#c-002-a

[sprout-s-askblog]

ouch can i hug them then

- inky tunesly/ bugsten n1 fan

i cannot for the life of me draw characters hugging but i can draw the aftermath

[briannabrackens]

who: @conallblackbar when and where: the niamh falls walk, roughly 3 miles from stone hedge's main keep. context: this was when cedric sent connie baby to the riverlands

the periodic spotlight of the sun and blue sky peeping through overcast grey clouds did little to defend against the natural elements of wind, light drizzle and the slight dip in temperature that came with the natural incline. "it's a good thing yer king sent you here though, ain't it? shows he be takin notice of you." and yet still, there was no better time for a ramble through the ancient surroundings of stone hedge than the current weather; cold enough to ensure some fresh air, but the walking ensured warmth.

"what do it mean to be an ambassador anyway? like, you need make sure our realms don't go to war?" was that even possible? she looked back at him, on the rock right behind her; her brows were furrowed at the prospect of their realms doing such a thing. "they'd not do such a thing...even if yer king ain't entirely accepted the queen."

beneath a checkered brown and green dress was a set of sturdy walking boots, the boots the servants used when ploughing the fields, and it were vital; lest they both find themselves slipping. since returning from kings landing, she had been desperate to go for walks such as this one again - following the path clover seemed to be laying out for them, she paid no mind to the squelch of her boots or the puddles she needed to step in.

"i don't get it, honestly. the men picked her, they crowned her. we did the whole thing, why is it the business of other kingdoms who the riverfolk want to lead us?" she asked, walking by some lavender in the backdrop as they continued to descend now. "it's not like the prince should have any crown upon his head. he's thick as pig shite."

they had both done this path before; so many a time. many of their closest friends and loved ones had, dotted distant figures moving from one rock to another - this time though, the second lord of house blackbar seemed to be her company. hardly peculiar, for it more often than not ended up being the two of them walking and talking slightly ahead or behind a larger group. "careful con, slippery rock there." she indicated, tapping the rock with the tip of her boot. "may be better to go round the one on the left."

she paused to take a breath, pushing back her hair. she should've plaited it to get it out her face, now it were knotty and tangled. she could hear the falls in the distance, and looked down at her mud covered boots.

[banisheed]

TIMING: Current LOCATION: The Pines PARTIES: Cairn (@cairnivore) & Siobhan (@banisheed) SUMMARY: Cairn takes Siobhan to one of the mysterious tents. CONTENT WARNING: N/A!

The crisp morning air clung to her skin, the sky a lightening shade of deep blue as Cairn moved through the forest. She had made note of a few entry points - paths that someone unfamiliar with the forest might find without too much trouble. She understood not everyone could read nature as she did. She was still figuring out the language of this forest as well.

So, this rusted, worn down abandoned bus stop was perfect for strangers to locate as they came down the winding road. The bench was sun-bleached and weather-worn, its metal frame rusted through in places. The old sign above it, faded and dented, bore a scrawl in black marker: “stop to hell.”

Cairn arrived as the sky fully lightened; the world was still quiet. No birds. No breeze. She crouched in the underbrush, low, back to the forest, waiting for any sign of anyone coming up - a car, a person. Anything. Time passed.

Then. Movement she could finally hear.

Still, she didn’t move. Not until… finally. She could see the person. Might not have been the one she spoke to but Cairn paused, and upon not hearing any other footsteps, figured she was alone. She moved from the brambles without sound, the leaves whispered against her but no branch snapped, no dirt betrayed her weight. She stepped out and into view as if exhaled by the forest itself.

“I’m here. No need to look around.”

⛺️⛺️⛺️

Deciphering the pain-in-the-arse’s messages had been easy, though Siobhan didn't appreciate how suddenly they transported her back home. Fae loved their cryptic words; Siobhan less so when they were directed at her. She knew that they meant the old bus stop, she didn’t know where the fuck the bus stop was, exactly. She’d seen it a dozen times but where? Wandering around with increasing frustration Siobhan groaned when she noticed it was beside the road. Of course. Where else would one find a bus stop? The tents were getting to her. 

