#down at the crossroads

[guysonroblox]

[leupagus]

Please note that this fic is going to take the better part of 2024 and probably 2025

(and given my track record might never be done):

Sansa

"Do you like the taste?" asked Littlefinger, watching her closely as she tried the wine. He always watched her closely.

They had stopped at the Inn at the Crossroads; she hadn't wanted to, but she would have had to explain to Littlefinger why. So she had choked down a meal and refused to think about the last time she had come through this way, where the first member of her family had been murdered in the stable while Joffrey had sniveled and lied and shown her, for the first time, who he really was.

"I don't see what all the fuss is about," she answered. "Why do men love it so much?"

Littlefinger shrugged. "It gives some men courage."

"Does it give you courage?"

He smiled, the way he did when she had stung him. He would take his revenge on her somehow, she knew. He was nothing like Joffrey, but there was a smallness to him that reminded her of the king.

The dead king, now.

A flash of armor to her right made her look up; a familiar woman, tall and broad of shoulder in a suit of armor, had approached their table. "Lord Baelish. Lady Sansa. My name is Brienne of Tarth."

Sansa opened her mouth to reply, to tell her she knew who she was, of course she knew. Tyrion had mentioned her often, usually after rebuffing yet another request by the lady of Tarth for an audience with Sansa. I hope you don't mind, and Jaime vouches for her, but Cersei has made it clear she's to go nowhere near you and frankly this giantess makes me a bit nervy. He'd been glad to recount the tale of Lady Brienne and Ser Jaime, traipsing through the Riverlands on their way to King's Landing.

Before Sansa could speak a word, Littlefinger had made some cutting remark, the sort he was so good at. She'd yet to be on the receiving end of any of them but she flinched all the same, watching Brienne's face. Littlefinger was something like Joffrey — and something like herself, too, when she'd been young and pleased at her own wit. Looking back, she knew now that she had only ever been cruel.

Lady Brienne seemed not even to hear Littlefinger; as though he were no more than a gnat to be tolerated until such moment as he could be swatted. She knelt, awkward but not clumsy, and looked earnestly up at her. "Lady Sansa. Before your mother's death, I was her sworn sword. I gave my word I would find you and protect you. I will shield your back and keep your counsel, and give my life for you if needs be. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New."

Would she have given the answering vow? She would never know, because once again Littlefinger was talking, sliding his glance over to Sansa to see what remarks might prompt a reaction. Sansa stayed still and watched as Lady Brienne's attention was at least drawn away, glaring at Littlefinger.

"Strange," Littlefinger was saying. "I knew Cat since the time we were children. She never mentioned you."

"It was after Renly's murder," said Lady Brienne, direct and blunt. She and Sandor would get along well, Sansa thought suddenly. Pity they had never met.

"Ah, yes," said Littlefinger. "You were accused of killing him."

Lady Brienne blushed, a splotchy red spreading across her cheeks. Shame, Sansa thought, but not guilt. "I tried to save him," she spat out. She did not glance over, to see if Sansa would believe her.

"But you were accused."

"By men who did not see what happened."

"And what did happen?"

"He was murdered by a shadow. A shadow with the face of Stannis Baratheon."

"A shadow? With a face?" Littlefinger turned to Sansa, and that was when she knew whatever he was about to say was a lie. "This woman swore to protect Renly. She failed. She swore to protect your mother. She failed." He smirked up at Lady Brienne. "Why would I want somebody with your history of failure guarding Lady Sansa?"

Lady Brienne made a face. "Why would you have any say in her affairs?"

"Because I am her uncle. I married her Aunt Lysa shortly before my beloved's untimely death. We're family now. And you are an outsider. Forgive me, Lady Brienne. But experience has made me wary of outsiders."

She gaped at him, then looked back at Sansa. "Lady Sansa," she said, and paused, as though at a loss for how to convince her. "If we can have a word alone?"

"Yes." Sansa rose, knocking into the table. The goblet of wine spilled and ran down her dress, but she was on her feet at last. The sellswords Littlefinger had brought with him moved in, one of them putting a hand on Lady Brienne's shoulder. She tensed and in just a few seconds there would be bloodshed, there would be someone dead on the floor and it would be her fault.

"Uncle Petyr," she said loudly, her heart rabbiting out of her chest, "Thank you very much for understanding. I will speak with Lady Brienne as you suggest, and then we shall resume our journey."

The sounds of eating and talking died out as faces turned toward her. A round-faced boy came bustling up, a wide, customer-friendly smile pasted on his face. "Is there anything I can help with, milord?" he chirruped.

"A room for the ladies," said Littlefinger, still watching her. She nodded very slightly and his mouth twitched.

"Have you anything on the floor above?" she added, addressing the boy with a nervous glance toward Lady Brienne.

"Er," came the reply, "Yes? Right this way, milady. Miladies."

