#c: domeric

[ravellaarryns]

who: @domericstone when and where: the witching hour within the queen's tower within the royal apartments of the falcon queen, a snake slithers from its bed - and it is time to cut off its head.

ravella lay sprawled against the silk-draped mattress, her body still flushed from exertion, but her mind had already moved on. the candlelight flickered against the high stone walls of her chambers, casting shifting shadows that curled and stretched like spectres. the air was thick, heavy with the scent of sweat, of spent desire, of something else she could not quite name—something cloying, something sick. outside, the wind howled against the tower, rattling the glass panes with a ferocity that mirrored the storm brewing in her chest.

her gaze drifted upwards, unfocused, fixed on the dark canopy above her bed. her limbs ached, the dull remnants of hands that had held too tight, teeth that had grazed too deep. but the pain did not bother her. she had never been delicate; and when orbs of ice glanced over to the outline of his back, the knowledge of having broken skin was more of a rush than his touch ever was. ravella did not look at him immediately. she did not need to. she could feel him there, just as she always had—watching, waiting. his presence was a weight against her ribs, a pressure that had once been exhilarating but now felt suffocating.

for so long, she had found use in his silence, in his cold detachment, in the way he existed only in the space she allowed him to. but now, it grated against her skin like a dull knife. slowly, she turned her head, her eyes dragging over him in the dim light. he was as unreadable as ever, his face smooth, expressionless. no lingering hunger, no satisfaction, no curiosity. just patience. always patience. as if he had expected this moment.

her lip curled, the beginnings of a sneer forming before she swallowed it back. she would not give him that. “this is done.” her voice did not waver. the words fell into the space between them like stones into a deep, dark well. no flourish, no cruelty, no hesitation. the finality of it did not feel as heavy as she had thought it would. ravella pushed herself upright, letting the sheets slip from her bare shoulders. her dark hair tumbled forward, tangled from where his hands had twisted into it, but she made no move to smooth it. the cool air of the chamber ghosted over her skin, sending a slow shiver down her spine, but she ignored it.

"it was inevitable," she uttered, and she did not turn her head. she did not offer him the courtesy of meeting his gaze again. inevitable. because she had always known she would grow tired of him. because she had never needed him, not really. because she was not a girl playing games in the dark anymore. because she needed a son. a true heir. a body that could not be questioned, a name that could not be whispered about in doubt. not his. “you will continue as hand.” her voice was even, measured, as though they were discussing matters of coin rather than the end of whatever this had been. she tilted her head slightly, considering. "you are good at what you do. that is all you will do."

outside, the wind shrieked through the towers, a keening, furious wail. inside, domeric said nothing. ravella let the silence stretch, let it settle into the space between them like a final, unspoken truth. she could feel his gaze on her, unblinking, cold, calculating. but he did not move. he did not protest. he never would. he knew better than to ever do such a thing.

[visxionaries]

who: @domericstone when and where: the tourney celebrating the coronation of king jaehaerys targaryen, moments before the king graham royce of the vale is unseated by a mystery knight. in some moments, it will be clear there was foul play and intention at hand here. the men are getting onto their horses and readying their equipment. what: at this moment in time, cedric tyrell found himself in discussion with lord domeric stone - of the vale. or the north. both men remain unaware of what was about to happen.

the tiltyard was a different sort of game, and one that cedric tyrell was not the most talented at: whilst all men in the reach were trained in the arts of chivalry that made up the essentials of knighthood, there were only a number that truly meant it. it was something he often heard the high commander ranting over, the nature of those who earned their knighthood instead of those who had simply been purchased - it mattered little to cedric. in fact, it did not matter at all; there was little difference between how notions of romanticised knighthood impacted both men and women alike.

the crowds were vast, the seating high, though cedric found himself amongst the sides of the track, one of the many men who cheered on lord florent. the annoyance at his face continued to amuse him to no end as he patted the man's mare.

and in some spaces beside them were the vale faction, a matter that was a bigger deal to the knights of the reach rather than the king himself: all knew of the rivalry that came between the two regions when it came to the matter of chivalry and knighthood, the history and the essence behind it. time passed, and as men continued to speak, cedric tyrell found himself within the group wishing luck to the king consort of the vale - including the likes of the master of coin. a man whose name will go down in legends equated to a name uttered to scare children into scrambling into their beds.

"truthfully, we are still in the process of banking internally. we have investments within the iron bank that remain; though house hightower has established a bank of it's own. it is a slow process of transference - move too quickly, and the whole thing will come falling down." cedric tyrell believed himself more than able to read facial expressions, to grasp a good judgement of people and yet this one - there was an exception here. and it quietly bothered him, regardless of the conversation that passed between them.

"there comes advantage in owing debts to banners, rather than a power across the sea. i suspect matters would be dealt with far quicker." the iron bank were known to not enjoy waiting. they too, did not appreciate debts not being paid. there was one thing he could grasp about the master of coin, and that was the fact he detested meaningless discussion. meanwhile to cedric, no conversation was truly meaningless; there was always something to gage from a situation, or an individual. especially from one as shifty as domeric, whom had seemingly had many names, many positions, and many reputations.

the discussions continued as the jousts continued, pausing to view the tilts and the clashes each time they roared through the air. "how have you found aiding the north in their repayment of the iron bank?" cedric asked, his question pointed - considering all had heard of the way in which the three sisters had involved themselves by looting a manderly vessel. then there was an ominous silence from the sisters, according to the reports of his mistress of whispers. and he listened as domeric began to respond, his arms crossed against the blue of his tunic as he leaned against a wooden stand; when he heard it. the clash, and the gasp.

glancing to the direction of the shock, he realised what was happening. the king consort of the vale had rolled away from the incoming stampede of hoofs, and then suddenly the image was blurred by the dust that was kicked up by the horses. what he saw, was a large group of nobles stand; knights of the vale pretty much lept over their stands, rushing like the sea onto the track. cedric remained silent, clearly watching the scene unfold.