“Fuck!” Siobhan reflexively drew out a switchblade and flicked it open. “Where the fuck did you—I didn’t bloody hear anything—Fate, don’t do that again.” She tried to calm her heart; she hadn’t had a scare like that since she was a child. The tents really were getting to her. She flipped her knife shut and stuffed it back into her pocket. She pulled on the lapels of her leather jacket. “It’s rude to scare a woman,” she said. “Give me a second.” She breathed in, she breathed out. Her heartbeat was steady, her mind was empty, but something was still wrong. 

It felt wrong the way a rotten smell did in the pit of her stomach; a queasy unease that had nowhere to go and no source. The air was clean; her breakfast was beer and an apple which was healthy by her usual standards. Siobhan raised a brow, raking her gaze over the…child? Online, the cryptic words painted a more elderly image. Who exactly was this person? “I’m Siobhan,” she said. “So you have something to call me, at least. Lead on, leanbh.” 

⛺️⛺️⛺️

Cairn didn’t flinch. She never did. The knife reflected the morning light for a second and then it was gone again. Her eyes followed it only once, just enough to mark the shape, which pocket, and the way the woman moved. The words came sharp and fast, strange like something from a different place. Instead of making her observation noted out loud, she mentally stored it. Another time, another place it may be of importance. Not now.

“…Siobhan,” she echoed quietly, like a test. She didn’t offer her own name. If the woman called, she wouldn’t come and Cairn didn’t need her name shouted to call her to attention. 

She let a pause settle between them before turning back toward the woods and beginning to walk further in. She didn’t tell the woman to follow, but she walked slower than usual. Her boots moved silent over the leaf covered ground, the morning dew having dampened the leaves enough to quiet them. She didn’t look back.

Not because she trusted the woman. But Cairn would hear it if Siobhan moved wrong. A shift in weight. A breath pulled in too tight. The scrape of a boot over bark. People thought they were silent in the woods, but they weren’t. Not really.

After a while, Cairn paused mid-step, her head tilting slightly, as if catching the edge of a sound. Or lack thereof. A long silence passed. The forest held its breath. Then, a clear, fluted bird song cut through the quiet. The forest exhaled. Cairn shifted. Permission. She moved again, deeper into the trees, as if the bird had said yes.

“Almost there.”

⛺️⛺️⛺️

Was the child a murderer? Siobhan grumbled at the clichéd setup: lead a poor, sexy woman into the woods with the promise of tents and then stab her. Oldest trick in the big book of murder scenarios her grandmother had started and never finished. She said there were too many murder scenarios. An infinite number, by Siobhan’s safe estimation. Still, somehow, this one was a cliché but it was better to think about that than the unbearable not-stink. She pinched her nose only to remember that it wasn’t a smell at all; she held her breath and still the unease chewed at her stomach. She screwed up her face as if she could scare the sensation away but it followed them just as Siobhan followed behind the child. 

It stole her attention. She would be watching the child—the way they seemed to listen to the forest—and then she would think about the sensation again. The child was every nymph’s dream, Siobhan thought, and then it was right back to the accursed feeling. It was so distracting that she didn’t notice the rock. Her toe hit it and she stumbled forward and smashed into a tree. 

“How much further?” she asked, as if the child had put the rock back there and then the tree here. Her nose stung. “Some of us…” she closed her eyes, trying to become the wind in that way her grandmother had taught her. Her old wisdom was: “Think o’ the wind in the worm’s hair.”. It wasn’t helping. 

Siobhan continued through gritted teeth, “some of us…don’t get along with the forest like you do.” 

⛺️⛺️⛺️

Cairn turned at the shift in sound just in time to see the woman stumble and collide into a tree. She watched in all, the stumble, the smash, the adjustment. That must have been painful but Cairn wasn’t one to ask a question she already knew the answer to. The woman was agitated, Cairn could discern that much.

“A few more steps,” she answered. “Might be more if you stumble again.” Not to criticize but just to remind the woman to be careful. “Stay close, I won't mislead you.”

She waits for the woman to catch up, eye briefly scanning her gait, checking for any sign of injury. Whether or not she found one, Cairn slowed her pace. 

