& 𝒑𝒖𝒓𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒆𝒇𝒖𝒍

MELISSA BLACKWOOD STARK. lady of winterfell. she waits, seething, blooming.

[mellificare-blog]

wnterbrn‌:

it is an amused and accomplished smirk that takes his lips, watching as the woman has to hold back and swallow her laugher not to startle their children. ever so patient, he waits, the curl on his lips turning more sincere than teasing as she smiles at him. keeping the sleeping girl comfortable, he carefully removes one of his arms from her to move it around his wife’s shoulder, resting on the back of their seat as his hand move beside her neck, knuckles brushing against her flesh, tracing caring lines from behind her ear, down the curve of her shoulder and up again.

“isn’t it supposed to get better with the time? the way we coincide?” he wonders, eyes staring down at hers. while she thought of her eyes as ones that reminded her own mother, brandon always found them dazzling, distracting — from the way she looks at him to the color of her eyes, even when the hues became thinner the more they stared at each other. “i don’t think we will ever lose that,” daring to chuckle lightly, he feels sarra moving on his arm, her head moving from his shoulder to rest against his chest instead, little hands holding onto the fabric of his shirt. he watches her for a while before lifting his eyes at the other children, still awake, by the table. bethany is already yawning too, leaning against her brother’s side — all of them too used with a different schedule, with sleeping early. rickard, however, still keeps his eyes on the letter.

his caresses on his wife’s continues then, once his eyes lay on her again, with that smile of his as he moves his caresses to her hair, pulling a loose lock behind her ear before he starts poking at the pins that held her hair up, not yet daring to pull at them, though. “we should put them to sleep,” he whispers, moving just slightly closer to get closer to her ear. “rickard is so focused he didn’t notice betha is sleeping against his arm,” he laughs softly, gesturing to their children, one asleep, another still writing by the candlelights with heavy eyelids.

      he enjoys it, to see her struggling. he had told her before many times, how he enjoyed seeing her squirming and fighting the smile off her lips – and that is just what she finds herself doing, pressing her lips too tight against one another they hurt. but she knew he would do anything in his power to torture her more, and it is proven when his fingers begin to trail across her skin. it elicits goosebumps easily, and melissa shuts her eyes, her shoulders shuddering a little as she is ever too ticklish, even now, over a decade later.

however, he does not intimidate her. she does not drop her hand for a while, letting it lower from his scars to his beard instead, her fingers toying with the hairs for a moment, before her wrist tires and she chooses to rest her palm on his thigh. it does not stay still, you see, for they have always been quite competitive – while he toys with her weak spots as he caresses her skin, she draws against his breeches, sometimes going too high, close to where he would soon wish she touched, only to return to his knee, all almost innocently. “other things get better with age, too,” no longer she spoke of melancholic yearnings for their daughter miles from here, but a word to the wise is sufficient.

melissa hums lowly then, her raven-like eyes opening to stare at the man in a way that certainly did not suit the motherly woman who rested her cheek against a young toddler’s curls. there is a smirk on her lips too, as her hand actually closes around his flesh, squeezing his thigh, only to quickly pull away; her eyes, too, move from him, the ghost of a laughter in her mouth before she takes notice of the children in the table, as he spoke of. it was all true: rickard, as his dad says, too distracted by the letter to his older sister, while the younger one struggles between falling asleep on the table and on her brother.

with a purse of her lips, she glances at brandon, before moving away, before he could do any harm to her hair do. edmure stirs, a small grumble underneath his breath as his mother goes around the room with a certain ease; with him in her arms, she was once more a mother first, then a woman, and with six children through eleven years, came a strength she had never known before, in all ways possible. “how many times have i told you not to read at night?” melissa scolds, going towards the both at the table and tapping at the back of rickard’s head.

[mellificare-blog]

EDMUND: Do you ever wish you’d been born someone else? If so, who?

 the corner of her lips tremble when she allows herself to think of it. for many years she had wallowed in anger and hurt over her prospects (all because people thought she had the wrong thing between her legs), but she had learned to rise above this. yet the question still stings, making her entirely displeased that the answer is still the same. “i have wondered, before. how it would be like had i been born my father’s heir. a boy heir.” she had always thought of herself more capable than edmund was, after all. “but i have made my peace with it. i am content with my life, i have no need for edmund’s.”