[rememberences]

who: @domericstone where: the snakewood, following the death of lady lynderly. this is prior to the wedding of axell royce and yuna upcliff. graham checking in like a good big brother, only being reminded that domeric is an absolutely weirdo, woo

it were not uncommon for a woman to die from childbirth: and yet, none is truly expecting it until it happens to them. the letter that had been sent to his personal solar within the eyrie was only a simple note, informing of the delivery of the heirs to the snakewood, and the death of his lady wife. the note had caused some worry within graham royce, if only for how short and blunt it was, as though it were something utterly casual. he had blinked, and domeric was an outsider within the vale, his only link to property and a seat dead and raising the children she had born him.

were they sickly too? was there any lynderly bastard that could creep out of whatever gutter it were within and claim if a bastard were to have the snakewood, it should at least be them? in the end, the king consort had insisted that he would be visiting the region: if only because he knew should he make it sound as though he were checking in on his brother, the answer would be no.

he had insisted on meeting him at the regional border of the snakewood, something graham had argued, and yet domeric had consistently insisted. letters on letters on the pair debating on this small matter, and as the men had ridden through the twisted nature of the snakewood, he began to understand just why domeric had insisted on greeting and guiding him in. it were utterly strange, the formations of nature the trees took: light was difficult to penetrate through the overhanging trees, but there was something else about this place.

it was unsettling, and not in the same way runestone was: rather than simply feeling as though they were not alone, it felt like something was wrong. it were obvious that graham felt inherently bad about this area: not because of not feeling alone, but because it felt as though he were feeling the emotions of so many, all at once. the winds felt like whispers. the entire wood felt cursed, and he would not be the fool to claim it were not so. he knew where his line was, and that was always tampering with what he did not truly understand.

he waited to discuss the topic until they were within the walls of the snakewood itself, the actual keep of the lynderly family: he noted the way in which the horses themselves seemed more at ease as they rode into the courtyard, his own letting out a noise of what sounded honestly quite like relief. they slipped from their horses, and he noted the way in which the servants stared at him: it had been the first time in decades a ruler of the realm had come to this corner of their world. how strange it felt. "you have been hiding in this place too long." graham spoke, his accent wrapping around each word, reflective of his runestone heritage. "when will you return to court?"

[ravellaarryns]

@domericstone | @rememberences

i’d rot with you too, if i could

tumblr post by @girlhorror​ / revenge by xxxtentacion / the lovers of valdaro / lazarus rises (amongst other things) by @icaruspendragon​ / mahmoud darwish / gravestone of james robert irwin and millie michaels irwin / wuthering heights by emily brontë

[prodixal]

@crowndgods || domeric bolton

Alys always preferred her brothers to her sisters. That much was apparent to anyone who cared enough to look. And while she did not miss home, she'd certainly missed the two of them. Seeing Domeric enter the room, all tall and grown and grumpy, caused the sweetest and most genuine smile to push into her cheeks. "Brother." she says, hands spreading wide to pull the other into her embrace. "I have missed your presence more with every letter exchanged. Your penmanship ought to replace the method of torture us Boltons took for our sigil, truly -- it is an excruciating endeavour indeed; deciphering your written thoughts." she teased, then proceeded to wrap her hands around his arm and pull him into a walk. "We've much to talk about, don't we?" brow rises, curious and intent. "Tell me, brother, did it occur to you that some of us might find your lack of transparency regarding your most recent whereabouts and endeavours somewhat...worrisome?"

[graunblida]

@playshrp sent: ❛ I don’t want to kill you. I want us to be friends. But if not friends, then allies. ❜

presumptuous ( she believes, anyway ) of him, to insinuate her defeat. it is true her current party lacks in numbers, but her remaining forces are standing by at the stark encampment, awaiting command. the noble looks too mild mannered to live up to his houses' reputation. to some, bolton is synonymous with BRUTAL, but the skagosi are as unmoving as mountains.

" your banner suggests otherwise. " emerald eyes fall from the symbols held high above down to the noble before her. she can appreciate the bluntness of sigil. this house is not pretending to be anything it is not. oh, how the southerners amuse her.

" in what situation would we begin to break bread? "

[atopvisenyashill]

idk if this is where I should be but i like your hotd opinions so….

idk if i am crazy but i always understood that rhaenyra killing her siblings would do nothing but make a problem for her

like we know being a kinslayer is bad, but we also know being a woman in westeros who wants to be a queen in her own right is also bad lol, so how would killing her siblings aid her in anyway??? killing them makes everyone’s thoughts on women ruling real and if they aren’t causing problems she looks crazy

but if she doesn’t, rhetorically she’s faced with war even if the dance doesn’t happen the way it did, but if aegon isn’t veering for the throne, wouldn’t it be easier to just… imprison, tax and kill the lords rebelling against her instead of kill aegon??

Idk i just think there is a lot of options and things that need to happen before killing alicent’s children is mandatory especially if everyone is playing nice in the family, or as nice as they can play since everyone has loose lips

i definitely feel like often when people analyze both the books and the show, when it comes to ~competing claims~ they tend to go for a very typical westerosi way of dealing with it ie murdering the competition or isolating & neutralizing them in some way. the thing is, and i know i sound like a broken clock here but….this never works!! there’s lots of reasons for this, fundamental to it being that feudalism is just a bad, self destructive system but also, not for nothing here, but ned raises jon to love his siblings and jon not only defends sansa and is likely to defend both sisters and bran later on, but robb names jon as his heir. i mean hell, if roose had let ramsay and domeric grow up as brothers, he could have avoided his damn heir getting merked because domeric had an interest in knowing his brother!

