I’m seeing so many girls getting crushed over ugly little boys and I WILL NOT STAND FOR IT.
PSA that everybody needs to hear:
He will not matter in 3 years.
He honestly doesn’t even matter right now. But I know it feels like he does.
He isn’t worth changing yourself for.
He isn’t worth doing something that you don’t want to do.
His happiness is NOT more important than yours. His decisions DO NOT weigh more than yours. His opinions ARE NOT worth more than yours.
Don’t wait for that call. Don’t wait for that text back. Don’t agonize over him being online or offline.
Wipe your tears. Pick up your crown. Wing your damn eyeliner and listen to some damn Rihanna and STOP LETTING A CRUSTY BOY MAKE YOU BELIEVE YOU ARE ANYTHING LESS THAN A FUCKING GODDESS. I PROMISE YOU, 100%, HE IS N O T W O R T H I T.
Well, I know you’re paranoid and broken, haven’t trusted anyone since you were a little boy. And you’re still acting like that little boy, making up ugly stories about people because you’re scared of anyone actually getting to know you. So you blame me for the mess that’s been in your head since the day you were born!
This scene. It’s not only heart-breaking because *ugly sobs comprehensible only by the fandom*. It actually finally gave me something that’s been hinted on but almost never touched upon till season 5.
I liked that in the novel Norman had this third personality, the Boy Norman, let’s put it, born out of childhood traumas and everything. It just explained so perfectly his humbleness and inability to stand up to Mother, his obedience and dread, the impulses to sit by her burying face in her dress as opposed to his harsh resistance and otherwise full awareness of actions he had to take to keep Her a secret. He was just a little boy at times, and mother knew best.
Guys. The lost little boy came home. Norman came home.
I’m in the mood for something a little angsty and a little fluffy. Who better to be in a angsty/ fluffy fic than Draco Malfoy. Hope you guys like it!
Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Muggle Born! Reader
You bounded up to Draco after dinner, ginning like a little kid at the thought of spending time with your boyfriend. As you reached him, you hugged his arm, which wasn’t an uncommon occurrence; this time something was off. You knew something had been bothering him for weeks now, but you just couldn’t put your finger on what and he wouldn’t tell you. He jerked his arm out of your grip. Pouting, you tipped your head to the side.
“What?” You asked.
“Get your filthy hands off me, (L/N),” He growled. You flinched, not expecting that response. Your (E/C) eyes widened as you looked at him. God, he didn’t look right. The shadows under his eyes said that he hadn’t gotten anywhere near enough sleep.
“Dray, are you alright?” You asked, stepping closer to him. He pulled away from you again.
“Are you deaf? Get the hell away from me,” He snapped. You let your outstretched hands drop to your sides. You stared at him, wishing you knew what he was so worked up about. You began to rack your brain for anything you’d done that could have upset him like this. Nothing came up.
“Woah, calm down, love. Tell me what’s wrong,” You said, trying to stay patient with him.
“You. Now sod off, (L/N).” You blinked at him, confused. What exactly had you done? He turned and began to sweep away. For lack of a better idea, you grabbed his hand. Turning back to you, he barely paid any attention to you, instead focusing on his hand with a look of mild disgust.
“First of all, don’t talk to me like that. Second, what did I do?” His grey eyes found your (E/C) ones, turning to steel the second they met. You winced at the sight.
“I do as I please,” He said, throwing on a mask of cool indifference. God, that riled you up a bit. Your temper flared.
“Draco Malfoy, I am your girlfriend. I demand to know what’s got you acting like such a prick,” You snarled, crossing your arms over your chest.
“No, (L/N), you’re not,” He sighed, throwing you a pitying look. You raised an eyebrow. This was coming from the man who, just this morning, told you that he loved you no matter what.
“Since when?” You asked. That took the wind out of your sails.
“I would never disgrace the Malfoy family name by dating a talentless, classless, simple, grotesque, little mudblood. Much less loving one,” He purred. A sick smirk graced his face, the face you fell in love with. Tears sprung in your eyes and your hands began to shake.
There was that word. That nasty, ugly, terrible word. Mudblood. That wasn’t a name he’d ever called you, no matter how bad the fight got (and you fought regularly enough). Other’s had called you that awful name, but you didn’t care about them. Draco was the only person it killed you to hear such a thing drop from his lips. The lips you’d kissed so many times. The lips that claimed they loved you so many times. You worked your jaw and clenched your shaking fists fishing for something, anything, to say. Nothing except for a ragged sob came out.
