#elmo needs an adult

[rubenesque-as-fuck]

Stressame Street

Acrylic on canvas, February 2024

[moregraceful]

When you complete a task but you forgot to preemptively add it to your to-do list so now you don't even get to check it off 🤬

[wilwheaton]

In a long essay about the televised incident, Wheaton makes a lot of salient, emotionally vulnerable points about his reaction to David’s stunt, tying it in to memories of parental abuse he suffered as a kid—pointing out, among other things, that, within the agreed-upon fiction that we all adhere to pretty fervently around all things Muppet or Muppet-related, Elmo is a child. Writing, Wheaton notes that “Elmo is an avatar for children all over the world. Children who are too small to understand Elmo is a puppet will know that a man attacked someone they love for no reason, and that will frighten and confuse them.”

Wil Wheaton condemns Larry David for his Elmo-based violence

This story is a week old, and has blown up today. The right wing smoothbrains are out in force, doing their usual thing, until they get distracted by the existence of a successful woman somewhere in the world and have to go rage against that.

I don’t know why this is happening today. I don’t know why right wing clout chasing incels have decided to make this their Thing today. It’s all very confusing, especially a week after the fact.

But I want to put something here that I added to my post on Facebook, that those dudes (it’s always dudes whose entire personality is “MONSTER ENERGY DRINKS!”) need to hear but won’t understand:

A lot of us who had the same visceral reaction to a grown man putting his hands on a child (Elmo is 4 years old) in anger, without consent, and then laughing about it all share an experience that you should be grateful you don't share with us. And when you say your shitty little toxic and cruel thing, when you reduce the whole thing to a puppet and a joke, you're doing to us what the adults around us did when we were kids. And it hurts all over again. Are you really someone who wants to hurt another person simply because you can? Maybe take the impulse to be a jerk and redirect it into being grateful you have no idea why this is so upsetting to so many of us.

Larry David put his hands on another performer, without consent, in a segment he was not part of. That, alone, is not okay. It is not EVER okay. The fact that so many people don’t get that, or are deliberately choosing NOT to get that, is telling.

But as I said, Elmo is a child, and he is a friend to children, so all the kids whose parents were watching the Today Show with them, because Elmo was on to talk about sharing big feelings and caring for your mental health, got to watch this man storm into a set, and angrily attack Elmo.

That’s indefensible behavior, and calling me names doesn’t change that.

[platinumshawnn]

Bound by Blood and Fire | Benjicot Blackwood x OC!Tully — pt iv

masterlist | playlist | backwards | forward

A/N: wow, another update four days later and ahead of schedule for once!! this chapter has been half-written and in drafts, waiting to be finished a whole month. sorry if it has some errors, i did my best to proofread and edit. i wrote most of this to someone to stay -- vancouver sleep clinic if that doesn't explain the soft moments this chapter gives, i needed the soft moments for my own selfish reasons pls enjoy <33

Synopsis: Amidst growing turmoil, Elmo Tully works to forge alliances with old rivals. As wedding planning forges ahead, storm clouds gather over Raventree Hall. Guests arrive for the betrothal feast, while Serra and Benjicot struggle to find common ground to ensure their marriage's success. Benjicot's olive branch to Serra offers some hope, despite her doubts. The families celebrate amid rising tensions and news from King’s Landing. Lord Samwell hears of the Brackens coming close to their borders and finally cracks underneath the pressure of his council.

Content Warning(s): MDNI — 18+, adult language, mentions of blood, violence, and war; era related sexism and gender based harassment/discrimination, sexual content, mild depictions of family based violence, implied suicide ideation.

Word count: 7.1k

“How did it go?” 

Kermit had met Oscar at the doors upon his return from travel the past five and a half days — he couldn’t even hide his disgust at the sight and smell of his younger brother whose return was whispered to him as he had been sifting through the contents of the library that morning. He had made sure to be notified as soon as he’d stepped foot within the gates of Raventree once word had reached him that Oscar was expected to arrive that afternoon. 

It had been a long several days since the feast, and in the aftermath of the meeting between some of the Lords of the Riverlands, Oscar had been sent on horseback with a fleet of men from House Tully to the Arryn’s — a long journey that he did not outwardly protest against, but Kermit had seen the twitch of his eye as he gave his father a nod that was curt and far too formal for their usual dynamic; the war had shifted something in the air between the father and his sons in recent days. But the journey was one of necessity, sent as a messenger to House Arryn in the Eyrie -- one that would have been quicker if not for several storms that forced them to shelter for the night, issued with the task of reminding the Lady Jeyne of her vow to Rhaenyra and of their houses’ long-standing alliance and support of one another. A task that seemed easy enough, now days later and two less horses after having hit a snag and walking into a trap that had been rigged on the forest paths. Kermit had been there when the raven flew in with updates from their journey, notifying Elmo of the accident, which had involved his brother. Oscar was safe and otherwise unharmed aside from his pride and sore. 

Oscar, with his dirt stained face, smelling of fields and horse shit, yanked off his riding gloves as he shoved past his brother; his left cheek scuffed with a scab from a fall off his horse amidst their return after a last minute detour towards House Baratheon -- a decision his brother had made in his emboldened enthusiasm.

“What did they say?” Kermit asked again, earning a huff from his brother who continued his brisk walk towards the great hall where their father waited among the councilmen. 

“That’s a promising answer,” Kermit sarcastically said, striding alongside his brother and trying to keep up with his pace as he mimicked his huff, “I take it you replied with a sort of…” he continued, giving his brother an animalistic like grunt from behind him. 

Oscar abruptly stopped outside the doors and whipped around, scowling as his brother collided with his shoulder and awkwardly stumbled to keep from falling into him, “Do you know when to shut up? Have some patience, brother.” He muttered, shoving his brother back a couple of steps and re-establishing the small bit of space between them as he turned, his brother letting out a snort.  

He shoved the doors open, Elmo sat at the head of the table and deep in conversation with Lord Rivers who had yet to return home as the feast celebrating the union of his sister and Benjicot neared, the final details being cemented for that night, much to their reluctance -- Kermit and Oscar both heeded warning at the thought of last feast’s events, but their father insisted at least on something smaller and more intimate than dozens of random elderly Lords and their snobbish sons. The invite had only been extended to select few entrusted vassals of House Tully, Elmo reassured.  

He stopped at the opposite end of the table as he entered with Kermit in tow, his father’s gaze watching him with a look of expectancy, awaiting his words as his head bowed out of respect. Lord Rivers withdrew to his seat as Oscar glanced towards him, waiting until there was silence among the table of men, his gloves clutched in his right hand at his sides, “I have news from my journeys to House Arryn and House Baratheon.” He announced. 

The last of the mutters ceased, pausing as he moved to shift his stance, suddenly panged by a wave of anxiety towards the eyes that watched him from around the room. Oscar was never an insecure, timid boy -- he was confident, well-spoken and self-assured, and had never shied away from attention. But with his age, in comparison to the much more experienced men around him, oozing wisdom that countered his own youthful inexperience, he was painfully aware that he was just a boy in their eyes; stood there in armor, like a child playing ‘knight’. He knew that they did not view him as equal to his father -- not like he expected them to. 

“Proceed, son.” Elmo stated, his voice warm and encouraging. 

Oscar again nodded slowly and took a breath before he spoke, “House Arryn has once again pledged their support in favor of Rhaenyra Targaryen as the rightful heir to the Iron Throne and has pledged to support our military efforts as much as they can afford.” He spoke, his tone more confident than it had been when he arrived. 

“And that of House Baratheon?” His father asked. 

“They have declared for the usurper, Aegon.” He replied, his eyes scanning the men around the table who broke into a series of mutters. “They plan to support him and his army should the time come.” Oscar explained. “Craven cunts.” Kermit muttered from behind him, reminding Oscar that he stood only a foot away from him as they spoke. 

Elmo’s eyes darted to his brother, in response to his words, his frustration evident in his face as his brows furrowed. 

“It does not come as a surprise to me.” Samwell said, speaking up finally. “I recall their Lordship expressing his…reservations about a woman sitting on the throne when she was first declared apparent heir. I was just hoping he would come to see reason.” He said, letting out a small sigh and looking to Elmo, who gave a small nod. 

“We can only do so much to guide others to see better judgment. I’ve received ravens from House Manderly and House Celtigar who have declared for Rhaenyra at least.” Lord Tully stated, his fingers drumming against the table as he seemed to linger on the update. While not the outcome they had hoped for, Oscar had done his duty successfully in all other words. “You’ve done a good job, Oscar.” 

Oscar nodded again, his head lifting to where his father stared at him, the two men in silence. A moment passed before Elmo leaned forward in his seat, placing his elbows atop the table and glancing towards an empty chair on his right as a sort of hint to his son. “Well?” He asked. “Do you plan to sit and join us?” 

Oscar turned his head and glanced at Kermit who looked back at him, the brothers sharing a look, his mouth opening to stutter out a sentence, “I…I was hoping to change first, make myself presentable.” He softly explained to his father. 

His hand waved dismissively to the idea, “Nonsense. There’s no more pride than that of a knight in the raw.” 

He visibly hesitated, letting out a small grunt under his breath that only Kermit could hear, a choked sound that came from his throat as though he wanted to refuse and insist on at least changing out of his riding gear; the little armor he wore streaked with mud and his own blood from the gash on his cheek. There was a sound of leather squeaking as he clenched his gloves with a white knuckle grip, before he let out a breath from his nose and walked forward, his head down as he moved to take his place at his father’s side. 

“And what of me, father?” Kermit asked, his brother’s chair dragging across the ground as he sat down.  

There was a glimmer of pride in his father’s eye as he watched Oscar scoot his chair forward, making himself as comfortable as he could, though Kermit could compare him to a wooden plank; stiff as he adjusted his cloak underneath him. His father turned to look at him after flashing a smile to his brother, chin lifting as he spoke, “Oh, check on your sister, will you? I haven’t seen her yet today.” 

Kermit gave a small nod, visibly disappointed at the request. 

 · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

She found the castle had been quiet in the days that followed the feast -- much quieter than she was used to. In the aftermath, her father and Kermit were much gentler than normal with her, careful as though they feared she would jump and run if they spoke too loudly. She felt like a child they were coddling and the whole situation was humiliating, feeling as though she was six years old again, clinging to her mother and crying because some boy was mean to her. 

In some ways, she was grateful for it however. 

They gave her more space than they had before and didn’t interrupt her as often; instead, they hung back from a distance and occasionally walked by her rooms, to glance in and make sure she was okay but would leave without saying anything. On the odd occasion she caught them staring, they would offer small smiles and nod, before carrying on. It gave her an opportunity to breathe, ground herself and reel from the events of the feast -- she could almost pretend that it hadn’t even happened and convince herself, this was not her life and was just some nightmare. 

Once she had moved past the feast and its chaos, she was faced with a new challenge. 