so YES i do agree that rhaenyra killing aegon is not only a stupid, reckless decision fueled by anger and nothing more it is also politically just so fucking dumb. and that was part of my frustration with that scene, is i can't believe alicent didn't say that! kinslaying is stupid, people already think rhaenyra is a tyrant (in both the books and the show - the silent six thing does not help her even if i think the velaryons were asking to get got there they're so fucking stupid, and b&c really destroys any and every shot of working towards a quick resolution of this war. thanks daemon you fucking idiot!), adding another incident of kinslaying is so dumb. it's just more needless violence.

and to be honest, this is also the argument against like "rhaenyra will need to kill alicent's children to ensure her own rule and that's why the greens are justified" first of all, wildly misogynistic reasoning here thanks but second of all, no she really does not need to kill them. in fact, it actively harms her cause if she does! she needs to neutralize them somehow, which is a vastly different beast! and something that could be relatively peaceful if anyone involved in this situation wasn't mindlessly and stupidly violent especially on a certain side. "oh but the princes in the tower" that's a wildly different situation and also, idk if anyone pushing "well richard iii killed the princes so that means rhaenyra would have to kill her brothers" know this but like, richard iii got overthrown by henry tudor so i'm not sure child murdering really worked out for him in the end there. which is again, the fucking point!!! turns out when you escalate violence constantly over some stupid fucking chair, it opens the playing field up to getting your own ass whacked by someone else for that stupid fucking chair. rhaenyra and her brothers' best shot at life was to make peace with each other and make sure they were really loud about how much they tried to make peace with each other. you can't murder your own brother and expect people not to think "well shit what's she gonna do to ME if i piss her off?" and considering rhaenyra's dedicating to making sure She Personally did not murder any of her siblings, she clearly knew that.

[vlxyrianclaws]

mxc.

maximus celtigar moved like a man accustomed to the weight of old things. his steps were deliberate, unhurried, each one echoing softly against the damp stone. the air inside the cave was thick with decay—damp earth and something darker, the faint, metallic tang of blood long since spilled. he had smelled worse. his gaze swept the chamber, taking in the flickering torchlight, the crude cells that lined the walls, the figures within them barely discernible in the gloom. their misery did not interest him. it was the things beyond the human—the tools, the remnants, the relics of domeric stone’s peculiar pursuits—that had drawn him all the way to this wretched place.

his eyes landed upon the jar first, a hand suspended in cloudy liquid, its fingers curling slightly as though in the throes of some last, lingering spasm. beside it, a skull, stripped bare of its flesh, the bone gleaming faintly in the dim light. maximus exhaled slowly. “curious,” he murmured, reaching out, running a gloved finger along the glass. the preservation was meticulous, though the thing itself was grotesque. he had seen bodies in many states—broken, bloated, split wide to spill their secrets—but there was something particularly unsettling about the quiet, suspended horror of this. he set the jar down, carefully, then wiped his hands on the fine silk of his sleeve as though he had touched something unclean.

“so,” he said, voice smooth, thoughtful. “they talk, do they?”

his gaze flicked to domeric, searching, though there was no real question in his words. he had always believed that the dead had their uses, but not in the way these maesters and so-called men of science did. they thought to cut and carve, to study the flesh in its quiet decay. but what of the spirit? what of the lingering will? he had spent his life ensuring house celtigar’s treasures remained untouched by time, by misfortune, by fate itself. sacrifice was an old thing, older than valyria, older than any kingdom men had carved into the bones of westeros. "how do you hear of it?" he had bled for his house, had let others bleed in turn, and in doing so, had ensured that what was his would never fade.

but this—this was different. his lip curled slightly as he looked back at the jar. “do they tell you how you managed to hold onto the lynderly fortune? how a bastard, widowed and alone, remains in control while others slip through the cracks?” there was a brazen lack of etiquette to the mans words, because he was not speaking to a man; domeric was all animal, of the first men - regardless of who had sired him in his mother's womb, his looks made that obvious enough. if he were to do business with the man, he would not hide his thoughts from him.

who: @vlxyrianclaws what: during some travels, domeric stone plays host to maximus celtigar. when: after returning from the west where: the snakewood, the vale.

The forest whispered as Domeric Stone led the way through the Snakewood, his footsteps unnervingly silent despite the tangle of roots and damp earth beneath. He moved with the ease of a man who belonged here, his tall, lean frame draped in fine black wool that caught faintly in the dappled light filtering through the canopy. The cloak on his shoulders bore the sigil of House Lynderly—a black field wriggling with green serpents—but Domeric himself was no Lynderly. The silent knights trailing behind them, their tongues long surrendered, were a reminder of that distinction. Their loyalty was not to tradition, but to him, and he wielded it like a blade.

Domeric said nothing as the path narrowed, forcing his guest to step carefully through a labyrinth of roots that rose like the ribs of some ancient beast. When the mouth of the vine-covered cave came into view, he finally slowed, his gaze sweeping the entrance with faint approval. “Welcome,” he said, the single word carrying a weight that was almost mocking.

Inside, the air was colder, heavier, carrying the tang of damp stone and the faint coppery undertone of blood long dried. The cave widened into a series of chambers, each lit by the flickering glow of torches set into iron sconces. Cells lined the walls, shadowed and crude, their occupants little more than figures hunched in misery or defiance. Domeric spared them only a passing glance.

They were not the point—merely pieces in the tableau he had carefully constructed.

At the heart of the chamber, he stopped before a rough-hewn table. Upon it rested a jar containing a severed hand suspended in cloudy liquid, and beside it, a skull stripped bare of flesh. Domeric reached out, adjusting the jar ever so slightly as though it were a prized relic rather than a grotesque trophy. “They talk,” he said finally, his voice low. His raven-dark eyes flicked toward his guest, Lord Maximus Celtigar. Neither friend nor foe, it was something else. “Of chains in the dark. Of lives traded for coin and power. Slavery.” He let the word linger, his fingers brushing the table’s edge. “If such whispers are true, there is opportunity. Secrets of that kind... they carry weight. And in the right hands, they can shift kingdoms.”

[clloouxuuiiwnn]

MEET THE OWNER!