“And I don’t get along with the forest.” She remarked as Siobhan neared. “I just haven’t made it mad yet.” Cairn didn’t get along with the forest. Not the way the woman had meant it at least. She just knew how to listen, how to not upset it. 

“What will you do if the tent isn’t there?” The woman seemed irritated enough, what would happen if the tent had gone and the trip seemingly for nothing? 

⛺️⛺️⛺️

Siobhan did a poor job of suppressing the long, pulled-from-her-agitated-depths groan; it came out as a crackling garble. “I know some people in Ireland that would love you.” She rolled her eyes. Knew, she thought. She needed to acclimatize herself to the past tense. “And since you’re such a sweet—” Siobhan stabbed the word out, spitting. She smiled thinly. “—human, they might even let you keep your head.” Just as they hadn’t let Siobhan keep her wings. She shivered. She didn’t like people that were better than her, she hated it more when those people were human. By all metrics, the stranger should be inherently inferior and yet, she was the one navigating the forest with ease, in conversation with nature, fearless and sure. 

Siobhan picked a chip of bark off her dress. “Stab you, probably. Or would a tree smite me on the spot if I tried?” The sensation of wrong hadn’t passed, but the longer she stayed inside of it, the easier it was to ignore. Or perhaps, it was simply one of those things that an angry distraction could override. “You’d better hope the tent is there. I don’t like being out here. It’s too…” Siobhan sighed, trying to think of the way someone like the stranger would say it. In the end, all she could offer was honesty. “I’m a fish that’s forgotten how to use its gills. Does that make sense? The forest rejected me.”

⛺️⛺️⛺️

Cairn stopped walking, not abruptly, just enough for silence to settle between them. She let the woman’s words sink in. Bitter, angry, and for reasons Cairn didn’t understand. But there was something raw in her voice that didn’t quite match the sharpness of her words. Cairn had every reason to just walk away, leave this woman in the forest alone. Maybe she would have, if the tent hadn’t pulled at her curiosity. If she’d felt fear. But she wasn’t angry. She wasn’t threatened. So, she stayed. Turned. She looked at Siobhan. Really looked at her. Not scanning for danger, but seeing her. The tired shape of her, the tension sitting in her shoulders, the way upon second glance, her bitterness clung to her, weighed her down. 

When Cairn spoke again, her voice carried something else. Something that didn’t come from her, but from the one who raised her with gentler truths. “Have you ever seen a fish caught in the wrong stream?” She asked but didn’t give a pause for a response. “Don’t mean it’s broken. Just not where it’s supposed to be.”

A fish that forgot how to use its gills wasn’t dead. Just disoriented. The gills were still there. It could still learn to swim again. Learn to breathe. Maybe… someone just needed to show her how to remember. Cairn turned and kept walking. She didn’t look back. But she was listening. There was something sharp in Siobhan’s voice, something that didn’t come from right now. Cairn didn’t understand it. Not really. Her own experience with loss had been quiet. Her pama had loved her the whole way through. What was gone had once been good. Whatever Siobhan lost, it sounded different. It sounded like being torn out of something that once held her. Like being told she didn’t belong anymore. Cairn didn’t know what that felt like. But she knew how to listen. 

And that would have to be enough.

“Up ahead,” Cairn instructed gently, catching sight of the tent’s color through the trees. She stopped a few feet away. It didn’t look the way it had before. It looked like it had been ransacked. Stripped. Whatever had been in there, was there no longer.

⛺️

Siobhan could feel the stranger’s gaze—though where others tunneled into her, this was more of a washing down, like rain. It pricked her skin all the same. She thought about turning around and challenging the stare, but she couldn’t; she didn’t want to see. Whatever the stranger was discovering about her, she knew that it wasn’t what she wanted her to. Whatever she would find in the stranger, it would spur an envy she couldn’t swallow. Siobhan made a show of watching the ground: the dead leaves, the dirt, the twisted roots leading back to their homes. She caught one with her gaze and tried to follow it back to the tree it belonged to but was lost in grass and insects. The root vanished as soon as her attention left and she couldn’t find it again. Then the stranger spoke and she was glad for it—she hated silence. 

