have is wait for George to finish the books book

So sad and empty and lonely now……. (but thanks I did not read these all 10 years ago)

[kemihaydeestantonva]

Since the A Song of Ice and Fire community seems really cool and active on Tumblr here's some audiobook practice I did a while back from one of George's winds preview chapters!

[ilynpilled]

[winnie-the-monster]

I’ve been waiting 12 years for the Winds Of Winter to come out. 😭😭 and who knows how much longer I’ll have to wait for that

you ever wait nine years for a single book? because same.

[lewkwoodnco]

Hii I wanted to request Anthony Lockwood×fem!reader with the song London Boy. Where the reader is from Europe, and she just moved to London to become a better ghost hunter, but she gets rejected at Fittes and other agencies. Then she finds out about Lockwood&Co. and goes to a job interview and gets hired. Since she's from Europe, she has an accent, and like she doesn't always pronounce words right, Lockwood loves it and finds it adorable. As she lives with all of them, they start becoming closer. She and Lucy become like best friends. And from the whole start, when she met Anthony, she was crushing on him and he would often call her darling and love, because for him it's normal, but she would literally be running laps in her head. Lucy notices all of this and teases them about it. Happy ending with them confessing and kissing? As always, you can change it so it suits the song more, I really love your writing, and it never disappoints!!

Lockwood x Reader - London Boy

A/N: While I was researching possible words to mispronounce whyy did I find out that I was pronouncing one of them wrong this wholeee time AHHH also why was it so hard to find a gif where he's smiling. Netflix pls renew the series to give him more screentime where he doesn't look like he wants to dies plzzz. also this starts with a letter written by the reader to her sister a week after moving to London, 3.1k, enjoy!!

Dear Elizabeth,

I hope things are fine over there. London is...interesting. It's very cold and wet, for one. I always feel like I'm one gust of wind away from catching a cold, but a friend took me shopping a few days back, and I've got a much warmer coat now. You'd love Lucy, she's got your sense of humour and everything.

Things didn't work out so well at Fittes. Or Rotwell. Or any of the other agencies I had shortlisted. I'm at a small independent, Lockwood & Co. There's only four of us and Mr. Lockwood's only a year older than me (a misnomer if I ever saw one, I thought he'd be closer to eighty than eighteen), but they get by just fine and I'm learning loads.

Part of me still wonders if I made the right choice by leaving. I wish I was home; warm, dry and safe. I miss the fields, the bonfires, the cheap juice boxes... miss you and mum to bits. Give her all my love.

"Writing a letter?"

She slammed a hand over her postcard with an aggressiveness that shocked her as much as him. She was sitting at the kitchen table, opting for a change of scenery while she drafter her note. It was morning, and from the shuffling sounds outside, George and Lucy seemed to also be awake, but only Lockwood was in the kitchen with her. And the thing about Lockwood was - well, he made her a little skittish.

She panicked at his slightly taken aback expression, rushing to make amends. "No! I mean, yes, I am writing a letter. It's for my sister, Elizabeth."

"I'm sorry I startled you, I don't mean to pry."

"You weren't." God, did she completely forget how to hold a normal conversation? It was mind-numbingly difficult to generate coherent words or even thoughts with his buttery smooth posh accent washing over her. "I just - we keep odd hours and with the time zone difference I haven't had the time to talk to them on the phone."

"I didn't know you had a sister."

She looked down into her tea, suddenly shy. Keeping eye contact with him was difficult enough when they were all in the room, but his undivided attention was simply unbearable. There was something so intentional in his gaze that made her too nervous to think too much about it. So that just left a knot in her chest that would throb and set her ablaze any time he got too close. That, coupled with their extremely embarrassing first meeting, made her especially prone to stuttering or leaving the room whenever Lockwood was around.

Ironically, he was away handling a mild Type One case in Sidcup, for which the prestigious clientele warranted the inconvenient travel, during her interview. Which was just as well, because she was sure she wouldn't have been able to force anything out with him watching her as closely as George had. She had seen the newspaper clippings on the wall, but the dates had been cut off, so it hadn't been immediately obvious to her that he was a teenager like the rest of them. Besides, who had heard of an agency run by three teenagers and no adults?