(COMPLETELY redone)

Hi, my name is Louie. I go by He/him They/Them or It/Its. (I go by all pronouns, but those are my most preferred ones.)

⚠Autism, ADHD, Borderline personality disorder, Narcissistic personality disorder, C-PTSD⚠

I am a REALLY huge multifan-domer, but here is a list of my hyper-fixations (Fandoms that I'm REALLY into!)

Forsaken

Blocktales

Roblox Myths

Hannibal

Dandys world

Roblox fandoms (I'm in a lot of them.)

---

Heres some of my MAIN hobbies;

Art, usually going on rants about anything, video games, watching movies, or painting.

---

Please do feel free to interact with me as long as you aren't like a shitload of weirdness, y'know?

---

Here's some music artists I absolutely LOVE;

Insane clown posse

Childish Gambino

Tyler, the creator

Stomach book

Radiohead

Sublime

[ladyoflosgar]

Other miscellaneous winter themed Domeric Bolton AI content generated with ChatGPT c November 27-28, 2024.

“Swarovski Crystal Domeric Bolton”

“Domeric Bolton in a Snowglobe”

“Fabergé Egg Domeric Bolton”

“Domeric Bolton Cottobal Snowman”

This is a Domeric Bolton Fan Account.

[wankerwatch]

Lords Vote

On: Victims and Prisoners Bill

Baroness Royall of Blaisdon moved amendment 132, after clause 47, to insert the new clause Licence conditions for serial and serious harm domestic abuse and stalking perpetrators under Multi-Agency Public Protection Arrangements. The House divided:

Ayes: 211 (54.5% Lab, 27.5% LD, 15.2% XB, 1.4% , 0.5% Bshp, 0.5% PC, 0.5% Green) Noes: 208 (93.3% Con, 3.8% , 1.9% DUP, 0.5% XB, 0.5% UUP) Absent: ~391

Likely Referenced Bill: Prisoners (Disclosure of Information About Victims) Bill

Description: To require the Parole Board to take into account any failure by a prisoner serving a sentence for unlawful killing or for taking or making an indecent image of a child to disclose information about the victim.

Originating house: Commons Current house: Commons Bill Stage: 2nd reading

Individual Votes:

Ayes

Labour (115 votes)

Adams of Craigielea, B. Anderson of Stoke-on-Trent, B. Anderson of Swansea, L. Andrews, B. Armstrong of Hill Top, B. Bach, L. Bassam of Brighton, L. Berkeley, L. Blackstone, B. Blower, B. Blunkett, L. Boateng, L. Bradley, L. Bragg, L. Brooke of Alverthorpe, L. Browne of Ladyton, L. Bryan of Partick, B. Campbell-Savours, L. Carter of Coles, L. Cashman, L. Chandos, V. Chapman of Darlington, B. Clark of Windermere, L. Coaker, L. Collins of Highbury, L. Crawley, B. Davidson of Glen Clova, L. Davies of Brixton, L. Donaghy, B. Donoughue, L. Drake, B. Drayson, L. Dubs, L. Eatwell, L. Evans of Watford, L. Falconer of Thoroton, L. Foulkes of Cumnock, L. Gale, B. Glasman, L. Golding, B. Goudie, B. Grantchester, L. Grocott, L. Hacking, L. Hannett of Everton, L. Hanworth, V. Harris of Haringey, L. Hayman of Ullock, B. Hayter of Kentish Town, B. Hazarika, B. Healy of Primrose Hill, B. Hendy, L. Hollick, L. Howarth of Newport, L. Hughes of Stretford, B. Hunt of Kings Heath, L. Jay of Paddington, B. Jones of Whitchurch, B. Jones, L. Jordan, L. Kennedy of Cradley, B. Kennedy of Southwark, L. Kennedy of The Shaws, B. Khan of Burnley, L. Kinnock, L. Knight of Weymouth, L. Lennie, L. Leong, L. Lipsey, L. Lister of Burtersett, B. Livermore, L. Maxton, L. McConnell of Glenscorrodale, L. McIntosh of Hudnall, B. McNicol of West Kilbride, L. Merron, B. Monks, L. Morris of Yardley, B. Murphy of Torfaen, L. Nye, B. O'Grady of Upper Holloway, B. Osamor, B. Parekh, L. Pitkeathley, B. Ponsonby of Shulbrede, L. Prentis of Leeds, L. Primarolo, B. Quin, B. Ramsey of Wall Heath, B. Rebuck, B. Reid of Cardowan, L. Ritchie of Downpatrick, B. Robertson of Port Ellen, L. Rooker, L. Rowlands, L. Royall of Blaisdon, B. Sahota, L. Shamash, L. Sherlock, B. Sikka, L. Smith of Basildon, B. Snape, L. Stansgate, V. Taylor of Bolton, B. Taylor of Stevenage, B. Thornton, B. Touhig, L. Tunnicliffe, L. Twycross, B. Watson of Invergowrie, L. Wheeler, B. Whitaker, B. Whitty, L. Wilcox of Newport, B. Young of Old Scone, B.

Liberal Democrat (58 votes)

Addington, L. Allan of Hallam, L. Bakewell of Hardington Mandeville, B. Barker, B. Beith, L. Bonham-Carter of Yarnbury, B. Bowles of Berkhamsted, B. Brinton, B. Bruce of Bennachie, L. Burnett, L. Burt of Solihull, B. Clement-Jones, L. Dholakia, L. Featherstone, B. Foster of Bath, L. Fox, L. Garden of Frognal, B. German, L. Goddard of Stockport, L. Grender, B. Hamwee, B. Harris of Richmond, B. Humphreys, B. Hussain, L. Hussein-Ece, B. Janke, B. Jolly, B. Kramer, B. Lee of Trafford, L. Marks of Henley-on-Thames, L. McNally, L. Miller of Chilthorne Domer, B. Newby, L. Northover, B. Oates, L. Palmer of Childs Hill, L. Parminter, B. Pinnock, B. Randerson, B. Razzall, L. Russell, E. Scriven, L. Sharkey, L. Sheehan, B. Shipley, L. Smith of Newnham, B. Stoneham of Droxford, L. Storey, L. Strasburger, L. Suttie, B. Taylor of Goss Moor, L. Teverson, L. Thomas of Gresford, L. Thomas of Winchester, B. Thornhill, B. Tope, L. Tyler of Enfield, B. Walmsley, B.