[lorelaigilmoure]

[adeles]

#i’m both

[tiffanyachings]

This time, I want my husband with me. If only to prove to your friends he exists?

[mellificare-blog]

with @wnterbrn

[wnterbrn-blog]

               anxiety is a feeling he has been familiar with before, the fear of the unknown, the worries of things that are yet to happen and are not clear enough. ever since the news had arrived, brandon keeps feeling an insistent pulse on his temples, a headache that are not easily relieved and that took his sleep at night. it had been quite a while since the last time he wandered through the dark, unbothered to even hold a candle to guide his way — but he does so this time, feeling his skin sweaty over the overbearing heat until he finds an opened window. with his both hands resting on the edge of the frame, he leans his torso forward, looking out of the building and staring in the direction where he knows the northmen camp is.

it feels like a stupid decision to have them coming with them now, and feels even more stupid to even consider to call more of them down to the south when a threat is up their necks. logic and common sense tells him he would have to send word to those who stayed to let them informed of what seems fated to happen in king’s landing, and another to those who are already there, for them to take care and prepare.

a loud sigh drops his lips as his head falls down and he stares at his hands, trying to distract himself with the white knuckles at the force he puts in holding the window frame. many thoughts keep crossing his mind — his daughter and his twin sister, who stayed up in winterfell to take care of their fortress, their home, trying to be calm and sure that they are the safest at that moment, while he and the others are right in the crossfire.

closing his eyes and cursing lowly, he shakes his head in disbelief — he knew something bad would happen out of this, for he was not dumb to ever doubt how this sort of celebration, reuniting all of the nobles of westeros, was the easiest way to attack all of them at once. his thoughts only stops at the steps behind him, to whom he slowly lifts his head and look over his shoulder. “who is there?” he wonders out loud, eyes squinting in the darkness to recognize the frame he sees.

[mellificare-blog]

  for some reason, as of late, she has been spending an unusual amount of time by the nursery – perhaps it is all in light of the recent happenings, or maybe she simply attempted to keep a close eye on lyarra’s sleep cycle, after what she spoke with rhaena. either that be, when she at last returns to her own bed, many hours after she had first left, just after supper, it comes as a surprise that she finds it empty. in whole eleven years, she did not recall many times she had returned to bed and had not found brandon by his side of the bed, either in his infamous deep sleep or nearly, waiting for her to wake him.

her lip and her brows furrow as she glances towards the empty bed – by an odd habit, she had not blow the light out yet, and for that she was thankful, for it made it easier for her to turn on her heel and leave their bedroom again. the hallways of the inn were cloaked in darkness and silence, proving that even in kings landing one with money was able to achieve the quiet and mild calm if they sought hard enough -- only if you didn't look outside, that is, and that was not her husband's case. 

she had seen him in this same position before, though not very oft. she remembers his father's demise, and his brother's, and the toll it had taken even on someone as full of laughter as brandon stark. it fills her heart and her eyes with ache, and she longs in her spot in the dark, putting the candle down. it is only brought up again when he notices the companion, and melissa quickly pushes any worry off her features, trying to even muster a smile, hoping it would aid in retrieve his own. 

"insomnia does not become you, husband." it had always been her thing, but she finds pettiness does not suit her in this moment. with quick strides, she goes towards him, her eyes questioning him of what plagued his mind before her lips do. "come to bed, husband," she requests, lying her hand on his back in a familiar gesture -- he was tense like rock, and she could not blame him. but she could placate him. "i will tire us out of any worry." comes as a promise, but by the way she looks up to him, he ought to know she would not take offense if he opted otherwise. 

[rubyredwisp]

Grey Wind, her son had named him. A direwolf large as any elkhound, lean and smoke-dark, with eyes like molten gold. When the beast padded forward and sniffed at the captive knight, every man in that hall could smell the scent of fear. Ser Cleos had been taken during the battle in the Whispering Wood, where Grey Wind had ripped out the throats of half a dozen men.