Turning on your heal, you tore towards the Gryffindor dorms as quickly as you could. As you ran, you shot past the Golden Trio. They yelled for you to stop, but you didn’t, you couldn’t, your legs wouldn’t let you. Faintly, you heard them running after you. You didn’t want them to run after you; you wanted him. Finally, when you reach the dorm, you slammed the door, locked it, and then allowed your legs to give out under you. Sliding down against the door, you let yourself sob pathetically.
“Let me in, (Y/N),” Hermione begged. It had been over an hour since you locked yourself in the dorms with no explanation, though you were sure they knew it had something to do with Draco. You made no move to open the door. You really weren’t up to an ‘I told you so’ speech from her. Part of your brain scolded you for thinking she would do that, another part offering to allow yourself to sink into the pain of what had happened.
“Go away, ‘Mione,” You sobbed, miserably.
“Whatever that git did to make you cry, I’ll kill him for it,” Harry said with fire in his voice. You were sure that it was meant to make you feel better. It didn’t.
“Maybe she shouldn’t have dated Malfoy in the first place.” Thump. “I’m just sayin’.” Ron with as impeccable timing as ever. Despite the fact that he was just trying to help, you wanted to smack him in the mouth.
“Come on, (Y/N). You’ll have to open the door at some point, the rest of the girls have to sleep in there, you know,” Hermione said, softly.
“Please just leave me alone,” You cried, burying your head in your arms. Soft muttering came from just outside the door for a moment.
“Alohomora,” She whispered. The door unlocked with a soft click and the trio stepped inside. Finding you on the floor, they shared a look then picked up, moving you to a bed. Hermione’s bed because it was closest.
“Come on, (Y/N), don’t cry over, Malfoy. He’s not worth it,” Harry said, putting his arm around you. You sucked in a deep breath and sobbed again. Ron leaned over, offering you a pumpkin pasty. Leave it to a Weasley to go straight to food in order to comfort someone, not that you turned it down.
“You said that to Hermione once; she at least got to punch him in the face,” You said, rubbing your eyes.
“What the bloody hell happened anyway?” Ron asked as you ate the treat. You sniffled, Hermione offering you a tissue.
“He broke up with me,” You said, shakily. The boys threw each other a slightly confused look. Hermione waited, knowing there would be more. You couldn’t seem to get the rest of the words out.
“And?” She prodded softly, lest you start crying again.
“He told me that he’d never disgrace the Malfoy’s by dating a talentless, classless, stupid, ugly, little mudblood,” You whispered, not wanting to believe that the blond boy you loved so much would actually say that.
“He said what!! Oh, I’ll hex him into the next dimension!” Hermione fumed, grabbing her wand. You touched her arm, shaking your head.
“Don’t. Please don’t.” They all stared at you as if you’d grown a second head.
“What do you mean ‘don’t’? (Y/N), he called you…” Ron seethed, standing next to Hermione.
“I know what he called me!” You yelled. Ron dropped back down to where he was sitting as Harry and Hermione watched you cautiously. You looked down at your hands which resided in your lap. “Sorry. I suppose I don’t feel quite myself.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Ron said, patting your knee.
“You should get some sleep,” Harry said, rubbing your shoulder. You nodded, numbly. You felt all cried out, all yelled out, as if your insides had been scooped out with a spoon.
“We’ll be in the Common Room if you need us,” Hermione said. You nodded, slipping into bed.
“Goodnight,” You muttered. A chorus of goodnights rang back.
It was nearly two in the morning and you still couldn’t sleep. You were still hurting over what had happened and still concerned about Draco. The way he looked just didn’t seem right to you. You pictured his face. Angular, too angular, like he’d lost weight and you could fit your entire wardrobe into the bags under his eyes. His eyes. They were dull, yet oddly frantic. The usual cool silver of them had been replaced by a hollow grey. There was no way you could sleep with all of this bouncing around in your mind.
Sighing, you got out of bed and made your way to the astronomy tower. You always went there to think. Funnily enough, this is where you met Draco. Back in first year the two of you startled each other when you saw him coming up the stairs and he saw you sitting in the window. Now that you thought about it, Draco might be there. Part of you highly doubted it. As you made your way up the stairs, you saw a shadow of someone sitting in the window. Draco.