Crossbench (32 votes)

Aberdare, L. Anderson of Ipswich, L. Berkeley of Knighton, L. Campbell of Surbiton, B. Cavendish of Little Venice, B. Clancarty, E. Colville of Culross, V. Craigavon, V. Cromwell, L. Finlay of Llandaff, B. Freyberg, L. Hogan-Howe, L. Hope of Craighead, L. Hunt of Bethnal Green, B. Kakkar, L. Kerr of Kinlochard, L. Kidron, B. Kilclooney, L. Mawson, L. Meacher, B. Meston, L. O'Loan, B. Pannick, L. Prashar, B. Russell of Liverpool, L. Sentamu, L. Somerset, D. Stevens of Kirkwhelpington, L. Thomas of Cwmgiedd, L. Trevethin and Oaksey, L. Vaux of Harrowden, L. Warner, L.

Non-affiliated (3 votes)

Mackenzie of Framwellgate, L. Paddick, L. Patel of Bradford, L.

Bishops (1 vote)

Southwell and Nottingham, Bp.

Plaid Cymru (1 vote)

Smith of Llanfaes, B.

Green Party (1 vote)

Jones of Moulsecoomb, B.

Noes

Conservative (194 votes)

Agnew of Oulton, L. Ahmad of Wimbledon, L. Altmann, B. Altrincham, L. Anelay of St Johns, B. Arbuthnot of Edrom, L. Ashcombe, L. Ashton of Hyde, L. Attlee, E. Balfe, L. Banner, L. Barran, B. Bellamy, L. Bellingham, L. Benyon, L. Berridge, B. Bethell, L. Black of Brentwood, L. Blencathra, L. Bloomfield of Hinton Waldrist, B. Booth, L. Borwick, L. Bottomley of Nettlestone, B. Bourne of Aberystwyth, L. Bray of Coln, B. Bridgeman, V. Browning, B. Brownlow of Shurlock Row, L. Buscombe, B. Caine, L. Caithness, E. Callanan, L. Cameron of Chipping Norton, L. Cameron of Lochiel, L. Camrose, V. Carrington of Fulham, L. Cathcart, E. Chadlington, L. Choudrey, L. Colgrain, L. Courtown, E. Crathorne, L. Cruddas, L. Davies of Gower, L. De Mauley, L. Deben, L. Deighton, L. Dobbs, L. Douglas-Miller, L. Duncan of Springbank, L. Dundee, E. Dunlop, L. Eccles, V. Effingham, E. Elliott of Mickle Fell, L. Evans of Bowes Park, B. Fairfax of Cameron, L. Farmer, L. Fink, L. Finkelstein, L. Finn, B. Fleet, B. Fookes, B. Forsyth of Drumlean, L. Foster of Oxton, B. Framlingham, L. Fraser of Craigmaddie, B. Frost, L. Fuller, L. Garnier, L. Glendonbrook, L. Godson, L. Gold, L. Goldie, B. Grimstone of Boscobel, L. Hamilton of Epsom, L. Hammond of Runnymede, L. Harlech, L. Haselhurst, L. Hayward, L. Helic, B. Henley, L. Herbert of South Downs, L. Hintze, L. Hodgson of Abinger, B. Hodgson of Astley Abbotts, L. Horam, L. Houchen of High Leven, L. Howard of Lympne, L. Howard of Rising, L. Howe, E. Howell of Guildford, L. Hunt of Wirral, L. Jackson of Peterborough, L. James of Blackheath, L. Jamieson, L. Jenkin of Kennington, B. Johnson of Lainston, L. Johnson of Marylebone, L. Jopling, L. Kempsell, L. King of Bridgwater, L. Kirkham, L. Kirkhope of Harrogate, L. Lamont of Lerwick, L. Lansley, L. Lawlor, B. Lea of Lymm, B. Leicester, E. Lexden, L. Lilley, L. Lindsay, E. Lingfield, L. Liverpool, E. Livingston of Parkhead, L. Lucas, L. Magan of Castletown, L. Mancroft, L. Manzoor, B. Markham, L. Marks of Hale, L. Marland, L. Marlesford, L. McInnes of Kilwinning, L. McIntosh of Pickering, B. McLoughlin, L. Mendoza, L. Meyer, B. Minto, E. Mobarik, B. Monckton of Dallington Forest, B. Montrose, D. Morris of Bolton, B. Morrissey, B. Mott, L. Moylan, L. Moynihan of Chelsea, L. Murray of Blidworth, L. Naseby, L. Neville-Jones, B. Neville-Rolfe, B. Newlove, B. Nicholson of Winterbourne, B. Noakes, B. Norton of Louth, L. Offord of Garvel, L. Owen of Alderley Edge, B. Parkinson of Whitley Bay, L. Petitgas, L. Pickles, L. Popat, L. Porter of Fulwood, B. Porter of Spalding, L. Randall of Uxbridge, L. Reay, L. Redfern, B. Risby, L. Robathan, L. Roborough, L. Rock, B. Sanderson of Welton, B. Sandhurst, L. Sater, B. Scott of Bybrook, B. Seccombe, B. Shackleton of Belgravia, B. Sharpe of Epsom, L. Shephard of Northwold, B. Sherbourne of Didsbury, L. Shinkwin, L. Smith of Hindhead, L. Stedman-Scott, B. Sterling of Plaistow, L. Stewart of Dirleton, L. Stowell of Beeston, B. Strathcarron, L. Strathclyde, L. Sugg, B. Swinburne, B. Swire, L. Taylor of Holbeach, L. Trenchard, V. True, L. Udny-Lister, L. Vaizey of Didcot, L. Vere of Norbiton, B. Wei, L. Wharton of Yarm, L. Willetts, L. Williams of Trafford, B. Wolfson of Tredegar, L. Wyld, B. Young of Cookham, L. Younger of Leckie, V.