[avatarskorra]

You have to understand one very key thing about her: She is fucking brilliant. Her brain is so busy, it never works on just one level. She’s like this endless archaeological dig: You think you’ve reached the final layer, and then you bring down your pick one more time, and you break through to a whole new mine shaft beneath. With a maze of tunnels and bottomless pits.

-Gillian Flynn, Gone Girl (via hailthequeens)

[wickedlymeme]

“I wish it could always be like this.”

“You’re always there for me.”

“The stars are the only thing that makes sense.”

“There’s more out there, you just have to be patient.”

“It doesn’t all have to be existential dread.” 

“You’re so much different when we’re alone.”

“I like it when the worlds quiet.” 

“There’s a place for us somewhere.”

“They’ll name constellations after you one day.”

“Your hearts beating so fast.”

“They don’t know what they want.”

“You don’t know what you want.”

“That’s what they’re supposed to say.”

“We really don’t know what we’re doing.”

“I miss the old you.”

“Nostalgias a trap.”

“Aliens are out there.”

“Did you hear that?”

“I really want pizza right now, think it’s open?” 

“What time is it?”

“But why would they abduct cows?”

“We’ll all be dead soon enough anyways.” 

“I wish we didn’t have to sleep.”

“What do you believe in?”

“What happens after we die?”

“Seems like a silly thing to say, don’t you think?” 

“And what’s your excuse?”

“You’ll get it together soon.”

“Sometimes I feel like I’ll never have it together.”

“It’d be better if people weren’t so afraid of their feelings.”

“You keep quiet and we both lose.”

“I wish I could save this forever.”

“When did you realize you were in love with me?”

“The rooms spinning.”

“I loved you long before you knew.”

“I’m not afraid of death, I think it’ll be peaceful.”

“The Universe is too big for that.”

“Do you think we’ve met in other lives?” 

“I’d come back to haunt you.” 

“Would you come back to haunt me?”

“What’s alternate universe you doing right now?”

“Tell me a secret.”

“Why haven’t you told anyone?” 

“I wish we knew each other sooner.”

“You’re a game changer.” 

“I’m a game changer.”

“Don’t ignore fate.” 

“Ignorance isn’t bliss.”

“What, is that a conspiracy theory?”

“It’s probably the Illuminati anyways.” 

[fetch-me-a-block]

shallicomparetheetolagrenouille asked: House Bracken or House Blackwood?

“Yet as I was riding up, I saw Tully banners flying from the castle walls, and the direwolf of Stark as well. That would seem to suggest that Lord Tytos has not been subdued.”

[mellificare-blog]

ghostofhighgarden‌: 

try as she might, the lady stark couldn’t hide her anger at the tyrell name from helenys. despite no innate hand for politics or negotiations, helenys had always been able to  ‘ read the mood ‘, as one of her cousins said. she didn’t know what her sister evelyne   ( who wasn’t the angel she pretended to be in helenys’ presence, the younger tyrell was well aware )   had done to scorn the stark-woman, but if it wasn’t a major dispute between their houses, then helenys couldn’t care less. for all she cared, it didn’t change her perception of the other woman in the slightest. she had absolutely no interest in petty feuds.

  “ yes, i am evelyne’s younger sister. “   she confirmed the woman’s suspicion, and a part of her did wonder what evelyne or the lady stark had done to scorn the other. but she wouldn’t ask - if she could, she’d rather settle the fire than to stoke it.   “ oh, a true direwolf… “   the awe in helenys’ voice was real. an avid reader, singer, and story-teller, helenys knew all there was about the fabled animals. perhaps they weren’t so fabled anymore now   ( to the northerners, at least )   but to someone from the reach, the direwolf still held a certain mythical appeal. but helenys thought better of trying to approach the direwolf.   “ either way, my lady, it’s a pleasure to meet you. “   she said, and meant the words. whether her honesty and genuine friendliness would work   ( as it usually did )   to charm her company, or if it would fall on deaf ears and be taken for the expected tyrell-slyness remained to be seen.