“I thought you might be here,” He said, not turning to look at you. You blinked, wondering briefly if you were dreaming.
“What do you care?” You asked, no venom in your words. You joined him in the window, sitting an arm’s length away. He glanced at you.
“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.” His voice was so broken, like he’d spent hours crying as well. You looked out over the school grounds, the moon illuminating everything in a different way than the sun. It put you at ease.
“Are you?” You asked. It wasn’t meant to come out so nasty, but you were hurt. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him flinch.
“I believe you,” You sighed, kicking your bare feet in the wind.
“You do?” He asked, disbelief laced his words. You nodded, pushing a loose strand of (H/C) hair behind your ear.
“Yeah, but one thing is still bothering me,” You said. Still, you didn’t look at him.
“What’s that?” The way he said that made you think he knew exactly what was going to come out of your mouth.
“What’s going on? With you, I mean,” You asked, finally turning to look at him. The moon cast a shadow on his face, outlining his profile. Sharp nose, sloping forehead, soft cheek bones, and a strong chin: the same profile you’d seen many times in the same place. This time, it was more pained and sad. You could tell by the way his head tilted down.
“You don’t want to know,” He whispered. Reaching over, you took a cold hand in yours.
“I do.” So he told you. Everything. How much he regretted saying those things to you.The dark mark. Voldemort. The impending war. Suddenly, you felt very small, like you and Draco sitting in the tower were just specks floating in space. You could only imagine how he felt being stuck in the middle of all of this. By the time he’d finished, you could see that he was holding back tears. You hand was still in his with a death grip, like he thought if he let go you would disappear.
“I’m scared, (Y/N), I’m so scared,” He wept, quietly. He didn’t look at you, but there was no hiding the tears.
“I forgive you,” You hummed, scooting closer to him. You picked up his hand, gripping it more fiercely in your own. “And I love you, Draco Malfoy.”
Draco brought his forehead to yours, tears still streaming down his pale cheeks. You waited, looking into his liquid silver eyes. He wanted to say something, but his words were smothered by your lips. He held you close, hands tightening on the back of your night shirt, keeping you there. Your fingers slipped into his platinum blond locks. His tongue swiped your bottom lip and you opened your mouth obligingly. Tongues danced together, saying without words that you loved one another. It wasn’t until you parted that you realized you had started crying to.
“You’re too forgiving, darling. I love you, (Y/N) (L/N),” He whispered against your lips. You smiled, swallowing his words by bringing his lips back you your own.
I do not play Overwatch. I have never played Overwatch. But because I’m on Tumblr I of course am aware of it, and I’ve come to have some ship preferences.
First it was Reaper76. They sorta give me a DarkPilot vibe, and sort of a Stucky vibe. And Jack’s a sexy silver fox, and Gabe’s pretty hot too, and well, they’re a good starter ship.
Then there was McHanzo. Jesse’s a cutie and you know how I feel about dorky cowboys (hi Al), and while Hanzo doesn’t do much for me, he’s pretty, and the ship is quirky and cute.
Then I discovered this doofus.
And I was like, wow he’s ugly. But… he reminds me a lot of Little Boy from Spriggan who sorta grew on me, and then like… He’s tall and scrawny, and his hair’s on fire, and he has smiley face bombs and an Australian accent, and he’s absolutely insane and his real name is Jamison and I’ve always loved that name and… damn, I’m in love. Found a YouTube comment that sums it up well:
And of course there’s his bodyguard/buddy/partner/almost-canon boyfriend, who totally ticked absolutely none of my “sexy” boxes (except maybe for his hair):
and yet… and yet…
BLESS MY SHEET, NOW I SHIP THEM SO HARD. I mean, there’s the size difference I guess, and age difference (I think?), but… after all my SW/TFA ships where everyone is unbearably beautiful… I guess I just needed a palate-cleansing trash ship or something.
Now I wanna write a Roadrat fic, but I have no ideas, and I’d probably screw it up because I’m not too familiar with the canon and…
You’re in the middle of Dick’s first birthday party when people start questioning you about the next Wayne baby. You just laugh. Dick is a good baby, he started sleeping through the night fairly early on, he laughs more than he cries, and since discovering what kisses are he gives them all the time.