Non-affiliated (8 votes)

Chisholm of Owlpen, B. Faulks, L. Foster of Aghadrumsee, B. Fox of Buckley, B. Gadhia, L. Grade of Yarmouth, L. Moore of Etchingham, L. Verdirame, L.

Democratic Unionist Party (4 votes)

Browne of Belmont, L. Hay of Ballyore, L. McCrea of Magherafelt and Cookstown, L. Morrow, L.

Crossbench (1 vote)

Brookeborough, V.

Ulster Unionist Party (1 vote)

Empey, L.

[shesnakes]

"brother." the younger, the one who had at one point most bared her image ⸻ not that familiar hair but the trace of her shadow, the mark of her protection on his breast. sweet dom, as much her's as anyone's. even now, furred in his outgrown curls and the thick bark of muscle as if to hide, she knows him. her heart brags at the sight: a refrain of love and vexation. "of which do you speak ⸻ the tearing of gown or beating of breasts?" hands tucked into the jade silk of her sleeves, rosemund's stride is slow, weighted with the purpose of one who knows her path. "i can perform them now if my impiety displeases you, dom."

"the princess regent did me no harm." even to a trout, it is clear which predator dipped their claws into the trident river to retrieve a bride for their son. "i pray that the seven usher her quickly into the heavens. if the targaryens wanted a bride with a wet face, they might have picked a girl from the iron isles." she stills before him, quiet and expectant. in gesture, her eyes sweep over the repose of her brother. "i see you have spent your time in king's landing doing that which is expected of you." nothing.

𝑖 . in   the red keep,   within a corridor domeric evidently did not think he would see her in ! 𝑖𝑖 . for   rosemund   tully, @shesnakes     

domeric  could  recall  days  when  he  had  clung  to  ros's  skirts  with  the  pudgy,  sweaty  hands  of  a  child  — when he could pinpoint her head in a crowd as if sharing the same hair gave him supernatural powers of location when it came to only her. now, those memories festered between them. all of his childlike devotion and all of her protectiveness had sat, for years, rotting. now they were left with a silence that was only broken when they wished to prod at the other's misgivings, using words as arrows that always found their targets, no matter how concealed they were. and yet the feelings of kinship come so easily, rushing back in, forced to the forefront of his mind by the vestiges of the boy he'd been born. he who existed before they'd lost their mother and he'd slipped silently beneath the surface remained the steadfast keeper of his love for all of his siblings  — not solely rosemund. now, dark eyes find dark hair, and the shade is as familiar a sight as ever. “ ros. ” no matter the distance, the nickname finds its way from his tongue easily. “ do you not have duties ? of the mourning sort. ” he was her brother, he knew of her stance towards her betrothal, and yet he asked anyway. drew blood where it was not needed. the leech. he looks at her with a bored expression, chin tilted down and gaze aimed upwards.

[rememberences]

who: @domericstone when and where: the eyrie, set after the ambush which happened to percival templeton. context: hmmm.

graham found him in the solar, the fire long burned down to nothing but smouldering ash, though the air was warm still—too warm, like it had been trapped there with the silence. domeric hadn’t moved. not when the door opened. not when graham’s boots scraped over the stone floor. just sat there, hunched slightly over some paper he hadn’t read, or had read too many times. back straight, face stony, shoulders drawn like a man preparing for a blow. it reminded graham too much of how he used to sit when their father was still alive, pretending to be asleep so malcom’s wrath might pass him over for once.

“you’ve got that same look he wore before a lie,” graham said, voice low, not unkind, but not soft either. he didn’t wait for a response, didn’t expect one. “and gods help us, look at that, you’ve got his stillness too. like a wolf waitin’ for the wind to shift.”

he let the door close behind him with a dull but impactful thud. the light from the window was thin, gold-veined with dust, the sort of late-afternoon hush that always made things feel older than they were. graham crossed to the table and poured himself a cup of wine, though he didn’t drink it, just held it between his hands. he studied domeric’s face, the too-sharp line of his jaw, the shadow under his eyes. malcom’s face, but younger. leaner. with more hunger. not for food. for place. for certainty.

“they’re sayin’ it was you,” graham said, tone low and flat, but firm. “that you ambushed lord templeton out past the lands of longbow hall. had men waiting. blades drawn. no chance for talk.” he didn’t look at domeric when he said it. couldn’t. not yet. he stared instead at the bare hearth, as though fire might flicker there if he looked hard enough. there was a simmering irritation which grew within graham royce, for it had been him who had plucked domeric from the dangerous situation he had found himself in the north; it was him which had found him a position at court, and watched him grow. would he now attack percival templeton, one of graham's long standing allies? as though the royces and templetons had not known one another since they were boys?

he swallowed, jaw tightening. the words didn’t come easily, not when it came to malcom. not when the man still echoed in every corner of their bones. “father was a cold bastard, and that’s puttin’ it kindly. but you know what he never was? subtle. a man like malcom would’ve ridden up with a banner and made a feast of it. but this... this was clever. hidden. calculated. you can’t imagine how much worse that makes it.” the words were laced with accusation now; as though he were offended domeric thought he would merely ignore and pretend this never happened. he turned then, slowly, to look at domeric proper. the boy—no, the man—he’d fought to raise higher than his bastard start. a brother by blood, if not name. his mother had been gentle, graham remembered, in the few whispers he’d heard of her. a grafton girl with soft hands and softer eyes who died too young. not like their own mothers, beaten down by malcom’s rage or by the world around him.

domeric had something else in him. something graham had always tried to protect. or deny. “you’re my blood,” graham said, voice rougher now. “i’ve never spoken it aloud, not where ears could catch it. but that doesn’t make it less true. i’ve shielded you like a brother, because that’s what you are. and gods help me, i still see you as that scrawny boy with cut knees and too much pride, standin’ outside the tilt yard just to watch me train.” he stepped closer, the fire of his gaze searing now, the lines around his mouth carved deep. “but if you touched percival... if you ordered it... domeric, i need you to tell me."