She watched from the treeline as Benjicot trained, too engrossed in his spar with his cousin to pay her any mind as she kept her distance; Alistair posted a few paces behind her. Her hands remained preoccupied by the small purple flowers in her hands -- violets that she had managed to find at the edges of the property, plucking them with a childish excitement. She had turned from her knelt position on the ground, summoning Alistair forward and insisting he hold them as she picked whatever his hands could hold. There had been a hint of apprehension, hesitating as he eyed her, before nodding and accepting the flowers, holding them in his left hand as she resumed her task of collecting them and rambled on about the knowledge she’d obtained over the years; familiar with herbs and plants and their medicinal use -- she had rambled on about a tea she could make with them when they returned. In the aftermath of the feast that had turned out disastrously, she found she actually enjoyed Alistair’s company and found comfort in his presence. He listened and was polite when he responded, and in the few words he offered, he provided her with wisdom. 

“Should we return to the library, my lady?” Alistair asked. She hummed inquisitively in response, eyes still transfixed on the boy Lord she was still working to figure out. “I can summon one of the kitchen workers to fix that tea for you.” He offered. 

She turned to look at him, offering a soft smile, “No, no. It’s quite alright, I can do it later. I’d like to stay out here a little while longer.” Serra replied, her gaze turning to look again towards the two young Blackwood men. “I…have something I have to do, actually.” 

“Might I be able to help somehow?” He offered. 

She shook her head, but paused, “Could you actually take these inside? I’d like to invite Lord Blackwood for a walk and then I will be in.” She explained, turning to him and once again scooping half of the flowers into his hands, her gaze down and avoiding his eyes. There was a moment of silence that passed between them before he spoke again. 

“Would you like me to summon him for you?” Alistair pressed again, her eyes finally coming up to make out the skepticism in his features, a look of concern in his eyes. 

She smiled again, “No, I…feel this is something I should do.” She replied, voice soft as she withdrew, keeping a few of the flowers for herself. 

Even through her reassurance, she could still see his concern, reluctant to nod and leave her to the task. Though he gave her a nod and passed her, walking towards the house and leaving her in the spot near the trees some feet away from where Benjicot’s cousin let out a yelp as he fell back into the dirt with a thud. Emrys was quicker to shoot up, rolling onto his side and reaching for his sword that had slipped from his hand in the tumble, just as Benjicot kicked it further from his grasp. She slowly approached, the small flowers in her hands as she stroked the petals between her thumb and forefinger, Emrys’ gaze finding her first as she neared the edge of the circle. 

Emrys looked relieved as he panted out a soft greeting and began to scramble to his feet, “My lady.” 

Benjicot turned towards where his cousin’s attention was placed, finding his betrothed standing before him and offering the smallest of smiles. The two men issued a bow, breathing heavily and flushed in the face as the heir wiped sweat from his bow, “Lady Tully.” He greeted, mouth ajar. 

“My apologies for interrupting.” She softly said, glancing between the two men. She paused, her gaze dropping briefly to the flowers in her hands, looking then to Emrys, “Hopefully he’s not been too hard on you today.” She remarked, her tone hinting a stiff attempt at teasing the Blackwood cousin. 

Emrys barked a laugh, brushing dirt from his doublet, “Hardly. I’m starting to think he’s deliberately trying to maim me.” He commented, shooting a look to his cousin who let out a quiet snort, the closest thing to a laugh that Serra had witnessed yet since her arrival. “In the event I die, he would no longer have any more competition in vying for your eye then, isn’t that right?” He flirted, smug as he leaned to shove Ben with his shoulder. 

The action hardly caused Benjicot’s feet to move beyond his right foot dragging against the dirt in a half-stumble, the two boys jokingly shoving each other and wrestling for a moment. Serra watched as Benjicot quickly slung an arm around his cousin’s neck in the scuffle, laughter ensuing as he muttered something incoherent at him that resembled a warning of ‘watch it’. “Okay, okay-- easy!” Emrys cried out, laughing and shoving him away. 

They settled down, straightening themselves out before they both looked at Serra once again, the smile she wore both shy and hinting her amusement at their antics, finding the interaction rather endearing. “I also mean to bring gifts for you both.” She said, finally stepping into the circle and approaching them. She witnessed the look the two men shared, Emrys’ interest piqued and smiling at her as she walked first to him and offered the small purple flower to him, bowing to her as he gently accepted the flower; bringing it towards his chest. 

“Thank you, Lady Tully.”

She sweetly smiled at him, before her gaze reluctantly found Benjicot’s as he watched the interaction before him, though his expression was one that she found unreadable, his lips parted and eyebrows raised. She hesitated, slow in stepping towards him and offering the last flower to him, placed in her palm and waiting for him. 

Benjicot glanced up at her face from the flower. He had never really understood women’s fixation with flowers, even as a boy, as pretty as they were -- he never viewed them as anything more than decorative things that adorned banners, armor and were a nuisance in the yards of Raventree. They were hardly a gift, but he moved to place his sword underneath his arm, pinned against his side and holding it as he reached out to carefully pluck the flower from her palm with his fingers, forcing a tight smile while holding it up briefly, “Thank you.” 

He watched as she offered a sweet, giddy smile and stepped back, her face lit up with joy as he accepted the flower, “You’re welcome.” Her hands clasped together in front of her, her eyes darting to Emrys who hardly made an attempt at concealing the wolfish grin he gave his older cousin at the sight. She looked back up at Benjicot, his own gaze lingering on his cousin and shooting him a glare of warning, “I understand you are probably busy, but I was wondering if you would care to take a walk around the grounds? Whenever you’re done here, of course.” She hurriedly spoke, her own look shooting to his cousin as if to ask if it was okay, not wanting to intrude more than she already did. 

“I think that would be lovely.” Emrys quickly replied. “We were actually just wrapping up.” 

Benjicot wanted to turn and slap him by the back of his head in that moment, eyes fixing on him again as if to question what the fuck he was doing-- 

“Are you sure?” She asked. 

However, he suppressed the urge to argue and deny her hopeful stare, sighing softly, “Of course. Let me just bring my sword back inside and we can go.” Benjicot grumbled, his annoyance boiling under the surface of his words. 

Her mouth opened to respond, but she was cut short before she could even utter a word as he turned on his heel and stalked away from her. She blinked, shrinking back once again as Emrys watched her deflate, watching after his cousin, “So moody-- I promise he isn’t always like this.” Emrys whispered, trying to make light of the situation, reaching out to touch her shoulder, “I’m sorry.” He quickly said, running after him. 

Her eyes met Kemit’s from the doorway as she watched Emrys run inside, his expression stoic and plain as she forced a polite smile before he turned and walked in the opposite direction as the two men before him. 

     · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

She could still sense his anger when he returned to the yard. 

The pair were silent as they walked, her watchful gaze fixed on observing the outer parts of Raventree — tall, sturdy, and appearing just as powerful as its men. Although her feelings towards the man to her right were that of indifference, she struggled to comprehend or make sense of his own attitude towards her, as she had hardly ever done anything to him aside from existing in his presence and that, even as children, had enraged him to such a point that at times she could not deny Benjicot was nothing less than what his houses’ reputation stood for. He embodied that very idea. Loyal but brutes. He did not seem to outgrow that as adults as even now, he didn’t seem to care for her and just seemed to search for any opportunity to humiliate her. Unlike when they were children, it came in forms of snide remarks and innuendos dismissing her as nothing more than some…object to one day warm his bed, or a nuisance — if not, even worse, it felt as though he treated like some sworn enemy to the likeness of a Bracken at times. 

Even though his father could sometimes scare him back into line, it only came in brief moments before he seemed to fall back into his habits. And his father couldn’t follow them and play mediator at all hours of the day. How did they plan to enter a marriage and live under those conditions? In which he despised her and she was nothing more than some doll to take his anger out on? To one day show her some warmth, only to come back with rage and lashing out at her. 

She almost preferred his childhood antics and would have rather he’d shove her into mud and call it a day. The thought of a lifetime spent living this way felt unbearable, the realization weighing heavy on her chest, almost as though she was being both physically and figuratively crushed by the very idea as her gaze anxiously darted to the side of his face from the corner of her eye; taking in the sight of him, so nonchalant and blissfully unaware. Unfazed. Her eyes darted back straight ahead as her clasped hands released themselves, smoothing over the fabric of her dress to wipe the sweat from her fingers, hands shaking slightly as she then clenched them, her breathing deep and heavy with each sharp inhale and exhale of air; even her breath shuddered as she attempted to ground herself, trying to force air into her lungs which felt as though they, too, were being crushed— 

“You’re breathing quite loudly.” Benjicot suddenly said, having been unaware that she had managed to walk ahead of him by a few paces while in thought, her hands once again going to smooth over her bodice as she abruptly stopped. 

She was quiet in response to his statement, too frightened to turn and face him immediately, like a scared child who was fearful of getting in trouble for something they had done — scared that if she showed even the slightest hint of weakness, he would pounce like a predator does their prey. But there was no hiding the fear in her eyes as she slowly turned towards him, one hand at her stomach and gripping the fabric there as if it would somehow steady her shaking hand and hide it in plain sight from him, her eyes meeting his. Though she could only bear to hold his stare for a moment before it dropped to the chest of his doublet, sucking in a deep breath, Benjicot’s eyes narrowing with a furrow of his brows. 

“What…” he began to say, pausing and taking a step toward her, “pray tell, is the matter with you now?” He sighed as he spoke, shoulders slumping with the words and a roll of eyes. 

If she had had even the smallest bit of boldness that existed within her and coursed through her veins, his words could have enraged her — his tone, speaking to her like she was an unfortunate bastard child that burdened him by simply existing, maybe then she would have had just enough courage in her so that she might have been brave enough to shout, yell, even swing a punch at him— but she couldn’t. If she had been born a man, she may have been lucky to possess such bravery. Instead, she was frozen in place, swallowing and instead looking up towards a window of the castle that overlooked them to avoid his eyes as she felt him continue to stare at her. She realized in that very moment, realizing how trapped she truly was, that she would have rather jump from the very window she was standing underneath than be married and stuck with Benjicot the rest of her life. She heard him sigh again, though the sound felt muffled and distant — not like he was standing only half a foot away from her, the sound of her heartbeat pounding so loudly she could barely hear over it.   

“My Lady?” 

She subconsciously had stepped towards the house, her breathing still rapid as she closed her eyes, a cool breeze flowing through the court that blew a few loose strands of hair into her face and across her cheeks. She was snapped, however, from her daze by the feeling of his hand closing around her elbow, eyes shooting open and immediately moving to withdraw from his hold as she leaned away; shrinking back with her mouth open to protest, his eyes on her face — for the first time since her arrival, though, she couldn’t find any trace of disgust in his features as he scanned her appearance. His grip tightened as she tried to withdraw again, tugging against his hand but to no avail. 

“Easy— just… just wait.” He commanded, his eyes darting over his shoulder as though he was looking for someone or something and scanning their surroundings before he quickly looked back at her. His other hand mirrored his right, grabbing her other arm just above her elbow and holding her in place as the sinking feeling of panic set in, her eyes widening and gasping for air as she used her entire weight to try and force herself backwards and out of his hold. Even with all her strength, she was unsuccessful beyond more than a stumbled step forward, only bringing him closer, bringing them chest to chest, “Serra, please— stop.” 

“What are you doing?” She suddenly cried out, voice small as her arms attempted to flail free from his restraint. She looked up at him, a look she couldn’t quite place flashing across his features — hurt, disgust? She gasped inwards, leaning back. 