Which was why she nearly fell out of her armchair the following morning when the front door opened to the sound of unfamiliar yet boyish laughter. The briefcase carelessly left by the entry way to the living room caught her eye first, followed by his crisp suit, his straight tie, and finally, the man himself.

She wasn’t one to believe in love at first sight, but as he grinned with his dimples mischievously winking at her, she felt that if anyone could change her mind, it just might be him. She felt the palms resting on her book grow clammy as her heart thudded dangerously, And this was all before he had even spoken or looked at her. As soon he opened his mouth, she was a goner.

"You guys have to read this: 'Lockwood & Co. - the answer to the Problem? For an independent agency with less resources yet arguably more success than the big two, could they be the key to ridding our world of visitors? Read more on pa-' Page six? So much of that trouble, all for a page six?"

"Now look what you've done, Lockwood. You've scared our newest member mute with that demented laugh of yours."

"How could I forget? Y/N L/N, the one agent with enough talent to, and I quote, 'somewhat-kind-of satisfy' George Karim. I was positively racing home to meet you. Forgive my, hmm, associates. I hope they didn’t give you too rough of a time."

"You make it sound like we're degenerates!"

"They can be quite bothersome when they want to be. I'm Anthony Lockwood, of Lockwood & Co."

He stuck out a hand, and she blinked at him. She felt a bubble of nervous laughter lodged in her throat, almost half-inclined to believe that this was all a bit; he really was that ridiculously attractive. His dazzling smile faltered, morphing into one of concern, until Lucy knocked enough sense back into her to respond. She shook his hand, embarrassed, mumbling a greeting. He walked away, loosening his tie, and she buried her nose deeper into the paper, wishing it would just swallow her whole.

They had been terribly busy the past week, and during the day she would mostly tag along with Lucy, so their paths rarely crossed. There was this one time when he had just been coming down the stairs as she and Lucy were returning from their shopping trip. She froze halfway in the motion of taking her coat off, then shrugged it back on. He looked mildly confused. She was desperately confused. She didn't appreciate Lucy's snicker.

"New coat."

"Yeah. It's real warm."

"I can see that." Her coat looked not all that much bulkier than Lucy's, but she could still hear the smile in his voice as she pulled her gloves off. Somehow, she managed to coordinate her limbs enough to take the coat off and hang it like a normal person, before briskly walking up to the attic, the side of her face burning from when she passed Lockwood.

"It's real warm." Lucy wasted no time teasing her as soon as they were in the attic. She groaned.

"What else was I supposed to say?"

"You were really excited about the pockets at the shop."

"They're-"

"Faux fur-lined, yes, you've told me a thousand times." She gave a knowing half-smile. "Couldn't manage telling him once?"

"He'd think they were stupid. He'd think I was stupid." Even more stupid that he already thinks, she wanted to say. But who could blame him? For all he knew, she didn't have enough brain cells to string three coherent words together.

Their cases were tiring, but the routine was still so new that more often than not, she would be too wired to peacefully knock out in the attic with Lucy after their cases. She'd open the door to the attic just a crack, and listen to the soothing sounds of paperwork rustling in the library, watching the barely visible soft shadows of Lockwood moving about. She could glean that they were a little burdened by the absence of a pair of hands, and she had tried to offer her help, but all she got was distracted pats on the forehead as her words went in one ear and out the other. She couldn't blame them; they really did look stretched thin, which made her especially thankful for Lucy's company even at their busiest.

Still, that didn't stop her from carrying her blankets down to the door to the attic in the dead of the night, leaning her head against the banister. If she were lucky, she'd catch a faint strain of Lockwood humming. As cheery and disarming as he was, picturing him humming felt too intimate. The little that she could hear reverberated through her skull, the notes knocking into her other drifting thoughts about him, his British smile and his stormy London eyes. But the Lockwood she curiously dreamt of at night never reconciled with the Lockwood she saw walking and talking during the day, and so their relationship had come to a sort of standstill, where he would smile at her and she would take the first socially-acceptable chance to flee the room. Only, it was a bit harder to escape early in the morning when they were the only ones in the kitchen.