  “ sarra, that’s such a pretty name ! “   the girl, though, despite her mother’s anger, was a doll. helenys immediately found herself enamored with the girl’s eagerness and brightness, and happily turned where she knelt so that sarra could pet the cat’s side.   “ her name is rosemary. you can pet her if you want, she likes it when you pet her back. “   rosemary was, surprisingly, quiet. helenys thought the cat was probably just happy to be out of the direwolf’s way.

    her eyes continue sharp, expecting, at the very least, a response to her maiden name, but it seems lord tyrell had been biased in the upbringing of his elder, neglecting his younger’s history lessons -- helenys’ failure in recognize melissa as a riverwoman who had been wronged by her snake of a sister made the younger tyrell look like even more of a child in her eyes, and the distaste only hardened in lady stark’s face. she had never found herself above hating a child, after all.

so she does not bother in correcting the girl regarding ascar’s origin -- he was but a mutt, grand in the eyes of the south, but a small, green thing next to the imposing stark beasts, the ones that had been bred in the true north, as her husband’s people called it. melissa can not help but to smile, even if in scorn, easily capable of passing it off as a gentle, lady-like entertained sign, even if she does not return the young girl’s sentiment or her manners. for melissa, she would much rather to finish this up and return to her walk, but her child seemed entrapped with the small animal, and even ascar had found a spot in the sun he enjoyed.

“no, she should be called honey!” the girl right away retorts, bossy even at such tender age. “rosemary bitter!” she argues, in the best way a toddler could, and even melissa can not hold back her laughter at her girl’s innocence. “touch the cat gently, love.” the mother advices, and the girl is more gentle then, though her big hazel eyes soon find something other for her hands to touch -- the young woman’s curls. “auntie, do you do your own hair?”

[nedwynstark]

Ned was sure he had never been busier as he had been in the hours since the ravens arrived. He’d already drafted letters to the lords who had remained in the North, hoping that they would arrive soon enough after the warning to assuage their fears that something was being done. He also had messages being sent back and forth to the lords that were staying in the Northern camp outside the walls for the celebration, whom had more reason to be fearful.

He was walking to the rookery now, his mind in his letters and in what he needed to do next. He hardly noticed that he was about to run into someone until they were nearly upon him. A few letters slipped from his grip. “Pardon me. My mind was elsewhere,” He apologized as he bent down to retrieve them.

[mellificare-blog]

  to worry was natural, she tells herself. if she had no worries, then perhaps she would need to be consulted by a maester, and her head explored after she died, but melissa had no rush on that, nor she considered herself so cold. she had been with her husband when the news had arrived to the inn, and although them both had gone over all sorts of angles to the point of exhaustion, it didn’t seem to be enough for lady stark. not yet, anyways. 

so she seeks the need for more, going to the source she well knew would be of aid -- it was ned’s job to keep them informed, and to represent them, as best as he could. she has gained some expertise in the halls of the red keep now, so she doesn’t need to be accompanied nor guarded and, thankfully, this time she manages to find just the person she looked for. “i do not doubt, brother,” melissa begins, a brow raising lightly, a palm in the air, where just seconds ago had been on his chest, before he went to retrieve his papers. 

“i believe you have already met the king, for the many letters you’ve to send. or has he made you his raven keeper?” anxiety loosens her tongue, but she tries to bite down onto it, stepping out of the way so she would not damage any of the letters. “forgive me, ned. are you well? you have not been writing these all night long, have you? it is bad for the eyes.”

[cortegiania]

Contessina de Bardi + costumes

[mellificare-blog]

@wildsvuls

  every mother has that one -- the one people tell her to keep a close eye to, the one she loses sleep at nights thinking of. alyssa was melissa's. then, melissa had yet many moons until her first flowering, and many more until her deflowering, but even at the age of nine, she was the closest to a mother her infant sister would know of. and she had tried, the gods knows she had. she had swallowed anger, hurt, pride, hatred even, and had been dutiful, loyal, doing as what she was supposed to do. her efforts did not give fruit, not even how much she desires to say it had. in her best days, whenever poked about her sister, the former lady blackwood would smile and jest that her sister survived infancy, and that had been a success for them both. but on worse days, she blames alyssa -- for her horrid temperament, for her impertinence, for her stubbornness not to follow their mother to the grave.