“And is this not where I’m supposed to be?” Siobhan laughed. Fae were creatures of the natural world and banshees were no different. Many creation stories were put forth and debated, but Siobhan liked the myth her family held: that the first banshee was molded by Death from the dirt. Her bones were sediment, her lungs were ant burrows and her hair was the white webs of a spider. Death named her Fate and bid her to call souls to the Last Embrace. “I was born here,” Siobhan said. “Well, not here—I was born in Ireland. You get the point.” 

The trees parted and there was the torn blue tent. Shreds of fabric were strewn about and the inside was hollow. Siobhan rubbed the polyester under her fingers. You can’t have a funeral for a tent. “Thank you,” she said, turning to the stranger. “For showing me. You’ve done me a great service today.” Her sharpness was gone and her memories of wanting to stab the child went with it. She turned and began breaking the tent, snapping its metal frame. “Can’t…” she huffed, “…leave this here. It’s bad for…the…grass…” She groaned and hissed and in the end, the metal pinged at her and remained in tent-shape—a fluorescent stain against nature. 

“I don’t understand what I’m doing wrong,” she said. “How do you? Why does Nature want you and not me? It should want me. It made me. Why doesn’t it..” Why didn’t anyone want her? Siobhan clenched her jaw. This stranger, who had some sort of metaphysical stink, was more fae than her. This stranger. That child. Them. Her. It. “Go on, laugh. I know you want to. Yes, it’s my damned tent. Yes, I don’t know how to fish or call a bird or…” She gestured around them. “Listen to a fucking tree. But you’re a child of the forest—you see, you hear, you listen. I get it. Very funny. Laugh now.” 

⛺️

Cairn didn’t laugh. She watched Siobhan break the tent down with more fury than strength, her gestures wild and brittle. Cairn’s eyes lowered, not out of pity, but recognition. “I remained,” she said, her voice quiet and even. It wasn’t pride. It wasn’t proof that the forest had chosen her. It hadn’t. She remembered the cold nights where the bark wouldn’t peel, the storms that didn’t care how small she was, the roots that tripped her, the animals that didn’t look twice. She remembered being hungry and trying to mimic bird calls just to hear something answer back, and nothing ever did. The forest gave her no kindness. But she stayed. Not alone at first, but still, she stayed, finding a home in it.

Over time, Cairn had learned either from experience or her pama, where to sleep without waking up soaked, what leaves not to touch, which paths didn’t try to lose you. She figured out how to survive its silence. She stopped asking it to hold her and instead learned how to press herself into the dirt like she belonged there. If it didn’t want her, it didn’t matter–she’d learned how to read its refusals like lullabies. She’d made its cold shoulder feel like shelter. “I don’t think the forest wants me,” she added, eyes steady. “I just think it got tired of trying to push me out.”

She didn’t say it cruelly. There was no accusation in her voice, no weight. Just the simple truth of someone who’d long stopped waiting for an invitation and chose, instead, to endure. “You’re still here too,” she added after a moment, finally looking at Siobhan. “That means something.” Cairn didn’t touch her. Didn’t offer any kindness beyond the quiet of standing beside her. But her presence didn’t carry mockery. Only truth. Only stillness.

Cairn said little, her voice low and steady. “You don’t have to be the forest’s favorite or its friend anymore. You just have to keep moving through it. That’s enough.” She looked at the torn tent, then back at Siobhan. The loss in the woman’s voice was something Cairn could recognize, not the cold distance she was used to, but a sharp, aching absence. It wasn’t just being unwanted. It was losing a place she once belonged to.

At that moment, Cairn thought about what that must feel like. The fear of being cast out, the anger of having roots ripped free. It was unfamiliar, she usually kept such things locked away, emotions were a tool for survival, not for understanding others. Still, beneath the sharp edges and bitter words, she sensed something fragile hanging there. A hope buried under the weight of grief. Cairn didn’t know how to reach it. She only knew she had to keep moving, through the forest, through the pain, through whatever came next. Maybe that was enough.