Fortunately, the others soon came, and the tension eased. Lucy came in, sleepily trying to scrounge up some tea while George went off on Lockwood about his sleep schedule, or lack thereof, while Lockwood tried to stuff his face and busy himself in gathering his documents to keep from answering. She took advantage of the bustle to discreetly sift through the drawers. Lucy had mentioned that they had a postage drawer somewhere, but she didn't want to be too much of a burden by asking again.

"George, lay off me, I've got to get to DEPRAC. Luce and I will meet you at the Archives and - oh, darling, we keep the stamps here." Lockwood paused his hunt for some brown, non-descript envelope to pull open a drawer between the two of them. She could feel her face starting to warm, but only because of the embarrassment, not the nickname. "Mailman should be coming around soon, so you might want to hurry. Luce, yesterday's client should be coming around near 5 and you promised Holly you'd do the invoices while she was away. Oh, what now George?" She ducked her head, muttering some thanks that went unheard as George tried to force out how many hours Lockwood had slept, practically chasing him out of the house. Lucy raised her eyebrows suggestively, which she pointedly ignored.

That day was the most dull one yet, where she rolled around the house like a lost penny, trying to occupy herself. A letter arrived some time in the late morning, and she took the liberty of starting its case report file. Lockwood was the first one free, arriving home a little after lunch. She told him as soon as she saw him, while he was still taking his coat off, forcing the words out before she lost her nerve.

"We got a new case while you were gone. I started its file."

"Wonderful. Thanks, love." He rolled up his sleeves, putting on the kettle, while she surreptitiously leaned against the wall for support, trying not to think about how effortlessly pet names dripped off his tongue, like honey, before she got too shaky in the knees. She pressed on.

"It was from a Lew-tenant Smith."

"Who?"

"Lew-tenant Smi..." her voice trailed off. No, that didn't sound right. She couldn't imagine any of them saying it like that. Lockwood briefly leaned over her shoulder, a faint smell of soap lingering around him, before his eyebrows unfurrowed and he returned to his tea.

"Oh, I see. We pronounce it as 'left-tenant.' Now, where's he staying?"

Oh dear. She wasn't entirely sure. "Erm, Ald-wykh?"

"Ald-wich, we call it."

"Ah." Some part of her wanted to apologise, but he was looking at her with a strange twist to his lips and a certain fondness was shining in her eyes that, once again, she was rendered speechless. A silence followed, and for once, she willed herself to bear it.

"You haven't been stuck at home all day, have you? Have you been outside during the day any time this week?"

"I, er-"

"Luce, what kind of a friend are you?" Lockwood spun around to accost Lucy, who had wandered into the living room to see the commotion, bleary-eyed from whatever lair she had retired to to iron out the paperwork. "Y/N must be feeling cooped up. We should make a day trip of it. We'll get a break one of these days, and we'll take you around London, do all of it: high tea, the West End, go to a pub, watch some rugby- how are you with heights? Interested in the London Eye?"

Lucy groaned, stealing Lockwood's tea. "I don't know how Holly does it."

"Well, for one, I don't think she lets it pile up like you do."

Lucy shot Lockwood a dirty look, taking his biscuit too before turning back apologetically. "I'm sorry, Y/N, but how about next week?"

She laughed, pulling a weak smile from Lucy. "Don't sweat it. Hopefully, I'll still be around then." Lucy waved goodbye, retiring to her mountains of paperwork.

"Well, there goes my tea. Would you like some...?"

"Tea? Oh, um, sure."

"Brilliant. See you outside in five minutes." With that, he left the kitchen. Once she had caught up to what had just happened, she slipped her coat on, joining him outside just as he hailed a cab.

Surprisingly, he hadn't been exaggerating: Lockwood was fully prepared to take her to each and every one of those attractions, no matter how long it took. In the end, they narrowed it down to a rainy cab ride to a play at the West End, with high tea afterwards, though they did get around to the rest in the coming weeks. Oddly enough, they never planned it beforehand. The occasional lull in cases would sneak up on them, Lockwood would wander into the living room where she would be fused to an armchair, and suddenly it would be time for yet another trip around London.

But now they were at high tea, tucking in to the fading sunlight and excitedly discussing the play. A wind blew through one of the open windows, and she shivered.