He suddenly released an arm, stepping back from her and scanning her face, the furrow in his brow remaining, “Do you really think I’d deliberately seek to hurt a woman?” He asked, voice quiet but not hiding his offense, though he knew it was hypocritical. He wasn’t always kind, he was aware of that. 

He hardly allowed her a moment to process his words before his hand around her second elbow loosened and he blinked rapidly a couple of times with a glance towards his feet. He looked up a moment later, his hand dropping and cautiously taking hers, the move slow as his hand covered hers and watching her face as though he was searching for any sign to stop; any further protest — her own eyes still watched in complete and utter fear, confusion on her face, “Just…trust me for a moment. Watch.” He pleaded, voice quiet and desperate as his gaze dropped briefly to her chest, still heaving with the breathless pants that left her mouth before returning to her face. 

His hand was gentle over hers as it lead hers from her side; unfolding her fist and spreading her fingers as it was outstretched towards him, only feeling a small bit of resistance as her hand was guided inwards towards his body — he caught her eyes, that looked between her hand and his face, “Easy...” He repeated, his voice softer than before. Her body was still rigid and her skepticism still evident, but even Benjicot could not blame her for being so unwilling to trust him. What reason had he given her to do so thus far? He’d been nothing short of cruel to her in their childhood and had been so selfishly engrossed in his own fury that he hadn’t even pieced it together that she was as equally innocent in this scenario as he was. It seemed to dawn on him, looking at her face, the pieces falling into place. 

He pressed her hand to his chest, the heat of her fingers felt through his clothing as he pressed it flat, her palm pressed against his sternum over his heart; the steady thrum of his heartbeat felt underneath the layers with his chest rising and falling with steady, regular breaths, “do you feel that?” He quietly asked, her gaze still flipping between her hand and his own eyes before settling there, watching him. “Feel my heart? My breath?” He asked. 

He didn’t expect much of an answer, but her gaze dropped to her hand which seemed to relax under his, which was enough of a reply, “Just feel…breathe.” He quietly instructed. “Follow my breathing, in…out...in…” he guided, giving her a few moments and watching as the tension seemed to slide from her shoulders like a piece of clothing. 

The image of her fear-stricken face was still burned into his mind as he watched her relax — the memory invoking a flurry of guilt and shame to wash over him. He knew he could be cruel at times, but he’d never intended to be the source for her terror; hells, he’d never even realized just how much his actions had affected her. Looking at her in that moment, he’d come to remember she was just as much a pawn to the games of politics as he’d been — if not, more innocent than anyone. She hadn’t wanted this anymore than he had but she didn’t have any choice in the matter, just as he hadn’t. But he was prideful and had to swallow down the urge to say anything more about it, standing there silently as his gaze scanned her face. 

He pitied her, truly pitied her. 

“Your heart is beating faster.” She quietly pointed out, her eyes looking upwards from where her hand was placed, Benjicot having not even realized he was still staring at her as he’d pondered his anger these past days. A sudden rush of heat flooded his cheeks. His mouth opened as if he wanted to say something -- the urge to spit out some sarcastic quip readily on his lips, but his words were halted by the sound of Ser Eryn’s voice as he approached them. 

“My lord.” 

Benjicot stepped back immediately, almost jumping and dropping his hand from her wrist as she simultaneously withdrew her hand from his chest; both their heads whipping towards the guard, “I apologize for my intrusion…but your father has summoned you.” Ser Eryn explained, his gaze fixed explicitly on the young man. 

Benjicot found his voice finally, nodding as he swallowed, looking down at the ground beneath his feet and then glancing towards Serra, her hands at her sides as she briefly returned his glance -- they both then looked back at Ser Eryn, “Very well. Thank you.” He simply replied. 

The guard nodded, turning with a clank of his armor before striding away, but not before he shot a last look in the direction of the young woman who was still standing timidly a few inches shy of the heir, wordlessly. Benjicot waited until he was out of earshot before he looked back at her, his hands going to clasp behind his back, “We should make our way back now, my lady. Shall we?” He spoke, his voice regaining its prior confidence, head tilting to gesture her along -- she nodded, a meek gesture in reply as she tentatively took a few steps to come back up to his side as he then began to lead them back down the path that circled the estate. 

The walk back was just as quiet as the one there, both keeping their eyes straight ahead. Serra wasn’t sure she had accomplished what she had set out to do when they first left — not sure she felt she understood him better or felt they had bridged their feud; she wasn’t even sure she could say she knew him better. But she was at least reminded that he was still human, under the brutish behavior, that he did possess the ability to be gentle and kind, if that’s even what she could call it. Occasionally, her gaze would wander towards him and even though he seemed set on avoiding catching her eye again, she still took the brief opportunity to observe him as she tried to figure him out again for the hundredth time that week. She noted the lines at the corners of his eyes that crinkled when he scowled and she could assume they were prominent when he smiled, too. From this angle, as the sinking sun caught his eye, she could make out that his eyes were almost green — maybe even hazel? Regardless, in this lighting he did not appear as intimidating or even menacing as she had previously thought him to be. Nothing more than a boy, she realized. 

The main doors were opened by guards as they approached, creaking open so loudly the sound echoed throughout the halls; Benjicot walking ahead of her and letting out a puff of air as he began to approach the familiar doors where the council and his father were awaiting him, though he paused. He visibly hesitated in turning to her, the same pensive look on her face as they stared at one another a moment before he took a step toward her, “I apologize for having to cut our meeting short. I will see you at supper, yes?” He questioned, reaching out to grab her hand and bringing it to his mouth to press a kiss to her knuckles. Her eyes briefly dropped to his mouth, noting the scar above his lip before returning to his eyes and nodding. 

“Yes, of course.” 

Benjicot straightened up and nodded, letting her hand go in order to turn and make his way into the hall where Serra briefly caught a glimpse of her father sitting at the table, along with Samwell and other council members as the doors opened. Though a silence settled over them as Benjicot entered and sat down, her father and Samwell both casting looks in her direction as their quiet discussion ceased at the doors being held open. It was then that her attention was drawn to the sound of her elder brother coming down the stairs quite quickly, one hand at his sword just as she and Benjicot parted; his gaze following his friend before looking at her. Kermit appeared to slow as he approached the bottom two stairs, pausing and sharing a silent exchange with his sister, his shoulders visibly relaxing. 

“Sister.” He suddenly said, breaking the silence and nodding at her before rushing into the room behind the young Blackwood who had entered moments earlier. The doors were closed behind him, leaving her standing in the hall, more at ease than she had been the past several days. 

    · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

A soft knock echoed through the room as Benjicot stood in front of the window, straightening the neck of his cloak, shoulders rolling as he assumed it was a reminder to hurry from one of the guards, “Come.” He called out, growing frustrated as the fabric would not sit right against his throat no matter how much fidgeting with it that he did. He felt as though he was being choked and deprived of air as he sucked in a sharp breath. 

He heard as the door opened and footsteps shuffled against the ground, entering the room and closing the door, “I will be down shortly.” He replied, giving the clothing one last tug and beginning to fix his sleeves, however his companion was silent. He turned, sensing that it wasn’t a guard afterall, and finding Kermit stood behind him with a look of contemplation, his eyes moving to scan his appearance. His eyebrows furrowed. They quietly stared at each other for a moment that left Benjicot almost uncomfortable. 

“I look ridiculous, don’t I?” Benjicot asked suddenly. 

Kermit forced a smile, “You always do, don’t worry.” He said, the attempt at a playful tone painfully forced and not unnoticed by Ben. His gaze dropped again, fixed on the Blackwood sigil across his chest, mouth opening to speak again, “I don’t want to be the overbearing brother who nags you with the same warnings your father already has, I know there is only so much I can say that has not already been said a hundred times...” He said, his voice soft and looking up to his eyes again. 

Benjicot did not attempt to interrupt him with a reply, settling on listening intently. 

“She’s a kind girl.” Kermit stated, matter of factly and more confident as he stood upright. “Kinder than most. She feels so much, so deeply, and she cares too much for her own good sometimes. But she is good…more so than anyone I have ever met. She possesses both intellect and wit, and despite the chaos of the men around her-- she remains such a gentle, good-hearted spirit who keeps us grounded. She is terrible with a needle and thread, but she knows how to soothe and mend the worst of wounds-- I used to go right to her whenever you kicked my ass when we would train as boys. And I know one day she will be equally as kind a mother as she will be a wife, just as our mother was.” He continued to speak, stepping closer to his friend who held his gaze. 

“I’d like to think we’ve always been good friends,” He said. “I even consider us to have become like brothers.” Benjicot’s expression softened, his shoulders relaxing, “I do too.” 

“Then please treat her with kindness.” He pleaded suddenly, stepping forward one last step until he was mere inches from him. “Treat her with decency and be good to her. I have never trusted anybody else with her as I do you. I know you are a good and generous man, Benjicot, and I know somewhere inside you, you still possess the kindness and warmth my sister needs. I ask…” He spoke, pausing to catch his breath. 

He reached out to place a hand on Benjicot’s shoulder, “I ask that you be a better man than your father was to you. Because otherwise she will not survive this marriage if you cannot, and I cannot bear to imagine a life without her, knowing I was the cause for my own sister’s demise. She does not deserve that.” He explained, his voice thick with emotion as Ben watched his friend nod as if to silently ask that he understood after a moment. 

He reluctantly nodded after a few seconds that felt like hours. 

They did not part immediately, staring at each other in the silent space of Ben’s chambers, the weight of his pleas lingering over them. Kermit gave a final nod whilst clapping his friend’s shoulder and sniffling once before he stepped back and folded his hands behind him, “I’ll leave you to finish getting ready, then.” He quietly said. 

Kermit was slow in retreating from the room, leaving him to his thoughts, his words heavy on his chest like the boot of his opponent in battle; the ache there deep and raw as his hand instinctively rose to massage his chest over his heart with his knuckles, as if to rub away the anxiety their conversation left him. He turned on his heel and faced the desk that was shoved against the wall, stacked with books — and there, among all the strewn papers and ink stains, sat a small purple flower against the brown leather of a history textbook he had skimmed through days prior. 

He reached out for it with the hand that had touched his chest, careful in picking up the delicate violet that had been plucked from the yards of Raventree and eyeing it under the little light that the sun cast in through his window. 

“Because otherwise she will not survive this marriage if you cannot.” 

His mouth twitched, sighing as he lifted the flower across his chest and gently tucked it into the pin of his House that rested over his left shoulder as he turned to leave towards the door. His guard stood to attention, stiff and proper as he bowed his head while he was still preoccupied by the task of adjusting the flower against the fabric as he stepped into the hall, Ser Eryn’s eyes drawn to the plant that was neatly placed among the uniform. Benjicot exhaled, cheeks ballooning with air as his eyebrows rose briefly at the guard, his head tilting in the direction of the stairs, “Shall we?” 

The young Lord Blackwood led them throughout the halls of the keep, the sun beginning to set with the end of the day as evening enveloped the riverlands in darkness; the walls lined by lit torches that provided an orange glow despite the hour. He was given the odd bow of head as he passed workers House Blackwood employed, mutters of ‘my lord’ following him as he descended the stairs to the entrance. The doors to the great hall were already opened and readily greeted him as Ser Eryn followed close behind, relieved to find that the only commotion from the room was the sound of joyous laughter and the light hum of conversation filling the hall as he entered. 