Sansa leaned toward Littlefinger. He smelled of wine and the oils he used on his hair. "Could some of the guards watch the door?" she whispered. "And some near the stairs. Just…in case."

"Of course," he said, though his eyes were on her mouth.

The way Littlefinger had spoken of her mother, there had been a great rivalry between himself and Ned Stark; and before that a rivalry between himself and her uncle Brandon, who'd been betrothed to Catelyn before his murder. Littlefinger had always sounded like the defeated lover, the man who had nearly won his beloved's hand.

Mother had never mentioned Littlefinger. Father had, once they were in King's Landing and he'd been forced to admit an acquaintance. He'd sounded irritated more than angry; her mother had never loved him, had hardly ever thought of him. Her parents had lived and loved each other and all the while Littlefinger had stewed in his own curdled affections, imagining a love story that had never existed.

She could never decide what had moved her to kiss him on the cheek. Perhaps it had been a clever ploy to distract him, or a way to tell him she would return. She would have liked to have been that clever. But in the moment she could remember only how sorry she felt for him. "I'll just be a few moments," she promised him, lying.

Minutes later she was in a small bedchamber, with two dirty windows on each outside wall and the ominous creak of leather and metal just outside the door, signaling that Littlefinger's sellswords had taken up position. Lady Brienne, for her part, looked as uncomfortable as she had downstairs. "Thank you for speaking with me, my lady," she said.

"Can you fight them all?" Sansa asked her, keeping her voice down. They would need to be overheard soon, but they had a few seconds. Enough time, perhaps enough time. "If there's four in the corridor, and four downstairs."

"What? Yes, of course," said Lady Brienne, expression torn between confusion and offense. She fought off a bear once, Tyrion had told her with glee. Even beat my dear brother in a sword fight. When he still had both hands.

Sansa went to the first window. A long drop onto hard ground, and it faced the road as well as the hitching posts. The second was more promising: hay bales stacked haphazardly next to the wall, and the wood only twenty hards away.

"Start talking," she hissed at Lady Brienne.

She frowned. "I'm sorry?"

Sansa mimed opening the window. "Start talking. About anything. Honor or duty or what my mother was like. Whatever you'd say if you were trying to convince me."

Lady Brienne's eyes widened in understanding. "I…am not much for speeches, my lady," she said slowly, then more loudly as Sansa pulled open the window slowly, mindful of any squeaking. "But I found your mother an honorable woman, and your brother too. I brought Ser Jaime Lannister back to King's Landing at her request, so that you might be returned to your mother in exchange."

It would never have worked; she'd known that even then. The Lannisters did not understand the notion of letting go of an advantage, once they'd sunk their teeth into one. Even Tyrion had never offered to take her to her family once they'd been married. He'd had his reasons, and they had been good ones, but she'd learned another lesson that day. "So you sacrificed your oath to protect my mother for an oath to protect me?" she asked, making sure her voice carried as she swung her legs over the sill. "How can I know you'll not abandon me, too?"

It was important not to think. If she thought about it, she wouldn't do it.

She held her breath, put her hands over her mouth, and fell.

[tetitous]

Do you guys ever think about the Bookman from 1000 years into the future looking sooo much like Lavi and having a golem that looks sooo much like Timcanpy on Hoshino-sensei's Instagram?

Because I do rn.

[francesderwent]

quick someone encourage me to start packing books

[transzilla]

I like ironic christianity and TBH with all seriousness if this is your faith I fully respect it and nobody can define your relationship with the religion of your father and your mother and your ancestors. However I really need ya'll to stop with the catholic thinking that just makes you think the best thing you can do is nothing and not enjoy anything. I dont deserve this, trying to do this is hubris, Im not able to do this because it breaks "the rules"... You never thought about WHY it is so important to have faith? Why is prayer important? What do you accomplish with your religion that would be impossible without it? Other than making yourself feel like shit and like you're going to hell? Are you already in hell because of what your faith does to you? Do you maybe like it, you like the pain and suffering, it makes you do things that good feelings aren't strong enough for? Do strong good feelings frighten you? Drink the tea, don't worship the teapot...

[iniziare]

Tag drop: Jingliu

[raelyn-dreams]

Sometimes I feel like people will read one (1) story and base all their perceptions of a unit/character off of that which. Just doesn't really work imo, ESPECIALLY in the Reminisce stories.

Of course you won't like Shu if you only read Marionette. Of course you won't like Keito if you only read Meteor Impact. Of course you won't like Eichi if you only read Three Magicians (or literally any other reminisce story). Because they all play an antagonistic role.

You're seeing the absolute worst parts of them, their lowest points, when they're at their most desperate and ruthless. And that can be a good thing!!! I would not have the same understanding of any of these characters if I had NOT read those stories, and I'm grateful that I can fully know them better now! But I feel like sometimes, people run with it way too far, and refuse to acknowledge any change from them, even when all three of these examples have apologized and genuinely attempted to better themselves.