He’s also very active. He starts walking somewhat early, and ever since the boy has been getting into everything. Wherever there’s trouble, Dick seems to find it. He is one hundred percent his father’s son. This fact is proved as Dick pulls on a table cloth and the cake falls all over him.
You excuse yourself without answering, rushing towards your baby. Bruce beats you to him by a fraction of a second. He’s full of smiles and giggles as he redirects the cake towards his father, smearing bits of frosting on his face. You may take a picture or two of the moment. You also quickly dismiss the thought of other kids. Richard is enough of a handful, thank you very much.
That thought vanishes when Bruce comes home more injured and wearier than usual a few nights later. He had just barely managed to stop the Joker that night, and despite that success, the crazy bastard had still managed to kill some people before the Batman was able to stop him.
The two of you watch Dick sleep for about an hour, assuring yourselves that he’s okay. When you finally go to bed, Bruce pulls you in close and you wrap your body around his. You’re both yearning for a closeness, and one not so innocent kiss leads to a rather intimate night.
The morning sickness comes on rather suddenly, and violently. You’re hospitalized for dehydration, where you’re informed that you are in fact pregnant. That makes you want to throw up, all by yourself. Two kids under the age of two, makes you more than a little anxious. Bruce himself is a little surprised as well. At the same time, you’re both a little grateful, something good had come from that otherwise horrible night.
Despite the constant morning sickness, you’re not overly tired. You’re still able to chase Dick around at home, as your baby begins transforming into a toddler. Alfred and Bruce do their best to give you time off of your feet, and time to rest.
When the baby starts moving, he doesn’t stop. He’s an active child, and Bruce likes to joke that he’s going to be a handful. You tell him to bite his tongue.
Bruce paints the nursery himself this time. He doesn’t like the idea of strangers being in the manor. He takes two days off of work, and refuses to let you or Dick in the room because of the paint fumes. Alfred assures you that he’ll help.
With that taken care of, you start telling Dick about his sibling. You place his hands on your belly, and tell him that he’ll soon have a little brother or sister. He’s still a bit too young to understand. So, on the way home from work a few days later, you stop by the store and buy one of those realistic baby dolls. Over the next several weeks you show Dick how to be nice to the baby and how to hold the baby. He gives it kisses and learns to hug it gently. He learns that throwing it on the floor is wrong, and driving his trucks on the baby isn’t a good idea.
Overall, you’re very glad at how quickly he takes to the role of being a big brother. Still, you make sure to shower Dick with love and attention over the next few weeks. When it comes time to learn the baby’s sex, you decide to do it in a fun way. You give a bakery the envelope and have them bake small blue or pink cake. That night you let Dick smash the thing to bits, and he squeals with joy when he learns he’s going to have a baby brother.
As the summer comes into full swing you refuse to go outside. It’s simply too hot and you feel as though you’re going to melt. Of course when it comes to the Wayne Enterprises family picnic you don’t really have a choice. You do your best to stay under a tent, near the fans that have been set out in random places.
Bruce and Dick participate in a lot of the events. While it is certainly good publicity for the company, you’re just happy that your boys are having fun. You’re halfway through a hotdog when the first contraction hits. It’s not too bad, and for the moment you decide to just wait and see.
You make conversation with several of the corporate wives. You ignore the passive aggressive digs about how big you are, and how you’re still working. At nine months pregnant you’re a little surprised yourself. You nearly snap when someone says a mother’s place is in the home, and how poor Richard must miss you terribly at the company daycare.
You want to scoff at that comment. Dick spends more time in your or Bruce’s office than he does in the company daycare. In fact, the only real times he’s there is when you have meetings. You had always considered yourself lucky, you had been able to breastfeed while still working. Not a lot of mothers had had that opportunity.
The contractions slowly build, and you begin keeping track of the time in-between them. It’s at this point Bruce notices something is wrong. When you whisper somewhat harshly that the baby IS coming. Bruce grabs Dick, and begins steering you towards the car.Alfred is waiting. As Bruce helps you into the car, Alfred situates Dick into his car seat.
Alfred pulls up straight to the doors, and tells the two of you to go in, and that he’ll get Dick.