His father had spared no expense with the extravagant display, the room lined with yellow and red decorations, the finest of silverware adorning the table as guests lined both sides of the table. 

He anxiously fidgeted with the cuffs of his doublet as he approached the head of the table, where his father and Serra’s family sat, waiting for his arrival. His father’s gaze eyed him from over his chalice, taking a sip as Benjicot found his place at a seat next to Serra, snug between her and Samwell. 

“--your men should reach the borders within the hour.” Elmo said in a hushed voice, leaning towards Samwell, attempting not to bring attention to the conversation. “They should meet the camp as soon as they get there.” 

Benjicot frowned as he pulled his chair forward, “What?” 

“Nothing.” Samwell quickly replied, setting his drink down and scanning his son’s appearance. “You look well-rested.” He said. Ben sensed his struggle to utter the words, not used to extending compliments. 

“Thank you.” He quietly replied. 

He could feel his eyes linger, following his father’s eyes to the flower on his left shoulder, “You’ve added some personal touches to your uniform.”

“It’s from the yards.” He answered, reaching for the wine pitcher from the table and bringing it towards his cup, pouring himself a drink. 

In the corner of his eye, he could make out the sight of movement as Serra had turned, mid-conversation with who he soon figured out was Oscar when he turned to look over at her whilst setting down the jug. Her gaze was fixed on the flower that was tucked in as part of his pin, delicate and perfect there, her lips parting but not saying anything. 

“It’s a nice touch,” Samwell said. “I like it.”

Serra looked up at him, a blush creeping across her face as she flashed a small smile, shy and genuine as she then looked down to her lap. He tore his gaze from her and looked once again at his father who rose an eyebrow at him.

“Yeah, it’s nice.” Benjicot mumbled, lifting his cup to his mouth.

masterlist | backward

TAGLIST: @username199945, @cxcilla, @thethiccestdaddy, @deltamoon666, @drwho-ess, @callsigncrushx @clarityisnofun @jhepolie @juhdoche @majoso12 @roseheart5 @nixtape-foryou @poppyflower-22 @accidentpronedork @tannyfairy @maximizedrhythms

[moseslikellamas]

♱𖣂 Redfork Menace ♱𖣂 pt.7

Benjicot Blackwood x Bracken!OC

Summary - Captured at last, Shanda must endure her imprisonment.

Warnings - fem!reader, suspense, mentions of injuries, adult language, period typical misogyny, condescension, adult language, complicated family dynamics, feud behavior, misplaced rage, feelings of guilt, manipulation benjicot brainrot, Kieran Burton fancast.

Word count - 2.4k

This chapter was fun to write because the mc is sooo delulu. Girl get a grip, wake up! And also bc very shortly the dramatic opera of court will be here!

Benjicot led her inside, to curious looks inside the castle. There were significantly more signs of life inside this great hall. And as her cursed luck would have it, full of people. Dinner was in full swing and upon their entrance the music stopped and it fell eerily quiet. Mercifully they did not linger, striding quickly through the room and into another. Shanda’s heart was pounding. Her hands had grown slick with sweat and she felt lightheaded. She’d never been a prisoner before. Benjicot was wholly unaware of her falling apart on the inside as he led her deeper and deeper into the castle.

She kept thinking about Martyn and the horrible pale look he’d had on his face. And now here she was, stuck inside the enemies castle. There was no telling when she would see him again. And it was a when, she reminded herself, not an if. This whole thing was a ridiculous farce. What proof could he possibly offer up to condemn her? It wasn’t illegal to cross the fucking river, Lord Grover Tully had ordained it so. Though, his word seemed to hold less and less weight as his health declined. His heir, Elmo had even less patience for the feuding houses. “You’re all river landers, gods be damned. Start acting like it!” She could still hear his angry voice shouting, only weeks ago.

Shanda wondered as they walked deeper in the stone walls that weaved in an endless maze of nonsensical turns, if whatever reason had started the feud had been worth it. She’d pondered this many times over her life, always coming away with a different answer depending on the mood of the conflict. Usually she would brush it off, it doesn’t matter why it started. The Blackwoods are bloodthirsty savages now. Who they were or what they might’ve done was nothing to her. She was concerned with weeping maidens found on the road between the two, with mutilated animals strewn across the borderlands. She was concerned with the vile, smug, holier than thou attitude they used to bully others. Hiding behind their “old gods” and feeding blood to the cursed roots of their idol.

The man in front of her had pulled up short so suddenly she bumped into him, so lost in her thoughts was she. He’d used a hand to steady her, before knocking on the door they’d come to a stop in front of.

“Coming!” There was the sound of something knocking over, a bowl maybe, before the door unlocked and a smiling girl answered the door.

Upon viewing the company waiting for her the smile slid right off of her face and was replaced with a scowl.

“Oh. Right. Go away, Benjicot.”

“That’s no way to introduce yours-“

As he tried to reply, the dark haired woman had grabbed her wrist and pulled her inside before slamming the door shut. Through it he could be heard saying, “You’re an adult Alysanne!”

To which she replied quietly to Shanda, “And he’s an ass.” She smiled brightly at her, then crossed back to continue whatever she was doing before.

“No need to worry. This whole trial,” She waved her hand about, trivializing it. “is nothing but men waving their dicks about. Nothing to do with you.”

Shanda awkwardly shifted her weight before deciding to walk over to her. She’d been painting, and the sound earlier had been paint hitting the floor.

“Shouldn’t you hate me by name alone then?”

“Maybe. Reputation is one thing to judge a person by, name another. But so too their words and deeds. All are a measure of a person, wouldn’t you agree?”

Speaking obvious truths was a method for opening a conversation for deeper topics. State something easily agreed upon, then ease into the disagreements. This did not escape her mind as she agreed.

“Of course. But words are wind and autumn approaches.”

If this was a dick measuring contest then the prize was timber, and flint. She knew how much it was costing her family to house their men, how many shipments they needed to survive. The Blackwoods numbers were similar to their and always had been. She knew they wanted more, to encroach across the river. That was the problem with appeasing beasts, their hunger never satiated. She thought again of Martyn and Royce, a harsh pang ripping through her. Why should they suffer so much over felled trees? She pushed those thoughts away as the woman replied.

“True indeed. They will ask for more land.”

Her anger boiled over despite herself. “You have enough! The land stretches for fucking leauges-“

She took a deep breath, staring at the paint soaked stones.

“I apologize, Lady Blackwood. What I meant was, men have no good sense.” Shanda then collapsed onto a chair, exhaustion winning out.

The lady across from her seemed unbothered by her words, simply continuing the art she was making.

“Aye, it's difficult to steer a man. So you must not protest the crimes laid against you.”

Shanda’s eyes nearly popped out of her head when she said that.

“Not protest the crimes I've been falsely accused of? What do you take me for?” She was so close to standing back up despite the weight of the day tearing her down.

“I take you for a woman with a modicum of self preservation but that remains to be seen. And if you want to go home, you will not protest the charges.”

Now Shanda did stand back up ignoring the screaming protest her feet were making. “So sorry, Lady Blackwood, but I will not commit to being labeled a known criminal and sentenced to what I’m sure will be a heinous sentence without just cause. I am not a criminal and furthermore -“

“What do you think of Benjicot?” The lady asked, abruptly shutting her down.

That made her even more beside herself.

“I don’t think anything of him at all. He is beneath my notice beyond recognition of his crimes.”

The lady had a queer look on her face, but it hovered around displeasure. Not surprising as Shanda was disparaging their house name.

“If I did think of him,” she went on, now truly ready to let the heavy weight of resentment off of her chest. “I would think, what a pathetic excuse of a man, beating up children and bloodying old men.”

Martyn’s haunted face flashed in her head, and the memory of falling in the river made the betrayal in her heart surge. She kicked the stool in front of her, the pain hardly registering on her bare foot. The lady lay her brush down at last, standing.

“You must be tired. Let me show you to your room.”

A tangled mess of emotions swirled about her as she followed the Lady to her room. Maybe she would get some good sleep and wake up from this nightmare.

***

“You are an idiot, Ben! A fool of the highest degree. Have you ever stopped to use your brain? Or do you think every problem can be solved by waving a sword and doing whatever you want?”

Benjicot’s Aunt was ripping into him.

“Was she that upset dear Aunt? Is my case so hopeless?”

Alysanne spun around so fast her hair splayed out as she moved. “She was half dead, Ben! She looked like a drowned cat and was twice as angry.”

Ben smiled at that, a vapid thoughtless grin. “So she’s going to protest the charges.”

“Yes, she’s going to protest. Or you could drop them. It's not too late to call this a misunderstanding.”

He shook his head, striding across the bridge and looking out into the night through the row of large windows. They stood on the covered bridge that connected the old part of the keep to the new. A strategic point of advantage should anyone ever try to lay siege to Raventree.

“No, Aly. I do use my brain and I’ve been using it to arrange this.”

“And what if I go tell your father? Tell him there were no crimes in the Borderlands? That this was all an elaborate ploy by his pig headed heir? What then?”

“She did commit those crimes, Aly.”

“This is hopeless. Hundreds of years of fighting and you’re going to start the bloodiest fight in a decade over a pretty girl.” She threw her hands up, walking away from him.

“I need a wife, Alysanne. That can’t be helped.”

The look she sent him should’ve been enough to kill him on the spot. But he just grinned and lightly pushed his Aunt.

“When we all die, I hope they name you the aggressor Benjicot.”

She was already walking away when he replied.

“And let the Brackens be named for their moral superiority? I think not.”

She threw an obscene gesture behind her back and vanished down the bridge.

Ben stood there a moment longer listening to the tinkling of rain on the rooftop. He was sure of only two things as he walked slowly along the bridge. One, they would have an early autumn. And two, he would incite a war with the entire river lands if that’s what it took to procure his bride. He was good with a sword and better with his words. If he couldn’t negotiate his way into a marriage, he could certainly fight his way into one. He thought of the look on his girl’s face earlier, when she had figured out he’d come across her family. The fires of rage that had licked up behind her eyes despite her defeated position, the way she had demanded answers. He had a feeling she wouldn’t want to send her brothers out to die just so she could avoid marriage. So he tucked that thought away for later.

His aunt's threats had been empty, a last ditch effort by her to bring an end to this plan. His father wouldn’t be able to stop what he had put into motion if all went according to plan. She would protest the charges, he would bring irrefutable proof. Her family would protest the sentence handed down and petition for a trial at Riverrun. It was there that Ben would put on the real show. But there was time between now and then, he walked carefully back to where the Bracken was waiting for him. It was time to ensure the trial played out in his favor.

***

Shanda could not grow comfortable in this foreign room, under the enemy's roof. When she had finally been led to a room for sleep, she had stripped off her ruined dress. Then she had donned a sleep slip that had been graciously provided for her. Climbing into the bed, covered in rich red sheets that only reminded her of blood, she tossed for an hour before giving up. She lay half under the covers on her side, she could see out of the window this way. Her mind was so exhausted from thinking that she had turned her thoughts off. Laying there she felt numb, not having quite processed the events of the day. The rain outside the window was calming and eventually she did begin to drift off to the soft thunder off in the distance.