⛺️

Siobhan scoffed, but the laughter never came and soon, her bitterness had to be laid down. As the child spoke, Siobhan stood beside them silently, her head bowed. What the stranger gave was a greater kindness than anything given to Siobhan in some time. She was reminded—terribly, but warmly, like the distant rumble of thunder and the sudden lick of humidity in the air—of her great-great-grandmother. Her gravel-filled voice, her untamed red hair. Her listening, her hearing, her words—which were never much—and the gentle way she offered them. The child wasn’t the same in every way—she lacked Rónnait’s wild-dog laugh—but it was enough for her, in that moment, to remember a woman she loved. 

She’d told Siobhan once that the heart was a forest, it cultivated whatever entered it. Siobhan had made her saplings, and they’d grown tall, and she was no lumberjack. “I used to love a river. Something about the flow of it, all those smooth gray rocks; so much life in one place, rushing, and so much stillness too. And you sit down and then you’re a part of the grass and then the animals come and they go.” Siobhan smiled. “I’m not sure I want to move through it. I miss when it moved through me. I miss when it was a home. I miss home.” 

Siobhan stepped around the child, careful to avoid the twigs strewn around, seeing the twigs strewn around. “Come on then, I’m sure there’s some water around here somewhere. We can stare at it for an hour before I get bored and try to push you inside. And then we can go our separate ways and never mention tents again.” 

[asgardianhammer]

჻ϟ჻

@talvisoldat continued from here ---

[ ϟ ]—– Briefly does the god regard the mortal intently, brows furrowed, and assessment made with a careful study of the human's expression.

' Either you wish to kill me, or question me it seems?'

And it is bothersome to some extent, how entirely unreadable Barnes could get.

[ruqaiyahdayne]

who: @raviofthesun when and where: the royal apartments of prince ravi martell context: following her little temper tantrum, ravi followed through with the promise of a dinner.

she arrived precisely ten minutes early - expecting everything to be set up and perfect, as no man in his right mind would leave anything of this nature so last minute. she did not knock. ruqaiyah had never once announced herself like a servant waiting to be received, and she would not start now, least of all at the threshold of the private martell apartments, where history had already decided she was to one day belong. and she very much agreed with that rhetoric.

and so, the guards glanced at her, but none dared question her entrance; what could they say, with the sun itself stitched into her lehenga and a gaze that did not ask for permission?

the corridors glowed amber beneath the sconces, but they paled against the pink heat of her attire, the silk whispering against her skin with every step, embroidered thread catching the candlelight in glimmers of gold. each anklet, each bracelet, each chain at her waist and glittering around her neck added to the crescendo of her presence—she moved, and the world jingled in acknowledgment. her heels clacked unapologetically, arrogant and sharp, the kind of sound meant to precede news.

ruqaiyah could see herself walking these halls everyday. telling the governess to tell the children to be quiet. making the servants display her outfits lined up.

she had worn pink—not rose, not blush, not any dusty rose, but pink—hot and commanding, like the inside of a pomegranate freshly torn. it clung to her waist, her sleeves sheer and beaded, the skirts full enough to swallow entire population of smallfolk girls whole. her lips were glassy, unapologetically reflective, and her long hair—every strand straightened to a blade—cascaded down her back like a curtain of ink.

she stood now in the outer solar, though no servants were in sight. fine. let him find her here, composed, statuesque. she smoothed a nonexistent wrinkle from her sleeve and let her gaze drift to the arches and pillars carved with sandstone vines. the martell taste for excess was more subdued than dornish fire might suggest—peach marble and muted earth tones. it made her seem even louder by comparison, a gem mistakenly placed in a bowl of stonefruit. "so this is it," she murmured aloud to herself, fingers trailing lightly along the edge of a table carved with sun motifs. "the belly of the beast."

she had imagined it before, of course. had imagined countless evenings where he would finally remember the promises laid out for them before they could even speak in full sentences. imagined him, not as he was—cool and absent and impossible—but as he might become, if only he would stop stalling. "tell the prince i am here." she did even bother to introduce herself - in what world would she need to? the most beautiful in dorne, on the continent; the sister of the sword of the morning, and the oldest lady of house dayne.