when word comes to melissa that her sister has arrived to the capital, with the remaining riverland party, lady stark tries to convince herself that today will be one of these best days. she is stubborn too, and she would not let herself be intimidated by her father’s favorite brat (after all, once, this title had belonged only to herself).

as she speaks with the owner of the grand inn her family had taken residence, melissa tries to recall how long it had been since she last had seen her youngest sibling. many moons, for sure, perhaps a little after lyarra had been born? the milk of the poppy abused after labor had a way to play with her imagination, and for all that she could tell, perhaps she could have had confused her sister with her sister in law, an equally untamed girl. 

with some ease, the eldest blackwood woman is given free pass to her sister’s room. the inn keeper can not remember if the girl were in her quarters or not, but for that, melissa did not care. with one girl at her arms and another in her free hand, lady stark has no hesitation in entering her sister’s room, and fixing herself a quite cozy sewing station; betha sits by the bed and sarra twiddles with wool, while the mother watches them like a hawk -- a raven, she would prefer.

it doesn’t take nearly as long as she had expected -- though still a little longer than she would have wished for -- until the door creaks with the effort to open. the image of her sister in a lovely white dress with details of scarlet, like that of their family’s crest, flickers behind her lids, but melissa knows better than to wait anything from alyssa, from all people. as long as she is not covered in mud and carrying a frog, by the gods’ sake, she prays quietly, perking herself in her seat and raising her brows as she turns her moss-like hues towards the open door.

[mellificare-blog]

@reina-baratheon

  a lady’s life was filled with frivolous matters, it was the way it had always been. her mother’s life as a married woman had been to bear and care for her children, help with the household’s affairs and be a good companion for her lord husband -- melissa was almost at shock to know the tiny lady meera blackwood had been fierce with a spear, as precise as she had been with a needle. in times like this, melissa wished she could be like her lady mother, poised yet skilled, but she was not. in times like this, she can’t help but to feel helpless -- and how she hates the feeling of control slipping out of her hands.

but wallowing in melancholy was not of her taste, and, as such, melissa prefers to move on. she was the wife of a one of the most important men in the realm, she needed not to worry about petty disturbance happening in distance, to people of lower birth. so she tells herself, that is, putting on her best smile as she begins to gather her many spawns around the room, making sure it was all prepared for the small gathering with the seamstresses, lady baratheon and her own boys.

“orys would suit golden beautifully, wouldn’t he, betha?” melissa begins the flattery, once the boy began to be measured and poked. years had polished her iron and her curtsies, and her insecurities were not allowed to seep out -- not next to the strangers with the silks, nor next to her children, not even next to a woman that was, supposedly, her equal. “will you be trying on something too, my lady baratheon?” the stark inquires, looking from edmure, in distress at being probed by another seamstress next to the baratheon boy, to the dornish woman.

[mellificare-blog]

( ♛ truth serum ) What is the thing you hate most about your sister?

  “her tenacity.” melissa doesn’t even have to think about this one--even though she could have so much more, many were alyssa’s faults in her mind. “she is obnoxiously stubborn, and unruly. father used to think it was a quality, a family quality, meaning she would not break easily. we blackwood do not break easily.” a family quality implied kinship, and melissa, sometimes, can’t help but to wish no such thing existed between her and her sister.

@wildsvuls

[mellificare-blog]

    melissa had never been extremely fond of gardens. as a somewhat pious follower of the old gods, she had always preferred the godswood, carrying her family tradition all too well -- for the blackwood, all paled if compared with the sight of their weirwood, with its ominous carved face and fallen black feathers scattered across the land. while she had gotten used to winterfell's, with all the life the stark godswood carried (if compared to the dead weirwood in raventree hall, that is), the weeks had not made it easier for her to take a keen to the red keep's godswood.

so the gardens will do, she decided that day. there was a certain quiet and peace in the area, with its beautiful hedges and southern species, and the breeze. oh, the breeze. lyarra stirs in her sleep as she feels the fresh air, small hands clinging onto her mother's clothes, obviously oblivious to the news of terror brought by the khalasar. 

looking down at her youngest child, still a babe, melissa can't do but wonder how long would this peace last.