So close to sleep that she didn’t register the sound of the door opening, reality and dreams were mixing together in her head. It was the sound of it closing that jolted her awake. She sat upright quickly, blinking rapidly, heart racing as she looked around. The shadow of him loomed over her and her breathing increased. He stole into the room like a specter and came to sit on her bed.

Gathering her wits she hissed, “Get out!” She pulled the covers up over her chest, covering herself from his prying eyes.

Sitting on the edge of her bed he gave her a soft smile.

“How are you feeling? Are you hungry? I brought you some food.”

She stared at him stiff as a board while he pulled out several pieces of bread and cheese, spreading them out on a fold of cloth before her. Confused and suspicious, she looked back and forth between the food and him.

“It’s not poisoned, if that’s your concern. Bit foolish to kill you before a trial, no?”

Scowling, she began to eat. “Easier to name me guilty though wouldn’t it?” She aggressively ripped chunks of bread apart as she answered her tone snide.

He didn’t answer her, letting her eat in peace. She supposed even prisoners had to eat as well. This was probably just standard behavior regarding prisoners. She kept her eyes on him the entire time, still wary. She could still feel the impression of his hand wrapped around her throat, squeezing.

“You should cancel the trial, call this thing off.” She said when she had finished and the silence grew unbearable. “I haven’t committed any crimes.”

“Hashing this out again are we?”

The twinkle had never once left his eyes as he reached towards her. She froze in response, the unexpected movement scaring her. But he just brushed the hair out of her face, his fingers brushing softly against her cheek as he did.

“You did commit those crimes, poor baby. It’s not your fault of course. It’s your family’s, they should’ve kept you inside.”

Not this again, she thought as the conversation took a turn against her autonomy.

“Are you really so stupid? To think I could be stopped from acting of my own accord by anyone.” She scoffed. Her father had certainly tried to keep her inside.

“I think I could stop you, my lady.”

She swallowed at his response suddenly, a bit nervous as if remembering he were a man. Memories of them rolling in the mud ran through her head. And she quickly looked away from him, breaking eye contact.

“That’s not what I meant.”

He grinned in response. He was always smiling at her.

“I know.” He reached out to stroke her hair again and she let him. “You should get some rest. It will be a long day for you tomorrow.”

Momentarily spellbound by how good his hand felt in her hair, she unconsciously nodded agreeing with him. Then she remembered herself, shaking her head aggressively to remove his hand. She’d been up too long, treated too roughly by the day. That was all.

“See yourself out, sir.” She said with all the malice she could muster, which sadly wasn’t enough.

When he was gone, she lay back down before loudly screaming into her pillow. Gods let the trial be quick.

[chronicbeans]

Sibling Time! (A Wally Darling x GN Reader Short Story)

You are trying to babysit your little sibling, but it seems like an odd puppet keeps showing up in their favorite show, Sesame Street.

TW: Obsessive Behavior, TV Hijacking

Your parents are out, once again, so you are now forced to take care of your five year old step-sister, Mary. It's always been a bit difficult to connect with her, considering that you are an adult and she's a toddler, but you both have one thing in common: you both like puppets.

As such, you don't mind watching her favorite show, Sesame Street, with her. Even though you are more interested in the puppetry than the characters, like she is, it is still enough to keep you engaged. Even better, it gives you some time to go on your phone, and look up your most recent interest.

You found a weird website about some lost media. It's a show called Welcome Home, which people are trying to recover. They've gotten a lot of stuff recovered, too! Old advertisements, interviews, art... though, there have been strange happenings around the website. Odd links, hidden pages, even secret messages. It's intriguing.

"Lala lala lala lala Elmo's World!" "Look, (N/N)! Elmo!" Mary points at the screen, grinning widely. She bounces up and down with joy in her seat on the couch. You chuckle, nodding and shuffling in your seat next to her "Yes, it is! I wonder what he's got in store for today?" You look back to your phone, looking at the Welcome Home website. The picture of Wally Darling on the homepage seems a bit off. It is almost like his smile isn't as wide as before. You pay no mind, however, thinking that it might just be a glitch or update.

Suddenly, Mary taps your shoulder. You look down at her, raising an eyebrow at her frowning face. "Is something wrong?" She nods, pointing to the screen "A ghost is haunting Elmo's home!" "What?" "A ghost with big hair! Look!"

You look at the screen, shocked to see that it's... glitching? There is an array of brightly colored pixels covering the corners of the screen. The show seems to be playing, mostly, as normal with Elmo chatting away. You can tell what Mary thinks is a ghost, though, as you see it move.

It looks like a show, or more specifically, a character is bleeding through the broadcast. You can't see the colors, but you can see the outline as is distorts the picture on screen as it moves. Everything within its silhouette is pixelated. Usually, you would chalk it up to a broadcasting error, like the show accidentally playing two episodes at once. You've never seen this character in the show, though...

Is this a television hijacking?

You don't know, it you don't want Mary to wait and find out. Most TV hijackings are a bit unnerving, weird, or overall just not appropriate for young children to see. You pick up Mary, carrying her to her room and saying "I'll figure it out. For now, how about you go draw a picture for Elmo?" She nods, smiling nervously. "Okay! I'll draw the ghostie, too! Maybe the ghosties just needs a friend?" "Sure! You can draw the ghostie. Be sure to leave the ghostie a nice message, too!" You drop her off in her room, hand her some snacks, juice, paper and crayons. Then, you go back to the living room to investigate.

Your eyes widen at how distorted the screen has become. It's practically just static, now, with the faintest silhouette of a character. As you step a bit closer to the screen, you feel your phone vibrate in your pocket. You quickly take a peek at the website, seeing that the homepage has now definitely changed. Wally Darling is now completely gone. There isn't even a black silhouette or cut out of him. It's like he was never sitting on the rock in that picture. Same with the cast all sitting at the bottom. Wally just... disappeared. Even the little pixelated Wally is gone!

You look back to the TV as you hear music. Your brain begins to put two and two together. As insane as it sounds, the only explanation you can think of is that the disappearance of Wally on the website has to do with the TV's glitching. Why?

Wally Darling has now appeared, clear as day, on your television screen.

You quickly call your friend, holding the cellphone to your ear as he picks up. "Ed, I have no time for hello. Turn on your TV to Sesame Street!" "What? Why?" "I need to check something. Turn it on!" "Okay...?"

You stare at the screen as the yellow puppet waves at you. You hear the sounds of Sesame Street from the other end of the line. "(Y/N)... It's just Sesame Street. Why did you want me to do this?" You grow quiet, realizing that it must just be your TV that is being affected. "I'm sorry... I just uh... I just wanted to see if an error I'm having is just me. Thanks for helping, though! Goodbye!" You quickly hang up.

"Hello, neighbor! Where's Mary?" Wally looks around, standing in a void of silent static. His voice is a bit muffled, almost like he is talking through water. When he speaks, you can also hear the faintest sound of the Sesame Street episode continuing in the background. In the static, you can see a few, vaguely silhouetted hills and houses fading into sight. You can just barely make them out, however.

You cross your arms, immediately growing defensive and concerned at the mention of Mary's name. Yes, it could possibly be a different Mary... but as far as you know, this broadcast is only being shown to you. You can only assume that, whoever is showing you this, is talking about your sister. You take a step back, getting ready to go get your sister and leave the house. The person showing you this most likely can't see you at the moment, so you still have time to leave and call the police from a safer place-

"Neighbor, where are you going? Don't leave me! I'm spending so much energy trying to make this work!" He lurches forward, placing his hands against the screen. You even hear a sound similar to someone hitting glass as his hands hit the screen, like some sort of window. You flinch away, shocked. "I need this! I know I can trust you to bring me- us back!"

You tense up. This is strange. Now that you know he can see you, tell that you didn't say anything... you don't know what to do. You swallow thickly, saying "You... who are you?" His grin seems to, somehow, grow wider. "Don't you know who I am, neighbor? I'm Wally Darling!"

He leans against the screen, his pupils widening as he stares at you. "You really should know who I am... You look at me all the time! You read about me all the time, too!" In the background, the familiar buildings of the neighborhood fade in. Home, Barnaby's house, Frank's house... they're all there.

Wally spins happily, before saying "I want you to be the first viewer of our reboot, neighbor! I trust you to have a good eye for content... You take care of Mary so well, so you must be good at knowing what is right for children, these days." "Why me? Why not someone else?" "It MUST be you! It can't be anyone else! I have been carefully looking through each person to see who would be perfect for this!" "Okay... But I'm not getting Mary to watch it." "That's alright, neighbor."

He steps back, clearing his throat. Then, he puts on a winning smile as he says the opening line "Hello, neighbor! Welcome Home!"

[thewintersoldierdisaster]

happy halloween - have a few, quickly-written little headcanons on the svech babies and their halloween costumes 🎃

evie’s six months old for her first halloween and you go a little nuts buying a bunch of different costumes but she ends up going as a little bunny, complete with a stuffed carrot and everyone freaks out over how cute she is

you and andrei also wear bunny ears to go as a little bunny family

alina’s only three months old for her first halloween and evie’s almost three so you go for a family costume again - this time it’s winnie the pooh characters. andrei is tigger, evie is pooh, you’re eeyore, and alina is piglet. the costumes are so freaking hot so you’re glad it’s actually a cold halloween in raleigh for once

when you zip andrei into the giant onesie, he shakes his head and laughs, “didn’t think i would be so damn happy to dress up in an adult onesie, solnyshka.”

kira is eleven months old at her first halloween and walking, but none of the girls want anything to do with a family costume since they all have their own choices. except then it’s two days before halloween and the bigger girls both decide they hate their costumes and want new ones - daddy to the rescue. disney princess family costumes here you come

evie is sleeping beauty, alina is ariel, kira is cinderella and they’re all very very excited about the twirly dresses

andrei has a wicked look in his eye when he pulls a fourth and fifth costume from the giant box - a yellow ball gown for you and a prince costume for himself - belle and the beast

“my hair’s even long enough,” he grins, having been too busy to get a haircut. he’ll never admit it, but he’s just as into the family costumes as you are

by the time dimitri is born, he’s only two months old and you’re exhausted. andrei handles halloween again - the girls go as different superheros (wonder woman, supergirl, and batgirl) daddy’s wearing a batman mask and a huge goofy grin

dimitri gets a little teddy bear onesie, complete with ears and little tail, so he can be warm and bundled while you push him in the stroller as the girls trick or treat. andrei has a little superman shirt that he puts on over dimitri’s onesie because he “has to match the rest of us, solnyshka”

“i’m not dressed up to match you guys”

“don’t worry about that, i have just the thing”

andrei produces a t-shirt that says “super mom” on it for you and a little matching cape that he hooks around your neck with a kiss to your cheek

maks is just about a month old for his first halloween - he gets dimitri’s bear onesie and one year old dimitri is in a little elmo from sesame street

there’s a period of several halloweens where both boys only want to be daddy for halloween and traipse around the neighborhood in their svechnikov jerseys and helmets, insisting on carrying around sticks until they get bored and you end up carrying the sticks

evie bosses her younger siblings around one year because she wants to be dorothy from wizard of oz, but needs her cast of characters. so. kira and alina end up as the wicked witch and glinda, respectively. you’re the scarecrow, andrei is the tin man, dimitri is the cowardly lion, and poor little maks ends up as toto

the year the kids all decide to do their own different costumes and don’t want to do a coordinated family one is a dark year for andrei - he pouts and complains about the kids growing up, so you promise to do a couples’ costume with him and that’s how you end up dressed in matching pirate costumes with andrei’s hand up your skirt most of the night and a brief pregnancy scare six weeks later

[eldal0te]

Every once in a while, I remember that crazy theory I once had about Círdan and Elmo. @sindarweek seems like a good moment to finally share it

———

The water has always fascinated him.

