#housecreepy

[mrsjadecurtiss]

@lord-reaper-of-pyke @blueagia @housecreepy some greyjoys

[apprenticemockingbird]

Favorite Lane Pryce moment

Him getting drunk with Don, going to the movies, screaming about not being homosexual, and eating a big steak. 

[lainelannister]

Roose/Barbrey, anything as long as it’s book verse.

Title: That my keen knife see not the wound it makes

Author:  lainelannister

Ship(s):  Roose/Barbrey, implied Roose/Walda, implied Brandon/Barbrey

Rating: M

Trigger Warning(s): Oral sex

Brief Summary:  Lady Dustin seeks an audience with the Lord of the Dreadfort shortly after his marriage to Walda Frey. 

Notes: The title of this story comes from “Macbeth” by William Shakespeare.

“I suppose I can see the appeal.”

The Lord of the Dreadfort turns to face his one-time good-sister as she leans against the doorframe of his solar. Barbrey Dustin takes care to tilt her face into the stream of candlelight, allowing the contrast of flame and shadow to contour the angles of her cheekbones and jaw.

(Lord Bolton once commented on the strength of her facial structure, so many years ago…and it seems only appropriate to use her best attributes to her advantage now.)

Roose Bolton acknowledges Lady Barbrey’s comment with a mere quirk of the lips, a peculiar approximation of a smile. He crosses to his ledger table and stops there for several moments, dipping a quill in a pot of ink and etching his signature on one parchment document, then another, then another…

Barbrey wonders for a moment whether she’s been wordlessly dismissed, and an uncertain and awkward sensation tingles through her extremities and places pressure on her temples…she so hates to feel out-of-step, ill-equipped, undeserving of notice-

“And what appeal do you see?”

Her own lips spread into a barbed grin, and Barbrey takes two quick, resolute steps into Roose’s solar, reaching behind to shut the door leading out to the passageway.

“The appeal of soft-edged southron girls, of course. Of course, yours is…rather softer-edged than most…but it seems a common draw among Northern sons.” She hears the venom creep into her tone at the last, but she feels oddly confident that Roose shan’t judge her for it. He knows better than that.

A gleam of something familiar, something halfway between danger and amusement flashes in Roose’s dark eyes as he signs the final document in his stack and straightens his posture. Barbrey braces her back against the wall, awaiting his approach, annoyed by the sudden acceleration of her pulse-

But he remains in place. His voice, when he speaks again, is deliberately quiet, enough that she must strain a bit to hear it: “One who doesn’t know you well might think you jealous, sweet sister.”

“Then it’s a good thing that you’re no stranger to me, my lord. Such a misunderstanding could prove…inconvenient.”

“Inconvenient indeed.” Roose keeps his feet rooted to the parapets, and Barbrey allows herself a moment of vexation- she must always make the approach, must always take the initiative.

But although a (juvenile, stunted, humiliating) part of her will always crave the thrill of becoming the quarry, the object of pursuit- Barbrey understands the uselessness of pining for what can never and will never be.

And so she crosses to his ledger desk and slides her narrow hips into the space between his body and the wooden slab of furniture, using her sharp elbows and spindly limbs to establish a clear comparison between herself and what awaits Lord Bolton in his bedchambers- the plump curves, the girlish blushes, the childlike pink frocks with fussy fastenings that will inevitably prove tedious to unravel.

The Frey girl clearly came to her husband’s bed a maiden. She surely has no understanding of how to take a man into her mouth, how to manipulate her tongue and open the back passage to her throat and use her hands as reinforcements, cupping and stroking and pulling-

Roose typically provides some modicum of warning before spending in her mouth, but his courtesies fail him tonight, and she rolls her eyes as she rises to standing and uses the heel of her hand to elaborately wipe her lips clean.

“I know that your bride has a substantial appetite, but I doubt that her hunger extends quite that far.”

And Roose laughs at that, a rare sound that brings an unwitting tingle to Barbrey’s spine and a warmth to her cheeks that she finds more vexing than anything else.

He reaches down to trace the sharp relief of her cheeks and jaw before declaring in a low, rumbling, oddly delicious murmur-

“I imagine she’ll learn. Patience will be in order…but I have plenty to spare.”

[undomestication]

Godless? Why, Aeron, I am the godliest man ever to raise sail! You serve one god, Damphair, but I have served ten thousand. From Ib to Asshai, when men see my sails, they pray.

[the-real-commasplice]

housecreepy replied to your post “scintillatexx: people: arya was raised a killer so she can’t relate...”

So show Arya is basically book Ramsay? Weird.

She’s one of several characters this season all playing their parts with almost completely flat affect (a few apparently are doing so by direction, one because of lack of talent). So dead pan voice, creepy smile, implying she could kill Sansa quite easily, remove Sansa’s face, and assume Sansa’s life.

But again total flat affect and I never get that vibe from Ramsay, book or show.

So not quite Book!Ramsay.

I keep seeing a theory this is all an act and that Arya and possibly Sansa are playing Littlefinger, but if this is the show runners’ intent, they are not doing the setup correctly.

[linndechir]

housecreepy replied to your post: Yesterday I was procratinating on writing and...

Wow, I really miss book Stannis. I should do a reread some day.

Book!Stannis is so great. So is book!Jon in ADWD. I think I needed some distance from this fandom and from all my show-related rage, but I'm very tempted to do a reread in autumn when I'll have the time - I'd probably skip the parts IDGAF about, but a Stannis-Starks-Greyjoys-King's Landing reread could be a lot of fun.

[starkfish]

housecreepy replied to your post: So we lost Eye Candy Dickon but got back Gendry,...

He came back? Last I watched, like three years ago, he was in a rowboat somewhere.

Davos acknowledged that, “I thought you might still be rowing.” Luuuuuuulz

[apprenticemockingbird]

Peggy/Pete, recusant

4. Recusant(adj) refusing to submit, comply, etc. 

She wants to tell him more, she really does.

She knows from the way he looks at her, eyes trained on her across the shining conference table, that he feels it too -- this ache, this need to reveal more, this desire for the shared pain of knowledge. And sometimes she almost breaks, finds herself wanting to brush against him in the hallway and tell him all knows: it was a boy, I think his eyes are blue. 

But she stops herself every time, frozen, and either smiles or ignores him as she walks past. It is not so much that she’s ashamed by her lack of knowledge, even though she is, even though the event seems more and more like a dream each passing day -- it’s that she’s afraid of what would happen were she to see the look in his eyes, were she to rip open herself and share this him, were she to let him be the keeper of her pain. 

She doesn’t think she’s strong enough for that and she hates herself for this truth. She knows it would be a mistake, letting him back in, letting him see her again, so she bites her lip when she sees him and suffers in silence.