[ravellaarryns]

MEMORIES AS HEAVY AS A STONE; OH GODS HAVE YOU WALKED AWAY FROM ME? (DOMERIC&RAVELLA) / @wcrdsarewind

what: continuation of this thread between lord domeric stone bolton and princess ravella of house arryn.

ravella: and she remains silent as he speaks on the authority of rowan arryn - it takes all in her to ask what authority, what affection does he deserve? but he was the mountain king. he was a representation of her. ravella; how it sickened her so. to know her home, her name, was represented by his weakness. she had doubted her father's decision in sending him to the front lines, leading a regiment in his youth...but now she understood. he prayed weakness would be killed. ravella: "there will be no wildlings walking along my walls." ravella: "i will see them turn on one another in butchery, or give up on these peace efforts and return back to the grovels they come from." and he says men will beg like the gods to be free of him, as he strips them bit by bit. and there is a sick fire in orbs of ice. ravella: "show me the gods exist, domeric."

domeric; watches her. she didn't want the wildlings around her and he understood. they were savages. mountain clans was a term to kind for them. raiding the lands around them expecting to leave untouched. to welcome these monster...he wouldn't have it. not in his kingdom or any other. domeric; "turning them into some frenzy where they kill each other would be harder, that takes time and effort to infiltrate. we can take this with no issue." domeric; watches her. his eyes on her. something about the light there intrigues him, awakens him. reminds him. domeric; "i can do that." domeric; noted the change in his voice. lost in thoughts of her in that moment where she was completely free and unraveled. lost in the thoughts of savages begging for solace. calling to their gods. he hates dorne. the temperature seemed to rise at random.

ravella: and she wants to ask him why he is so ready to help, ready to help with no price to be paid in response; but she knew the answer. she knew the love he seemed to bare towards everything that led back to those hammering rains of runestone. ravella: but why ask him, if it would only make this strange spell he had casted on himself more obvious? ravella: "you will do that." ravella: "you will do that?" and she's careful with her words, like silver poison; she would not give him orders, he was no subject of hers. no subject of the vale of arryn. ravella: "does it take long to get the final outcome?"

domeric; can't focus but he can hide his attentions wandering, his thoughts. he would do this, not just for the vale or the royces or her. he would do this because it was his duty. his gift. his heart. domeric; it was on the tip of his tongue to tell her to not order him when she rephrased the same order as a question. so, he nods domeric; “i'll do it.” domeric; “it can take as long as i need it to take. i'm in control. their life, their screams, their pleading is in my hands.”

ravella: and her silhouette, adorned in black dornish silks, sweep over the mosaic tiles as she seems to circle him, if only to stand beside the door with a hand on the doorknob. it was to hear if there was any other on the other side. ravella: "i look forward to seeing it, my lord. this being something not even the rains can wash away from you." ravella: and her mind trails as her orbs fix upon his, trails as she considers what the implications of this could be. there could be violence. they would handle it. they would rise, and be strengthened from it. ravella: and if she died, she knew it was for a cause. a cause to cleanse. ravella: "you'll hold no debt over me, my lord... acknowledged or not." ravella; "when the time comes, you find me."

domeric; watched her circling him, his eyes on hers as she moved to the door. not even the rains of runestone could cleanse a such as he. he was born in whatever darkness ravella wandered into. domeric; "i look forward to showing you. i'll keep it in mind. not sure what you could give me but, perhaps something will come up." domeric; "maybe the best way to avoid cows." domeric; humorless as he bows forward. domeric; "princess." domeric; "i'll send you something when it's time for you to meet me. no worries, you'll know it's from me without the need for written letters or seals."

ravella: and she's still holding onto the doorknob, knowing they would need to slip out into the crowds seperately. knowing that doing this in itself was risky business enough, but she would laugh in the face of those who dared question her. she was no bird, and held no cage; if there was a place she ruled, it was the seven hells themselves ravella: "perhaps. find something - it is in your own interests." because she would not allow another to feel like he did anything for her ravella: and she stares at him when he mentions cows. she didn't understand what he referenced. buried, long dead in the back of memories that were stored in a box; the slight confusion was obvious in a glint within her orbs ravella: "cows, my lord?"

domeric; he looks at her for a moment, his brow furrows and a brief smile comes on to his face and it goes away. it makes him sad to know she's never going to be what she was. he feels a great guilt at liking her better this way. such a weakness that came with an attachment to the past. one he couldn't let go, it gave him humanity. a man born without it, needed to hold on to it where he found it as to not completely fold into the nothingness of his reality. domeric; "it's not important. you should go." domeric; walks by her, to stand at the other side of the room, leaning against the wall, finding a place in the shadows. domeric; "enjoy this festive evening."

ravella: and perhaps she should have asked him to tell her, insisted he tell her; did he know something she didn't? ravella: but truthfully, she did not care enough to wish to get an answer to what it was he spoke of. cows, she simply could not make a link to; and so, the woman merely nodded, raven hair tumbling down her shoulders as she lowered her head in response to him ravella: “i shall leave you to whatever thoughts choose to haunt you, this festive evening.” ravella: and her tone copies his for a moment, before she leaves, closing the door behind her

[ravellaarryns]