That's definitely not to say you have to read all the stories for a unit/character before forming any opinion on them (I freely admit that I could tell you almost nothing about Eden or current fine's development). However, be aware that your opinion may be influenced by certain stories, and that it is very likely you are missing some context for why a certain character acts the way they do.

Therefore, please stay open-minded, or at the very least, honest and polite!

[doedipus]

a large amount of time I've been spending on -untitled undefined scope original fiction project- since the last time I posted about it has been trying to develop the protagonist concept I came up with last summer or whatever into like, a character that would feel real and era appropriate.

it's fun research to do. naturally a lot of the details I assigned to her are things that I already think are cool, so it's been a lot of fun trying to trace her traits back through the relatively recent past, getting reminded of how much things have changed, or where the gaps in my intuition are, and then doing a flurry of reading to get a sense for exactly how someone like her and the people around her could have happened and what her life was probably like leading up to her present day. hopefully this results in some good good verisimilitude.

[luneariann]

This ai generated images thing got me considering a double w psychology instead of plastic arts ngl

[mercless]

what is talon's relationship with gragas in high noon ? what was their first impression vs. their current impression ?

Funnily, Talon can't seem to pinpoint the first time they entered through the doors of the Crossroad Saloon. Chalking it up to a fault in their expansive memory (and maybe the amount they drunk to celebrate being at such a welcoming establishment), it just feels like the Saloon as been around... forever. Talon doesnt pay it much mind, beyond adding it to their suspicions on how the barkeep runs things. If they had a poker chip for every suspicion they had on Ol' Caskbreaker, they'd have a mighty fine haul.

But that's all they have on him after all this time; theories and hunches. What Talon wants to know is why. But he plays his cards close, and offers a fine array of beverages Talon would otherwise have difficulty acquiring. So they don't know what they first thought of him, but they think Gragas is a mysterious player in the game of life who has far more at stake then he'll ever let on. If you're not hellspawn or an angel, there's few things with a name left for you to be.

So they plays nice and to the rules in his domain, letting down their minor disguises and hanging their old duster by the door and enjoying the atmosphere quietly, if occasionally having their fun with a little, harmless tormenting of the other patrons. They don't mind not getting to intermingle with the departed souls, though. They prefer it this way then the situation on the Sulfur Rail. Although they don't remember their first time, Talon recalls the first few questions they had asked, because they'll never forget the fiery glare of a warning given back to them from the other side of the bar. But it hasn't stopped their curiosity; it's just made them more careful. Because even not giving an answer, gives Talon a lot to ponder over during the long stretches on the road later. They've tried all different kinds of angles to see how much or what Gragas knows; locations of angel hiding spots, ways to cure their affliction, and most recently, questions around the Harbingers. But with little give, all they've decided on is that he knows a little something about the old prophecy, because there ain't no way he's not believing in the legend forming before all their very eyes. They've even tried to converse with his devilish co-owner of the saloon, but it didn't take long to realise that that was a road they did not want to walk down. They try to keep a respectable distance from Evelynn.

For now, Talon has settled with their role as an inquisitive patron; becoming a slow drinker to not only whine to their paid audience (I doubt Gragas gives much mind to anything they say while sitting at the bar, anyway) to attempting to find a new question they haven't asked yet, that also won't get them kicked out - or worse. Although, there is the occasional push in a direction, or a hint to a clue to a theoretical answer given up. Just enough to keep Talon's interest, and to keep them following the path they need to wander down for everything to work out.

Also, It's not much but, Talon notices they're able to breathe just that little bit easier whenever they inhale that warm, alcoholic air too. Keeps the bile down, and the feathers from molting everywhere. (that doesn't stop there being down and ash being scattered about once they've left their seat though.)

[chacerider]

猫の日 + honorary cat 🐾

[bklynmusicnerd]

Jared being so bad at the social and strategic aspect of this game that his reality comp alum mother is basically ready to self-evict because she's over it is quite an achievement. He created so many messes to clean up that he exhausted her before jury even started.

[iamapoopmuffin]

I love when we sit down to play an otome game and manage to pick the choices that get our character horribly killed. 

Our stupidity becomes power of the worst kind.

[swordmaid]

What would be your ideal endgame for Hyle Hunt?

listen….. I’m a hyle enthusiast fire and foremost but I think he’s gonna die LOL. i mean his sigil is a hanged stag and where is he now … getting hanged … life imitates art etc. but on the off chance that he ends up surviving like a cockroach I think he’s just gonna be some guy that fought in the big war and survived. maybe he’ll land himself a nice job under a lord so he becomes a guard or somethn instead of a hedge knight. I like the idea that jaime employs him though just to fuck with him but that’s kinda sus 👀🤭 bc why are you as someone who hates him giving him a job so he stays with you? trying to find a way to keep him close? are you guys gonna explore each other’s bodies next??

[four-of-cups]

anyone else idly think about how many Down to Agincourt deleted scenes there must be and which limbs you’d gnaw off to read them