When Elmo was a child, he used to run after the fishermen, begging to be allowed to come with them each morning. When inevitably they would turn him away, his childish hands too small to be of any help, he’d go and pester the ferrymen instead. When their patience too would run dry, he’d turn to woodworkers, always building new boats or fixing the existing ones.

With everyone else done with him, he at least would turn to Miriel and beg her to tell him which of her friends has been asked to fix the fishing nets this time. It wasn’t as rewarding as being on the water, but at least there he was allowed to help knot the threads together.

His brothers never understood his fascination with the water. Elwë, though he usually listened patiently to his babbling, always appeared bored with the topics of boats pretty quickly and even Olwë, who seemed to share some of his interests, was left perplexed by the boy, never able to devote himself to the water in the ways his younger brother could.

Then Oromë found them and Elwë left with Ingwë and Finwë to visit Valinor.

When his older brother left them, Elmo was hardly anything but a child, idolizing his oldest brother more than anything in the world. When he came back, Elmo was already an adult who started to idolize the light in his brother’s eyes instead.

Olwë was different. Unlike their oldest brother, who always grasped at the word around them with open arms, he was more cautious. Ever since their parents disappeared, he quietly hated the world around them. Unlike most of their people, it’s neither the chance of experiencing the light on some deeper level, nor the promise of safe and prosperous lands that motivates him on a journey to Valinor. He wants to leave the world with ghosts of their parents and all the other dead behind.

When they first see the sea of Rhûn, Elmo proclaims it a wonder greater than anything he has ever seen before. Here, the small ships they used to build for fishing and ferrying people across the lake can finally turn into a grander idea.

Here, while their kin court and marry and bear children, he can finally find an excuse on the water for months without touching the dry land. When he at last unboards, it’s only to work with all the woodworkers who keep coming up with designs for better, grander boats than ever before or pester Miriel and her friends about the newest sails they’re sticking for them. That's the moment where the craft of ship-making finally becomes something more than a dream of a lonely child.

It’s only the promise of a wider body of water, an ocean as Elwë calls it now, that makes him go on when they finally decide to journey further. Once they leave, he takes the people likeminded to him and they push on west while the rest of their kin stay behind.

It is then, that the vision of what his brother talks about finally comes to him and seeing the light of Valinor becomes his greatest desire. He wishes desperately to see the Trees, and in their light continue on his newly found craft.

When Elwë gets lost, Elmo searches longer and harder than any of their kin, both out of brotherly love and a belief that in a new world they will need a leader who was brave enough to visit it when all of them were reluctant to.

There, so close to the final destination, Olwë finally shows a true interest in his craft. He also finally starts to speak his mind instead of deeming him too childish to talk to. He says that Elwë’s fate has intertwined with that of their parents and there is no reason to dwell. Their brother is gone and they have to accept that.

Vanyar and Noldor leave, and their host (they have started to call themselves the Teleri now) finally splits in between the three brothers. Half of them share Olwë’s conviction that they need to push on now, and while most of those who wish to remain do so only because of Elwë, some would go if not for Elmo’s desperation to prolong the search. They are the first ones to start calling him the Shipwright and if Olwë is a bit jealous, he does a good job of not letting it show.

He searches so diligently that he misses the chance to leave with Olwë and when Elwë comes back, completely safe and with a new divine wife instead of the stories of perils, he feels anger rather than relief. Is this really what he abandoned his greatest desire for? 

He used to idolize his brother as a child, but now the only thing they have in common is the change of names they both undergo. Elu Thingol remains with his people in the forests near the place where he first met his wife, while Círdan stays with his at the seaside, where they can at least remain building the ships.

It’s such a pity that they cannot leave until he builds a ship he keeps dreaming of. 

[aussiellama]

Random Spider White headcannon

He is really good at maths, he's actually good at school in general but he's really good at maths

Ant: We all have our demons.

Ant, grabbing Spider : This one’s mine.

Ant: You look mentally ill.

Spider : I am. Let’s go.

Ant: Why would you think any of this was a good idea?

Spider : Probably because I’m a dangerous sociopath with a long history of violence.

Ant:

Spider : I don’t know how you keep forgetting this.

Spider : Stop failing.

Ant: Don’t tell me what to do! I'll fail right now!

Ant: *Succeeds*

Ant: Dang it!

Spider : Watcha doin?

Ant: Stealing my neighbour’s cat.

Spider : Scandalous.

Spider : Can I help?

Ant,: Do you know how many bones the human body has? It's 206. We start with 369 when we're babies but they fuse. Wouldn't you want to go back? Have as many bones as a baby? What if I could help you.

Spider : Hi, yeah, what the actual, literal, GENUINE fuck does that mean?

Spider: You either buckle down and do your work or you’ll end up at McDonalds.

Ant: We're going to McDonalds if I don't do my work?

Spider: NO-

Spider: Get your fucking shit together and act like an adult!

Ant : Think you have the wrong person but you're right.

Ant : Old people? More like fold people! *Makes an origami swan out of grandma*.

Spider: Literally what was going through your mind that motivated you to do this?

Spider: We need a plan to beat them.

Ant: Okay, listen up. First, we fill their shoes with wet cat food.

Spider:

Ant: Judge me all you want, I get result

Ant: I think I should be allowed on ghost hunter tv shows.

Spider: I think that would be dangerous for the ghosts.

Ant: You disgust me.

Spider: *eating a kitkat sideways* I realize this and don’t care.

Ant: Look, Spider, it's the third time this week you had a mental breakdown and its Monday.

Spider, pointing at Ant: Well, you can't spell stupid without "U".

Ant: Well, there's an "I" in stupid, too!

Spider:

Ant: Damn, Spider, are you secretly cool?

Spider: Well, poker is just math, so I guess it depends on if you consider the mathematician, Carl Friedrich Gauss, cool.

Ant: I do not.

Spider: Psst... Hey. Fucker. *Kisses you* idiot.

Ant: Hey, sweetheart! Hey dear! *Fucking decks you in the face* Angel~

Spider: I’ve invited you here because I crave the deadliest game...

Ant, nodding: Knife Monopoly.

Spider: I was actually going to play Russian roulette, but now I'm really interested in whatever knife Monopoly is.

Ant: Why does my arm shake and turn bright red when I’m eating dirt?

Spider:

Spider: Why are you eating dirt?

Ant: Did I ask you if I should eat dirt? No, so answer my question.

Spider: I have very high standards, you know.

Ant: I can make spaghetti...

Spider: Oh no! You're meeting all my standards!

Spider: Stop setting things on fire because you're curious about what will happen. What will happen is fire.

Ant: But what if something else happens just this one time.

Spider: Let's roleplay.

Ant: Okay. I'll be Elmo and you'll be-

Spider: Elmo?

Ant: Oh, fuck yes. Two Elmos.

Spider: Wait-

Ant: Did you know that you can't actually breathe when you're smiling?

Spider: *Smiles*

Ant: Haha, gotcha! I just wanted to make you smile!

Spider: Motherfucker

Spider: Kinda gay for a man to have dark circles under his eyes. Why aren't you getting a good night's sleep? Too busy thinking about other men?

Ant: Kinda gay for a man to be well rested. What are you dreaming peacefully about? Other men?

Spider: You smell so good.

Ant: So lick me, then.

Spider: Huh?

Ant: Huh?

Spider: I left instructions for everyone while I'm gone.

Ant: Mine just says "Ant no."

Spider: I want you to apply it to every possible situation.

Spider, very tired: Can I sleep in your bed?

Ang: *half asleep* Spider, this is a queen-sized bed. That means it’s for *gestures vaguely to themself* the Queen.

Ant: Relationships should be 50/50. Spider cooks us dinner while I sit on the kitchen counter looking pretty.

Ant: When I met you I thought you were a real bitch.

Spider: What changed your mind?

Ant: Oh, I still think you’re a bitch, I’ve just grown to like that about you.

Ant with puppy dog eyes: I baked you a cookie... But I eated it...

Spider: Don't you ever get tired of being fucking annoying?

Ant: I desire moisture.

Spider: Please just say "I want water" like a normal person.

Spider: Ant, you're my best friend.

Ant: Best friend? BEST friend?! Bitch, I'm your only friend.

Ant: I'M THE ONLY ONE CAPABLE OF TOLERATING YOUR DUMB ASS!

Ant: *on the phone* Hey Spider, do you know my blood type?

Spider: Of course, it's B-.

Ant: Oh, I guessed wrong. Excuse me, nurse-!

Ant: What's wrong with you?

Spider: Off the top of my head, I'd say low self-esteem, a lack of paternal affection, and a genetic predisposition for anxiety and depression.

Ant: "Forgive me father, for I have sinned." and "Sorry, Daddy. I've been bad." both mean very similar things but have wildly different connotations.

Spider: Get the duct tape, cause I'm shutting you up for good.

Ant: When am I gonna be able to have my 100k slow burn enemies to lovers relationship...?

Spider: Stop reading fanfiction and get back to work.

Ant: Mate. You wanna go?

Spider: Yeah.

Ant: ...On a date with me-

Ant: Oh you do?

Spider: You're saying that like I fell for a cunning prank. We're literally dating, you egg.

Ant: I trained this chicken to talk!

Spider: Let's see, then.

Ant: What's a male deer?

Chicken: Buck

Ant: How much is 200 pennies?

Chicken: Buck buck.

Spider: This is stupid...

Ant: It gets better.

Chicken: It gets way better, Spider.

[rubenesque-as-fuck]

So earlier this month, one of my best friends drunkenly asked for an Elmo painting and then laughed it off later. His birthday is next month, so I'm gonna paint it as a gift. Here's my concept sketch:

[perenlop]

okay but are you normal about people who “talk funny”. do you act respectful when an adult carries an elmo plush around and talks to him? do you insult people who need help going to the bathroom? do you laugh at people with crossed eyes? mock people who speak exclusively in echolalia? do you cringe at people who walk with a limp? do you antagonize people having panic attacks or episodes?

[wilwheaton]

What the actual fuck, Larry David.

So I heard about it, but didn't watch it until now. Holy shit it's even worse than I thought. What the fuck is wrong with that guy? Elmo is, like, the best friend to multiple generations of children, and is currently putting mental health and caring for others in the spotlight.

And Larry Fucking David ... did ... that? And thought it was going to be ... funny?

What an asshole. What a stupid, self-centered, tone deaf asshole.

Hey, fucko: First of all, you aren't even in the segment, but you just decided to barge in and draw focus because ... why? You couldn't stand that a puppet brought people together in a meaningful way that you can't? You couldn't stand that your appearance on national television to promote your wildly successful series was delayed for a few seconds while the adults talked about mental health?

I really want to know what raced through his tiny little mind, and why there was no voice or person who spoke up to stop him.