"for our private dinner." she did not want them stood inside.

[memoryservves]

where: the book stew who: magdalena + sebastian ( @pclarcld )

head turned from where she was looking at the books , momentarily distracted by the approaching foot steps . there was no stopping the groan that left her lips . " again really ? what are you , like , stalking me ? for someone who doesn't seem to like me that much , you sure are obsessed with me . " there was no moment of peace available in this small town . no moment to be alone and sit in silence . no moment where she didn't have to wear one of one thousand faces . instead , she was confronted , anger quickly bubbling to the surface . the one feeling she was never able to leave behind . it stuck to her like she was a glue trap , threatening to burn her from the inside out . every day , she tampered that fire , doing her best to snuff it out . but today , with sebastian next to her again , the wildfire raged out of control .

[nyraxodeyer]

for: @faerietothe-otherside location: rangi's house

At this point in her long life, patience was bountiful but when it was met with an avoidance in times of chaos and sorrow, tolerance switched easily into action. A knock going unanswered resulted in a second, slightly louder one, exercising benefit of the doubt that Rangi may not have heard it initially, but when that too went unanswered, concern grew with a sigh echoing back to her own ears.

Five minutes was plenty she felt. By no means was this meant to be an intrusion of privacy, though it in way kind of was, but Nyra had a feeling Rangi was inside. And so, five seconds later Nyra was inside the house as the portal disappeared behind her.

"Come out, Rangi, you've kept me waiting for too long. I do apologise but this was the last resort." She didn't wander too from the living room though, just called out into the house after taking a few step inside, this felt like it was surprise enough. "Can you please come out before this ice cream melts?"

[dhruvxmehta]

for: @faerietothe-otherside location: her house

Feet carried him along despite mind being unwilling to move, things had to be done, he could not let himself break, could not let himself remain still lest painful memories of the night resurface. The screams of banshees could not leave his ears nor could the sight of Kitty's body leave his vision. Both twisted and pierced deep but he could not focus on those.

Picking up food that his aunt had made, he headed over to Rangi's. Things had been tough for her too, he knew, for a while now as well, and the least he could do after facing yet another death was check up on her.

He knocked a couple times to no response, thinking he had just picked a bad time, Dhruv fished out his phone and called her, to check when she'd likely be back home. But she had not picked up either. Sending her a text to say he'd be back later and left food out for her, Dhruv did just that as he tied the handles around the bag, but not wanting to leave it just out on the ground, he went to hang it around the handle when from the weight of it — the knob turned. "What the fuck?" He didn't want to think that she just left her door open like that nor did he want to think of if someone had broken in. It happened with Elif already, and a panic of a similar kind crept it. "Rangi? Are you home?" His voice rang out as he made his way inside. With phone still in his hand, he called her again.

[kenxmatsui]

for: @thelatekayejames location: hospital

He was not here to check on people, or other people anyway, Rohan was the one he was here yet he had stumbled into more injured people that had been hurt outside of the aquarium, but catching sight of Kaye a frustrated rolled through him. This one, he knew what happened. Memories of the insanity that had took place inside could not be erased anytime soon and how he hated it all. Even more than his still damp clothes and shoes that squelched as he walked over. Irritation building with each step but he curbed it enough when he greeted the pixie. "How's the arm?"

[scvntillas]