You’re checked in and escorted back to a private room in a matter of minutes. It looks like the exact same one you were in last time. Then a contraction hits, and those thoughts disappear. Alfred brings Dick back into the room after you’ve been changed into that ugly hospital ground, and despite the pain you pick your little boy up. He showers you with butterfly kisses and you can’t help but smile.
As the next contraction begins, Bruce takes Dick from you and gives him to Alfred, and he takes your hand, allowing you to squeeze. Dick’s lip begins to pucker, and tears being to gather as he sees you in pain. When he bursts into tears it breaks your heart.
The second the contraction is over, you kiss him and reassure him that mommy is fine, and that Alfred is going to take him home. “Mommy home.” He demands.
You just smile and say that you can’t “Mommy has to stay here, so that you can get your little brother.”
“No brother.” He pouts.
Bruce just smiles and takes Dick from you. Lifting the little boy up in the air he blows a raspberry on the boy’s tummy, sending him into a fit of giggles. Bruce winks at you and escorts Dick and Alfred to the car.
When he comes back, he takes his place in that plastic chair, and he spends the next nine hours allowing you to squeeze his hand, and helping you walk up and down the hallway. You’re very grateful that your gown has a back. You really don’t want a picture of your backside on the front page of the Gotham Gazette.
At the end of the nine hours, you give birth to a bouncing baby boy. His cry is loud and strong, and as soon as the doctors have checked him over he’s settled into your arms. You name him Jason Alfred Wayne. It seems only right that he be named after Bruce’s second father.
Later that afternoon, after you’ve been cleaned up, and you’ve changed out of the gown and into your own pajamas Alfred brings Dick up to the hospital. Cheerful cries of “Mommy,” are screamed as Dick tries to wiggle his way out of Alfred’s arms and into yours.
You take your firstborn as Bruce picks Jason up out of the bassinet in the room. As you love on Dick, Bruce passes the newest Wayne into Alfred’s arms. You watch from afar as Bruce tells you second son’s namesake, what exactly your newest son’s name is. The man nearly tears up before squashing them, and holding the little boy a bit closer.
You turn your attention back to Dick who is babbling more so than talking at this point. You find it hard to believe that he’s only a few months away from being two. You kiss his head, as Bruce take Jason back from Alfred and brings him over to the bed.
You’re careful, when allowing Dick to hold the baby. Bruce sets him in your lap, securely on the bed, and you cradle his smaller arms with your own, so really it’s you holding the baby, but still. Dick’s eyes go wide at the sight of him and Bruce tells him “Dick, this is your baby brother. His name is Jason.”
Dick just looks at the boy before saying “Jase!” and repeatedly kissing his brother’s head. That’s when Jason begins to cry. You’re a little afraid that the crying will hurt Dick’s feelings but he just smiles and says, “Jase is alright, big brother is here.”
Bruce leans down and kisses your oldest son’s head, and says “Good job buddy.” Before taking the baby from his arms. As Bruce rocks the baby, and Dick begins telling you about his breakfast of chocolate chip pancakes, you begin to fall asleep, the last thing you hear is Dick going, “Shhh mommy is sweeping.” As Jason begins to let out little cries. Then, instead of going to sweep, as Dick would put it, you hold out your hands for your newest son, because you’re a mom of two children under two, and it’s time for Jason’s feeding, and sleep, well you’re fairly certain that sleep is a thing of the past, and you probably won’t become well acquainted with it again until both your boys are potty trained, because you are done. No more babies for you … or so you think.
Do you anticipate any further explanation or understanding of the dragons in the last two books, or do you think that they'll continue to be nuclear weaponry with cool names and little distinguishing characteristics?
Hey man! I think the dragons have been well-established as externalizations of Dany in the same way the direwolves are for the Starklings. Their birth on the Dothraki Sea reflects her rebirth at the end of AGOT as a leader in her own right, apart from Drogo and Viserys. They become an object of fascination in ACOK and so does she, as the deceitful powers-that-be in Qarth seek to ensnare them, climaxing with Drogon saving Dany from the Undying. As they grow both literally and in terms of confidence and aggression in ASOS, the scope of her story widens accordingly, and they unleash her anger on the slavers. In ADWD, it takes a potent turn; Hazzea’s death, resonating as it does with the dead children throughout Dany’s storyline, leads Dany to consider the dragons representative of her worst self. Her locking up Rhaegal and Viserion is a blunt metaphor for her repressing her desire for outright war, and indeed, she turns to them (and the bloodthirsty Daario) for comfort and catharsis when her certainty in Hizdahr’s peace wavers. Drogon escaped, of course, and when Dany’s disgust and anger reaches its peak at Daznak’s, he returns to take her away. He then refuses to take her back, leading to her gradually rejecting Meereen as home, forgetting Hazzea’s name and instead embracing “fire and blood.”