You know who is watching the Today show with their parents? Kids who also watch Sesame Street. Elmo is an avatar for children all over the world. Children who are too small to understand Elmo is a puppet will know that a man attacked him for no reason, and that will frighten them.

Elmo inspired a deeply meaningful and important moment of collective support among disparate people who have been struggling through the traumas of a pandemic, daily mass shootings, the rise of fascism and everything associated with Trump's violence and cruelty.

And shitty idiot Larry David couldn't stand it, for some reason. He had to indirectly tell everyone who opened their hearts to a Muppet that they were stupid, and he thought it was a good joke to physically attack and choke this character who is beloved by children and adults alike.

I've been bored by and totally over Larry David's brand of being an asshole to everyone because they had the temerity to exist around him since the day it started. It was easy to just ignore him. But this thing he did was hurtful, it wasn't funny, and his bullshit non-apology tells all of us everything we need to know about him.

Larry David strikes me as a person who mocks and belittles people who are vulnerable and sensitive, who is cruel because he enjoys it and is untouchable. Maybe I'm wrong, but that's who I see whenever I can't find the remote and he's on my television.

By contrast, Elmo and the Muppets teach and model that kindness and empathy aren't weak or stupid or any of the things people like Larry David and my dad think they are. Elmo and the Muppets teach children to be gentle and kind, to celebrate our different cultures and to embrace all of our complicated feelings.

I hope that, when the dust settles, Larry David's appalling behavior will be a footnote to a larger story about how, for just one day, a Muppet made a difference by helping all of us who are struggling feel just a little less alone and anxious.

A man who would belittle and mock that isn't much of a man at all.

[platinumshawnn]

Bound by Blood and Fire — Benjicot Blackwood x Tully!oc (pt ii)

A/N: hi! I really dragged my heels on writing this next part because I love to procrastinate. I actually cut a scene from this because it was already running pretty long. Also a *brief* little masturbation scene randomly weaseled its way in there, lol sorry. Content warning??? I did my best to proofread but I probably missed stuff, also please know that I’m aware Oscar is a brunette in the show, he’s a redhead in the books ✨

Synopsis: Elmo and Oscar Tully arrive at House Blackwood to be debriefed on the finalized terms of Serra’s and Benjicot’s betrothal. Tensions among the houses rise as Serra receives support from her father and yields to giving Benjicot a chance. As their engagement is announced to the other houses, news of murders in King’s Landing highlights the broader conflict looming over them.

General content warnings: MDNI — 18+, adult language, mentions of blood, violence, and war; era related sexism and gender based harassment/discrimination, sexual content, mild depictions of family based violence, implied suicide ideation.

Word count: 8.8k

BBF Masterlist

backward

Serra Tully could only describe Benjicot Blackwood as repulsive if she had to use one word — the kind that made her nauseous, gray in the face sick at the very idea of him.

"To my dear Lady Serra, who I am told, has a tongue as sharp as her needlework. Pray, let's hope she proves as skilled with her wifely duties as she is with her embroidery."

His voice, paired with that stupid smile haunted her as she lay down in bed that night, struggling to find sleep with her eyes stuck to the ceiling. Paired with brother’s laughter, the comment was more horrifying as her face burned with embarrassment — if it were possible, she would have left right then and there; packed her belongings back up, and returned to Riverrun. But she knew that upon arrival, her father would have been furious and only dragged her back. 

“Have you no honor?” Her father would sigh, frustrated and red in the face. 

Even with all the pleading and reasoning, this was not something she could talk her father out of -- this wasn’t some feast, some meeting of the Lords. This was a marriage pact that he and Kermit had meticulously planned out and negotiated, and there was no amount of foot-stomping or yelling she could do to undo that. At some point during her sleepless night, haunted by the smug grin of Benjicot, did she consider the idea of running away and living in the trees -- but she had no survival skills for the wild and knew she wouldn’t last a week out there. She had considered fleeing to the North, but from the stories she had heard of its cold, harsh winters, she knew she wouldn’t thrive there. And King’s Landing had become no man’s land and she didn’t want to be stuck there during these times. It would only be a matter of days before her father and brothers somehow heard of her presence there, either way and would have her dragged right back. 

The only comforting thought would be the arrival of her family, despite her anger towards her oldest brother and father, she felt it would be of comfort to at least have a face around that she recognized. And Oscar -- her dear, little brother Oscar would at least be neutral and she could convince herself someone was at least on her side. 

She had only been lucky to catch brief bouts of sleep, lasting no more than a half hour each time before she was startled awake by a shout from the distance; once again, awake and staring at the ceiling, before she was roused by a young girl who looked about her age as the sun rose. Its light streamed in through the windows, bringing with it warmth, a nice break in the dreary weather that had been terrorizing the Riverlands for weeks. 

She had dressed with assistance from the same girl whose name she had learned was Grace, her gaze out on the fields and limbs heavy with exhaustion, needing several reminders to lift her arms or to move throughout the process. As she had finished dressing, she was summoned for breakfast, nodding feebly and barely audible as she thanked Grace, before the young blonde girl had nodded and withdrew from her room. She wasn’t even hungry, but she went regardless. 

Still, even at breakfast, as she poked at the eggs on her plate that had been paired with fish, did she imagine what would happen if she were to flee. Would anyone notice? If so, how long of a heads-start would she get before they came searching for her? Would they even search for her? Or would they just accept things as they were and betroth one of her younger cousins to Benjicot in her place? She wondered who it would be if they did, maybe Rose? Elisa? Elisa, even at the tender age of ten-and-four was already beautiful, with her long blonde her and light eyes, an exuberant young woman…

“My lady?” 

Her head snapped up to where another young guard stood opposite of her at the other end of the table, staring at her. Her gaze instinctively scanned down the length of him, a habit to observe that she had — young and handsome in the face, Serra wondered if it was just custom at Raventree that the staff and its people were all striking and easy on the eyes. He stood silent, waiting before he spoke again upon a receiving a simple hum and raise of her brows in acknowledgment, “Your father and brother have arrived. They are in the yard if you would like me to take you to them.” He said, voice deep and smooth as velvet. 

Her gaze dropped to her plate, her stomach churning in rejection at the thought of eating anything more than the three bites she had managed to take. She nodded, standing from her seat with a loud drag of the heavy chair, removing the napkin she had placed in her lap and dropping it over the plate. Folding her hands at her abdomen, she walked around the chair and table to approach the young guard who watched her movements, “Yes, please.” She softly said. 

He turned with a curt nod in her direction, only a few paces ahead as he led her through the doors and into the halls, the walls of the keep otherwise silent aside from their footsteps as they walked out the front doors. He led her down the steps, heading towards the gardens onto a path where they turned right onto, before soon met by the familiar sight of the back of her younger brother’s head; his red hair shone in the sun, dressed in his finer clothes with his back to her as he spoke to another guard, gesturing to the pastures that stretched out for miles. With a nod to the guard who stopped abruptly, she offered a hushed ‘thank you’ before hurrying past him. 

“Oscar!” She called, his head whirling towards her voice. 

A smile lit up his face at the sight of her, apologizing to his companion. He hurried towards her, a brisk walk as he reached out to meet her hands that stretched out towards him, relief washing over her as she tore her hands from his and hugged him.

“Sister?” He laughed, obviously confused by the sudden gesture. 

Though Oscar did not push her away or even cringe away from the gesture, instead awkwardly embracing her with a pat on her shoulder, she sensed his confusion. She pulled away, met by his curious gaze, sighing, “It is good to see you again.” She said, taking one of his hands in hers, “It is good to have a face I recognize here.” She admitted. 

Oscar let out a breath, chuckling and squeezing her hand, “It is good to see you too.” 

“Come, walk with me.” She said, dragging him around as she walked past him and grabbing his elbow with her right hand, “Tell of your journey. How are things back home?” She asked, excitedly as bright eyes stared at her brother, giddy. Oscar laughed once more and allowed her to lead, walking alongside her as they followed the path away from the house. 

“It has only been two days.” He said, teasing her. 

“It feels as though it has been weeks.” She said, waving him off with her free hand. 

His nose scrunched with a smile, rolling his eyes at her theatrics. They walked, her gaze on his face, more than happy to hear of anything but her engagement for the first time in days. He caught her up on the events that had transpired in her short time away, everything down to an alleged spotting of Brackens at the borders between lands; hiding in bushes, but that their cousin and his friends had seen them. A fleet of Blackwood men had pushed them back and issued a warning, according to her brother. She hummed, nodding along and smiling brightly as they walked, content to get out of the cursed walls of Raventree; it almost felt as though nothing had changed and the whole betrothal was nothing but a nightmare. She could have even convinced herself this whole trip was nothing more than just a friendly drop-in. 

“What of Grandsire?” She blurted out, interrupting him while her hand clutched Oscar’s forearm as they walked, his head turning towards the entrance of the estate, scanning as though he was worried someone would overhear as he cautiously eyed the guards that seemed to stand at every corner. His shoulders lifted subtly in a shrug, gaze not quite yet returning to her as she looked straight ahead and followed his pace as they walked. 

“He is not well, as you know.” He reminded her, though it was not new news to her, the man had been on his deathbed for what felt like years, “But…” 

“But?” 

Oscar shrugged again, his head turning finally to look straight ahead as well, scanning along the path that was surrounded by lush greenery — Raventree’s yards much better maintained than theirs back home.

“I heard him and Father and Kermit speaking a few nights before your departure, from the hallway…” Oscar began to explain, her head turning to look at him, his eyes casting a side glance at his sister, “He wishes to support Aegon’s claim to the throne. However,  you know our father’s stance. And Kermit’s.” Oscar said, his words slow and hushed to a volume only they could hear, his head turning fully to look at her.  

If times were different, this kind of betrayal could have had more serious implications — the very act of overthrowing their grandfather, the Paramount Lord of Riverrun, undermining his authority, his very word. If times were different, he might have even pushed for punishment by death if it was in his authority, being that he had been such a hot-tempered man as long as she could remember — he’d maybe seek out another heir, not that he was short of any. But instead, he was just a mere man now, sickly and on his deathbed, aged and too frail to even raise a hand. Serra nodded, silently. 

Serra preferred Oscar’s presence more than Kermit’s. He understood the value of comfortable silences, not filling them out of obligation with empty comments. When he did speak, it was of intelligence, conversations that had sincere depth to them, knowledge and wisdom that flowed so effortlessly. There was no awkwardness, no prying to get an answer. He understood that sometimes she just preferred not to speak. She felt that any tension that clung to her shoulders melted away and she could breathe in his presence and that she could speak freely. 

“Brother tells me you are not happy about your betrothal.” Oscar stated, his eyes ahead as they walked among the gardens, her own drawn to the bushes of flowers just beginning to bloom, silently sighing at the subject, “Your groom, I suppose.” He added, though there was a lilt to his voice that hinted at his own amusement. 

“I take it you knew of their plans.” She pointedly accused, turning to look up at him on her right. 

She could see the corner of his mouth turned up in a half-smile, his shoulders shaking with a laugh, “And you did not think to warn me?” 

“I did not think you would mind…I believe Kermit himself suggested the uncle of Lord of Frey -- Aldean, I believe his name was. A widower, fifty-and-two years of age.” He explained, still teasing his older sister, who did not share his humor over the matter as she abruptly stopped, pulling her arm away. He turned to look at her, met with a frown, “Oh, come on, sister. I only jest.” Oscar said, reaching for her to encourage their walk to resume, however, he sensed her seriousness over the matter and realized there would be no continuing their walk anytime soon. Not until she’d gotten this out of her system.