who: kanda & calahan @silkeared where: portum general

time  was  ...  passing.  that  was  the  only  thing  that  kanda  knew  for  sure.  people  had  been  moving  them  around  a bunch ,  from  the  forest  into  the  ambulance  ,  from  the  ambulance  into  the  hospital  ,  and  now  she  was  ...  somewhere.  it  was  mostly  quiet  now  ,  after  the  people  poking  and  prodding  and  asking  questions  realised  that  they  wouldn't  answer.  kanda  didn't  know  what  was  happening  ,  their  eyes  staring  out  the  window  with  an  unfocused  gaze.  in  their  head  it  was  like  a  movie  ,  images  flickering  at  a  rapid  pace  ,  one  replacing  the  other  before  she  had  time  to  process  it.  the  forest  ,  the  cold  ,  the  body  laying  face  down  in  the  dewy  grass  ,  the  wailing.  the  silence.  instinctively  she  pressed  her  eyes  shut  ,  trying  to  forcefully  erase  the  pictures  from  her  memory. the  last  time  this  had  happened  it  had  ended  in  smoke  and  ash  with  everything  they  ever  knew  gone.  ever  since  then  it  had  been  a  dark  cloud  hanging  over  her  head.  all  her  life  she had  tried  to  overcome  the  fear  they  had  in  her  chest  whenever  her  abilities  were  playing  backstage  ,  whenever  the  dread  and  doom  became  too  strong.  it  was  why  the  forest  had  been  easier  ,  why  solitude  and  silence  was  easier.  it  hadn't  been  until  recently  that  they  had  kind  of  told  themself  that  maybe  it  wasn't  a  curse  ,  that  maybe  being  in  portum  had  saved  her  from  the  pain  she  had  once  endured.  how  pathetically  wrong  they  had  been.

[ronanbrackens]

who: @conallblackbar when and where: the day connie blackbar arrived to the riverlands as the ambassador from the reach, ronan bracken ends up having him for dinner in the bracken family apartments within riverrun. context: conall has been sent by cedric tyrell to try and work out iona's standing in the riverland court: conall and ronan are obv on amazing terms, so they're being very open about putting everything on the table.

ronan settled back in his chair, the firelight dancing across his face, casting shadows that made him look older than he felt. a glass of wine rested in his hand, the rich red swirling as he lifted it to his lips, taking a long sip. when he set it down, his gaze drifted over to conall, who was leaning back in his chair, the same familiar look in his eyes as when they were lads. “cedric’s got ye runnin' about for him now, eh?” ronan said with a soft laugh, his clover accent thick, but the teasing tone in his voice was more warm than mocking. “never thought i’d see the day. our connie, the ambassador- i'll be honest and say i was chuffed hearin it were you. welcome home mate.”

he leaned forward slightly, his elbows on the table, and his fingers drumming the side of his glass absentmindedly. the wine had loosened his tongue, but he wasn’t pushing for anything more than honesty. not with conall.

“ye’ve always had the knack for words, haven’t ye?” ronan continued, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied his old friend. “but words won’t be enough now. not with this bloody mess we’ve got on our hands. the riverlands and the reach… iona’s seat, well, it’s not one that’s easily settled. no matter how much she tries to make it so.” he paused, the silence between them thickening, filled with unspoken truths that only old friends shared. “i know ye’ve not been in this game long, not the way we’ve had to play it here, but you’ve heard the murmurs. a few too many, aye? it’s all politics, con. aidan's return could spark some issues, even if he is not the pushing factor of them."

he took another long sip from his glass, then set it down with a deliberate slowness, as though weighing his next words carefully. “i can honestly tell ya, i think iona's one to keep her crown, because she knows it’ll take more than promises and agreements. the riverlands… we ain't so easily ruled, you know that. loyalty’s earned, not granted. and the men have mighty respect for her, i ain't heard of none speaking less of her for it." ronan paused again, his eyes locking with conall’s. there was something softer there, an understanding only time could forge; he knew these words would be relayed back to those in the reach.

“now, i ain't sayin' the reach should turn away from us. i’m not even sayin' the riverlands’ll collapse without yer help – but i’ll be honest. the west won’t accept her, an' we need a stronger alliance than with the dragon king who still ain’t got no heirs wit’ his tully bride. he's a madman, an' right now, he's our closest ally. but if ye truly want to be of help, ye need to be ready for the consequences if shite hits the roof.” he looked at con, half a yawn slipping from his mouth. "ya think yer court will do that for us? honestly?"

[sprout-s-askblog]

is boxten alive bro

C-002-B was created not long after.