"Everything okay, love?"

"I'm fine. It's just a little draughty, don't you think?"

"A little what?"

"Dra - erm, like, it's windy?"

"Drafty."

"Oh, come now, that sounds nothing like how it's spelt. How was I supposed to know that?" He chuckled, shaking his head slightly, as he polished off his food. But she was feeling bold enough to not let it drop this time.

"You keep doing that! You smile and turn away or you laugh and it makes me feel like I've put my foot in something - "

"No, no, dear god, no." There he was, laughing again. She hoped he would choke; but not too hard, just enough to shock some sense into him. "You don't - it's not your fault; believe me, I'm just an awful person. It's just...you really try your very best at...everything, really." His eyes fixed on hers and she found herself wanting to never look away. "It's...endearing."

"I’m sorry. I know my accent isn’t the clearest-"

“No, it’s fine. I like it. It’s very unique, and…beautiful. I’d pick your voice out of a crowd.” She felt this warmth wash over, and then chills run down her spine. He made her all nervous and giggly on the inside in a way that made her want to lounge around London, indulging herself in useless thoughts of ridiculous London boys with addictive smiles and silver tongues.

But like all good things, their excursion came to an end. She found herself dragging her feet to the front door with a boy with whom she was too scared to be alone with just 12 hours ago.

"I hope you had fun today. Not feeling too homesick, are you?"

She thought back to the green meadows and lightning bugs that she had dreamed about in the early hours of that morning. That life still seemed so precious, so sacred, but now it was oddly distant, no longer something she yearned for.

"I don't think so. You know what they say, 'home is where the heart is,'" she looked up at him, unable to resist the smile tugging at her lips, her voice dropping to a whisper. "But I think the English aren't half-bad either."

"Not half-bad?" They were so close now, she could feel his breath tickling her forehead. Her heart stuttered. "I took you out to the West End, and you call it 'not half-bad.'"

"Well, there are certain exceptions."

"Like what?"

Her stomach threatened to explode with giddiness. She was having a hard time regulating her breathing and looking at him at the same time. God, she was never beating the 'stupid' allegations. "I don't know," she fibbed in a flimsy attempt to seem cool. "Like...like you."

In the end, it was his eyes that pulled her in, pulled her under, because one moment she was teetering on the precipice of something new and terrifying, and the next there was soft skin brushing her frozen face, warm lips on her chapped ones. He tasted like summer in this cold, dead winter, breathing life and wonder back into her. It was dizzying, exhilarating, heart-palpitations-inducing...it was Lockwood, surrounding and consuming all her senses.

He pulled away, and all she stared at him blankly, as if he had stolen the words at the tip of her tongue. He gave a half-smile, and she grinned at him. He opened the door for her, murmuring in her ear in a way that filled her brain with pleasant static. "After you, darling." She rolled her eyes reflexively as a defense mechanism, but still her heart fluttered. They walked in to find George sorting the mail, mildly peeved, mildly concerned.

"Ah, so you two finally decide to show up. You could've been dead in a ditch for all we know. Your dinner's gone cold, you know."

Lucy had skipped down the stairs once the front door opened, a little too immediately for her liking and now her eyes narrowed teasingly. All of a sudden, she had the embarrassing realisation how visible the front porch was from the attic. There was colour in Lucy's cheeks, which probably meant that she had somehow managed to work through all that paperwork. Drat. "I dunno. I think Mr. and Mrs. 'Darling' are- "

"Luce! Have I...told you about my coat pockets?"

Lucy rolled her eyes, heading back to the attic, while George shook his head and handed her a postcard. Lockwood's fingers lingered briefly on her wrist as he walked away, leaving her and her mind all topsy-turvy. With a start, she pulled herself away from delicious thoughts of Lockwood to the postcard in her hand. She scanned it eagerly, lips twitching as she reached the end of it. Her sister could be just as ridiculous and delusional as her sometimes, and she wasn't even in the same country.

Y/N -

Can't say much, haven't got the time. All's well here and we miss you dearly too. The house is just too quiet, but mum seems to be adjusting. We saw a picture of your boss in the paper the other day.

London boys truly are a different breed, aren't they?

Love, Lizzie.