♟

there were many things ravella of house arryn thought useful about the bastard that sat across from her; things that went beyond the feral switch that came in his orbs as he clutched at her, or the movement he done with his tongue as he spread her thighs, or the feeling of his curls tugging in her hands. "perfect." she spoke, her accent wrapping around her words the same way the spirits of the vale wrapped around the mountains.

there was a visible wanting that danced in her orbs even now as she remained in her seat, legs crossed over her in a way that would not be considered appropriate; always agreeable, quick to fulfil her desires on all levels. he knew what he wanted, and knew what it would take to keep what it was he wanted. and perhaps, as much as ravella held devotion

"bastards are no stranger to power in such times." she spoke, staring at him deadpan; he would know exactly what it was she was talking about. he was lucky she even looked twice in his direction, or noted his talents: a bastard could be the most talented individual in the world, but the vale of arryn was another level of cruel. it was not cruelty; it was custom. it was the norm.

there was no denying she obtained the most lethal and toxic of rushes from the thin line they walked, perhaps because it was as though they spent their time itching for the next time their carnal desire for one another would reign supreme. each time was spontaneous, but what she did not like, was when he made sense and she did not wish to hear it.

"he will only wed if he has formally, publicly denounced his place in the line of succession before the greatest houses and men of the realm." rhys could get married whenever he felt like it; he needed her permission, but that would not stop him from wedding in some stable somewhere.

she knew she would uncharacteristically not be on the same page as him when it came to the matter of rhys arryn. it was more than her disagreeing with domeric, it was a queen disagreeing with her hand; something which could easily spread into the council, and among the other courtiers that filled her halls. "his legitimate line will have titles, but no claim. people may whisper, there can be stirrings, but house arryn has the permanent support of house royce. house grafton can be tied to us through a wedded union."

if; ravella knew he would. men had appetites to quench. she would no issue with ensuring moon tea was slipped into her future good sister's drinks at the dinner table. she would have no issue with poisoning her womb, inside and out. the reminder of not having sons caused her entire face to harden; she thought of the extension of her in the royal nursery in this very moment. it made her angry, visibly; her jaw hardened. "i will deliver sons."

"Certainly." And it would be easy to pull a prisoner from his stores. Those that were being used to further the nature of his business in a variety of ways. And these wildings would have to be taken care of one day at a time. One step at a time. And for the queen he would be glad to show her how these things were done, it was his latest attempt at improving the state of those who thought to highly of themselves. They were a superstitious people with little to no intelligence as it seemed the only among them with wisdom was slaughtered in Dorne alongside the dead bastard.

Domeric nodded his head to confirm he understood her. "Given to them. I will make sure it's clear in the writing. And that the king and his histories are able to decipher truth." There was enough talk of conquering. Enough talk of Northmen feeling special. Feeling as if they were someone stronger than those around them.

"Expensive lessons are as valuable as the lives lost. Even when their lives are useless." Domeric ran his hand over his beard and leaned back in his seat as he listened to her words. And she brought up the Prince, he furrowed his brow briefly, the pause wasn't him weighing out his options but finding the exact words to say to her.

"I don't think it's a mistake for him to be here. His reputation is one that will raise issues; bastards, whispers of having an Arryn King. His bastard should be dead if she lives and if he fucks someone he needs to force moontea down their throats. He should not be allowed to marry and you should discourage brothels. Whores in general. As long as he is here and you don't have a son your reign is in danger."

[asongofsilks]

ASOIAF FANCASTING --> EVERY NAMED FEMALE CHARACTER ABOVE THE AGE OF FIVE, PART XI

Bethany Fair-Fingers (main series era): A wandering singer of Westeros, one of the performers arranged to sing at the wedding of King Joffrey Baratheon and Margaery Tyrell. Fancast: Tori Amos.

Bethany Hightower (b. approx. 113 AC): Daughter of Lord Ormund Hightower and sister-in-law to Samantha Tarly, who had married her older brother Lyonel. She would also become sister-in-law to Princess Rhaena Targaryen through another brother, Garmund. She was proposed as a bride for Aegon III, though his Hand, announced the Maiden's Day ball for Aegon to choose his new bride instead. Fancast: Georgia Tennant.

Blushing Bethany (main series era): A prostitute at the Happy Port in Braavos. Fancast: Gracie Gillam.

Bethany Redwyne (b. approx. 250 AC): Wife of Lord Mathis Rowan of Goldengrove and mother to three children. Lord Hoster Tully once intended to ask for her hand for his younger brother, Brynden, but Brynden refused to marry. Her daughter was caught in bed with a singer named Dareon, who was sent to the wall when she claimed it was rape. Fancast: Zoey Deutch.

Bethany Rosby (c. 250-283 AC): Sixth wife of Lord Walder Frey and mother to five children, including Roslin. Fancast: Ruby Bentall.

Bethany Ryswell (b. approx. 260 AC): Daughter of Lord Rodrik Ryswell of the Rills and wife to Lord Roose Bolton. She had a son, Domeric, who was probably poisoned by his bastard brother, Ramsay Snow. Fancast: Michelle Dockery.

Betharios of Braavos (b. approx. 260 AC): Wife of Symond Frey, seventh son of Lord Walder Frey, and mother to Alyx Frey, Alesander Frey, a singer, and Bradamar, who is being fostered in Braavos. Fancast: Melinda Clarke.

Branda Stark (b. approx. 240 AC): Daughter of Rodrik Stark, the Wandering Wolf, and his wife Arya Flint. Her younger sister Lyarra became the wife of Lord Rickard Stark of Winterfell. Fancast: Lara Pulver.

Brea (b. approx. 285 AC): Daughter of Brusco, a Braavosi fishmonger. She shares a room with Cat of the Canals. Fancast: Millie Bobby Brown.

Brella (main series era): A servant in King's Landing. She originally runs the household of Renly Baratheon, but after his death she is hired by Tyrion Lannister as a maid. After Tyrion's fall, Brella can no longer find work among the nobles and is now a washerwoman at a whorehouse. Fancast: Kathryn Hunter.

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