[briannabrackens]

who: @mintharaestermont when and where: semi-flashback, following the end of the courts gathering within the westerlands, minty ends up accompanying brianna back to stone hedge. the girls spend some time together, with brianna providing minty a break from the identity politics of kings landing and minty means brianna is spending time with people in stone hedge.

the rustic hallway was still as brianna bracken walked back to her rooms, holding her checkered woolen robe tightly over the frame of her body to avoid the biting cold, her feet bare against the stone floor beneath her feet as she walked. the slap on her cheek continued to burn red, but she barely noticed it as her mind continued to rack with thoughts. her steps were light, and her heart felt heavier still; stone hedge was quiet at this hour, save for the distant sounds of restless wind rattling the shutters, but it felt like it were haunted by a million different ghosts all at once.

she paused briefly at her door, inhaled deeply with shaking both of her hands, and then pushed it open quietly for fear of waking up minty should she be fast asleep.

to her surprise, the faint glow of a candle still lit the room, and lady minthara estermont—minty—sat curled in one of the chairs by the hearth, draped in the blanket that was always assigned to minty's everytime she would come and spend some time in stone hedge. a blanket which had been knitted by the ruling lady many a year ago, having spent time and effort trying to source a dye of sea green specifically for daughter's estermont guest. “oh, yer still awake,” brianna said, blinking as she closed the door behind her. her voice was light, almost airy, though it was clear she was trying. she untied the cloak at her throat, draping it over the edge of a chair before continuing, moving to poke the fireplace.

“didn’t think ye’d be up. ye should sleep, minty. these walls’ll keep ye safe enough, i promise.” she pulled a slight face at her friend in the illumination of the flickering candles, feeling entirely as though she were unraveling; but she were thankful to find someone sitting across the room when she looked there, for usually it was an empty chair. it was then brianna caught notice of the hand print that was clean across her face, and she let out a quiet scoff, waving her hand dismissively. brianna waved a hand vaguely, brushing off the scrutiny. “don’t be frettin’ about this,” she said, motioning towards her cheek.

“mamai's had worse nights, ye know. tonight just… wasn’t a good one. the septas tried, and the maester—well, he’s got a soft touch, but sometimes that only makes things worse. she was havin’ none of it, lashed out like she was fendin’ off the bloody ironborn. caught me before they got her settled.”

her tone remained bright, almost cheerful, though her hands trembled slightly as she untied the laces of her bodice. “this could happen a dozen times in a week, or maybe not at all for months. ye never know, not really. but she’s safe now, and that’s what matters. she’s sleepin’, at least for a while.” her voice hitched on that last bit, but she pressed on quickly, smoothing her skirts as if that could smooth the ache in her chest. they would not wake brianna again, not after this incident; she knew the septas would not do such a thing and would want for her to sleep. “though she knew you. called ye minnie, like when we were girls. it was good, wasn’t it? for a moment, i mean. good for her t’have somethin’ to hold onto. even if it’s not me.”

[banisheed]

@necrosemancy from here:

[pm] Well if I tell you, then it won't be a surprise

[pm] What could you possibly What I look forward to your surprise then, my pink friend.

[...] May I ask you an odd question?

[asgardianhammer]

[ $ ]— Whatever hope he had harbored of avoiding this discussion, for another year at least, it had vanished entirely when defiance in features and words arise in his daughter.

Expected, yet more ferocious this time.

' So, you don't want to tell me anything about him, and Parker can't go with you. How exactly do you expect me to be comfortable with that? Or keep you safe for that matter?'

[jonahxrivas]

for: @xsureshxsoundsx location: holiday markets

Bringing a candle close, Jonah oooh'ed at the scent of this one, the same reaction he had given to the three others that preceded it. Choices were hard to make when everything was good, especially with these local market stalls and last minute shopping. He hadn't meant to leave it off till the end, but with so much on his mind he still hadn't crossed off all the names just yet. Spotting a familiar face amongst the crowd, Jonah gave Suresh a friendly wave, "Hey! Doing some last minute shopping as well? Or just out and about?" Readjusting the tote bag so it wouldn't slip again, the movement gave way for his sweater to be displayed in all its glory, "Can I ask you for a favour if you can spare a minute? Which is better to you?" he asked with a point to the selection of candles in front of him, "I can't seem to decide and you have good taste."