Throughout all these storylines, Dany’s constantly communicating her emotions in terms of feeling fiery or (explicitly) like a dragon. This is in part the legacy of Viserys’ “wake the dragon” mantra; Dany associates anger and violence with dragon imagery. But GRRM’s also making a larger point about the possibilities and pitfalls of power, one rooted in the history of Valyria and the Targaryen regime in Westeros. On the one hand, Dany has the world’s only dragons, potentially a world-changing source of power and a connection to her Targaryen identity that’s not just secondhand info from her brother. On the other, that makes her a target, and again, she can’t fully control them, meaning there’s constantly the possibility that things will fall apart in a catastrophic fashion…especially if she decides she wants that. This, of course, has implications for the genre, the idea being that having flying WMDs doesn’t automatically solve your problems or the world’s (and indeed, they bring their own), nor do they inherently make you a worthy leader. GRRM’s always arguing against shortcuts in characterization. The magic in ASOIAF tends to complicate and deepen character dilemmas, not solve them.
As for how they’ll be used in the future: if Jon and Tyrion become dragonriders as I suspect, that will definitely contribute to their arcs in a big way (Jon RE Rhaegar, Tyrion RE “even a stunted, twisted, ugly little boy can look down over the world when he’s seated on a dragon’s back"), and Dragonbinder has the potential to rework the dragons’ roles entirely, though probably temporarily. Regardless, they’ll always represent that teetering-on-the-edge between the power to change the world for good and the power to just burn everything down. Every time a Targaryen is born, the gods flip a coin…
never thought you would be walking back towards the Wall with a bunch of
Wildlings by your side. But you did find comfort in talking with Tormund, he
was always by your side and Jon Snow right behind you.
cleaned up well, you looked like an ugly little boy when I first saw you,”
Hi, PQ! You make a good point as to how fighting the Others is the natural endpoint for Jon's and Dany's storylines. But how does Tyrion's match the set?
Good question! I think the climax to Tyrion’s storyline will be about the epiphany that he can be the hero (and love and be loved, and is a human being as worthy as any other human being) despite being told his entire life that he can’t be. Look at the longing here:
“What are you reading about?” he asked.
“Dragons,” Tyrion told him.
“What good is that? There are no more dragons,” the boy said with the easy certainty of youth.
“So they say,” Tyrion replied. “Sad, isn’t it? When I was your age, I used to dream of having a dragon of my own.”
“You did?” the boy said suspiciously. Perhaps he thought Tyrion was making fun of him.
“Oh, yes. Even a stunted, twisted, ugly little boy can look down over the world when he’s seated on a dragon’s back.“
Of course, there’s always the possibility that Tyrion will use that power to lash out at those who hurt him…
"I used to start fires in the bowels of Casterly Rock and stare at the flames for hours, pretending they were dragonfire. Sometimes I’d imagine my father burning. At other times, my sister.”
…a side of him that has increasingly come to the fore in ADWD. Right now, he thinks everything is shit, and for good reason. But while his desire for revenge is justifiable, I think this story is leading him to remember that there’s more to him and his life than that. IMO one of the most crucial moments in Tyrion’s story is when Alliser Thorne shows up with a hand and a warning, and Tyrion almost comprehends the truth:
Tyrion remembered a cold night under the stars when he’d stood beside the boy Jon Snow and a great white wolf atop the Wall at the end of the world, gazing out at the trackless dark beyond. He had felt—what?—something, to be sure, a dread that had cut like that frigid northern wind. A wolf had howled off in the night, and the sound had sent a shiver through him.
That flicker of revelation for me sets up Endgame Tyrion: he’s part of this world, he has a right to exist, and he’s going to save the day from that “something.” His ADWD storyline was so emotionally low because GRRM wanted you to feel it when he flies high. And the singers will never let Westeros forget.