“I do not find that very funny, Oscar.” She stated. 

“My apologies, sister. I didn't mean to upset you.” He sighed, turning to face her. “But I truly did not think it would be much of an issue.” 

She let out a curt laugh, her expression one of bemusement, “That I would be sold off to the highest bidder, as nothing but a broodmare? Condemned to a life of squeezing out as many heirs as possible?” She ranted. Her brother appeared horrified by her words, eyes widening as he stared at her, mouth agape like a fish out of water. He closed his mouth, blinking rapidly a couple of times and composing himself.

“I assure you that is the last thing Kermit and father wished for you.” He sincerely tried to reason with her, stepping towards her. 

“They’ve condemned me to a life of misery, forced to marry a man who despises me, Oscar.” She snapped, her voice a hiss. “A man who only means to humiliate me and drag my name through the mud for no reason at all. He made that very clear in front of Kermit last night, and he laughed! This…monstrosity was not born of honor or respect, but rather a man’s pride and their want for more power, I am just some pawn to entertain that idea.” 

Oscar hesitated before grabbing her upper arm, beginning to drag her further down the pathway of the garden suddenly, hushing her as he glanced behind them towards the guards who appeared to have been alerted to her rant and had eyed her as she spoke. They crossed the yard, and though she attempted to wriggle from his grasp she was left unsuccessful, confused, and angry as he dragged them another several feet before releasing her, “What do you think you’re doing?” She snapped, stumbling back a step when he released her. He looked at her. 

“You’ve every right to be angry, but need I remind you you’re a noble-highborn lady, sister.” He suddenly interrupted, her mouth open and ready to spew more angry rants. “Do you understand what that means? You’re invaluable, especially now. Especially amidst a war that hangs at our front doorstep, that is sure to bring bloodshed that neither you nor I could ever comprehend. Now I am sorry that Benjicot is not the match you’ve always wished for, but you are a highborn lady-- you have as much a part in this as any of us. I do not mean to scare you but pull your head out of the ground.” 

She gawked at him, eyes wide and processing his words, reflecting on events of the past few weeks. Surely, she hadn’t been naive enough to think that the moment Aegon took the throne as a usurper, she hadn’t expected any less -- that a war of some degree would happen and her brothers and father would be called to the frontlines. But something about the urgency of his tone, the underlying fear there both in voice and face, sent shivers down her spine as she deflated. 

“Sister, listen to me. This was not an easy choice for either of them, I have listened to them these past weeks. But please try to see reason-- this is a time of uncertainty…of fear for even the toughest of men.” He said, closing the gap between to grab her hand, holding it between his as she stared at him, a frown of confusion etching itself into her features, “There are rumors from Kings Landing of Prince Lucerys’ death, some saying that it was one of the King Viserys’ own children who have slain him…”

“What?”

 Kinslaying, in the walls of King's Landing.

“Listen to me!” He snapped in response to her interruption, sighing. “Rhaenyra means to build an army, we have been called upon. The Blackwood’s too, Serra. We will be expected to march to war any day now..” 

She began to withdraw her hand, turning to look back at Raventree and trying to recall where they had entered the gardens from, beginning to hurry from their spot in the yards, “I…must see the father. Surely, these are just rumors.” She muttered, turning from her brother, Oscar’s face falling as he watched after her in a state of despair, his eyes filled with worry as he clenched his jaw, fighting the urge to say anything more than a quiet plea of her name. 

He had said enough. 

—

Serra stood by the doors of the grand hall, watching as her father and Samwell quietly conversed among themselves for what felt like eternity. Stood silently, clinging to whatever corner she could without getting in the way as the house staff rushed about, preoccupied by last-minute preparations ahead of the feast confirming their betrothal to the other houses — in a mere, short hours, everyone in the Riverlands would know that she and Benjicot Blackwood were to be married; a Tully to a Blackwood. Everyone from Raventree, to the Brackens and beyond once word spread. Her father would be sure to make it an occasion to be celebrated, as grand and extravagant as he could muster in these times. 

There was a moment where he had caught her eye, mid-conversation with Samwell. If pride and joy could be embodied into the form of a person, she could have assumed it would have been him right then, a broad smile on his face and looking at her as though she could do no wrong;  as though she had just ended the war before it could even take place and that of any others in the future — she wondered how diluted he had to have become since leaving Riverrun, convincing himself she’d wanted any part of this — Enough that he could suppress his supposed guilt and smile at her like that? 

Serra forced a tight-lipped smile in return while burying any hint of anger that bubbled inside her, instead maintaining her polite attitude and quiet as she allowed the two older men to finish their conversation in the meantime. She clutched her skirts and tucked herself as far out of the way as she could, picking at her nails and watching as the room came together, adorned in hues of burgundy’s, silver, and grey, lavish and extravagant.

It was only once the arrival of guests had begun did they break apart, all smiles and handshakes as they parted ways, that her father turned and made his way towards his daughter. That same soft smile that radiated pride on his face while he reached out for her hands, “My little dove.” He greeted, taking her hands into his as he looked her over, “I hope your journey was a smooth one and your brother’s company to be kind.” Elmo said, his voice laced with sincerity as he eyed his daughter; his gaze prying at the last half of his sentence. 

She drew in a sharp breath, voice small amidst the noise as she replied, “It was…tolerable. Long.” She admitted, her gaze following a young servant boy who barely looked of age as he rushed in with utensils to be laid out at the table, his eyes straight ahead. 

His stare remained on her, scanning her face and noting the tension in his daughter’s features, a contrast to her usually calm demeanor as he gently squeezed her hands to regain her attention. She looked back at him suddenly, gaze dropping to their hands with her mouth pursed, his eyes trying to find hers, “My dear,” he said, head lowering slightly as his concern became palpable by her uncharacteristic behavior. “Something troubles you.” He pointedly stated. 

He watched her shoulders rise and fall with a deep breath, one that was held and let out from behind clenched teeth. She looked up at him and once again in the direction of the table where a young girl was placing down napkins, straightening them with meticulous accuracy to ensure that each piece of fabric was placed identically; the red stitching catching her attention…

“Come, let’s walk and find somewhere to speak where there might not be as many distractions,” Elmo stated, releasing one of her hands and beginning to guide her in the direction of the doors with one arm coming around her shoulders. 

Serra looked up at him, nodding as they walked. She withdrew her hand from his and found his elbow, her other clutching at her skirts to pull them away from her feet, a measure to keep from tripping over the fabric that reached the toes of her shoes; her head down and allowing her father to guide them, offering pleasantries to a pair of councilmen they passed. He led them around the corner and down a hallway, Serra’s shoulders relaxing with relief as they’d found quiet — the hum of workers and chatter, a faint hum in the background, birds chirping from the yard, and the occasional shout from children playing somewhere in the gardens. The hallway was lit by natural lighting from the still bright skies, lined with windows that were almost thrice the size of her; their ledges up to her waist as they walked. After a few minutes of peace and using the opportunity to breathe for the first time since that morning, Serra was reminded of her conversation with Oscar, her eyes out the window to her right and stiffening again. 

“Tell me what bothers you, dove.” Elmo suddenly said from her left, her hands clasping together around his elbow; fidgeting with a ring on her right hand. 

“You did not tell me you were summoned to war.” She stated, turning her head to look at her father, whose features softened and morphed into a look of sorrow. 

“Because we haven’t…not yet, at least.” Elmo honestly replied, watching his daughter’s face intently, searching for any sort of emotion that could pinpoint her feelings, even a twitch of her lip or a squint. “I did not think it to be of any concern. I figured you would…become too engrossed in your wedding planning.” He continued, letting out a sigh as he covered her hands with one of his own, her own two hands enveloped by one of his with ease. 

“Why send me away now?” She asked, voice quiet and childlike. “Why not let me stay? Help somehow?” 

“You are helping, dove— by being here.” He assured, stopping their pace to pause in the middle of the bridge that overlooked the yards. He looked at her, “This is how you help. By being here— the sacredness of marriage and creating alliances that will help us in the days to come, that is your battle. Securing our house’s future, my dear girl.” He softly said. 

Her eyes stung with tears that welled up as she sucked in a breath, a flurry of emotions swelling in her chest— the anger, grief for what could have been if things had been different, the sadness. The fear and dread. 

“I know this is not what you wanted and I am sorry for placing you in this position against your will. And I am sorry for putting the needs of our house over your happiness,” he said, taking one of her hands into his and squeezing it gently as he lowered his head, ensuring he was eye-to-eye while they spoke, “But I know you will be safe here, even when I cannot be here to see to it myself.” 

“And what of you? Of Kermit and Oscar?” She asked finally, “Of grandfather?” 

Elmo’s mouth pursed into a line, stress lines creasing themselves deep into his face, “I will continue acting in your grandfather’s place, he’s too…old and senile to act in his better judgment. I would sooner deal with his weakened wrath than that of Rhaenyra’s dragons.” He muttered, patting her hand, “Kermit is to marry Lyanna Grey and Oscar to Margaery Chambers by year’s end.”

She looked away, looking back out the window behind her and towards the fields beyond the gates of Raventree, an ache in her chest at the thought of her brother’s facing the same fate she’d been doomed to; forced into a loveless marriage, “Is this what mother would have wanted for us? To marry strangers, without knowing what it was to be loved in return?” She quietly asked, unable to meet his gaze as her head turned and she found herself staring at her feet, fidgeting under his stare. 

Her words could have broken his heart then and there, the sight of his daughter so distraught. Duty aside, Elmo Tully had never been a cruel man and loved his children dearly. 

“No…” he admitted honestly, “she would not have.” He quietly added.

Serra let out a laugh under her breath, a bitter sound as she slid her hands from his and fidgeted with a stray fabric on her skirt. Elmo watched her for a moment, “And what comes from this marriage? What do we receive?” She asked, her tone changing to one more resembling anger, shaking as she spoke and looked up at him. 

He pondered his next words, a deep breath being exhaled from his nose, “We have promised military and territorial support to the Blackwoods in addition to your dowry. They in return have promised a trade agreement for routes directly between the two houses, resources controlled by their house, and their military aid. They’ve promised troops and weaponry.” Elmo slowly explained to not overwhelm her, running through the negotiation that had taken weeks to come by. “Benjicot has promised to keep you safe and act as your sworn protector, which is the most important thing to me.” 

Serra’s hands flung up with a sharp laugh, hardly able to believe his words as she turned and neared the ledge of the window, “And what might he protect me from, other than him?”

Her father stood back for a moment as she leaned into the ledge with her hands, a breeze passing through the corridor. He slowly approached her once he felt he had given her enough a moment to breathe, keeping some space between them and taking her left, looking out where she stared, “I know you two have not seen eye-to-eye in previous years and have had your quarrels. I recognize that it may not have been my best decision and may come as a betrayal.” 

He said, looking over at her while her gaze avoided him, straight ahead, “I know it is daunting marrying a stranger, someone who you do not love or trust yet. When I first married your mother, I barely knew her. But over time, we grew to love and understand each other deeply. Your mother and I learned to support and respect each other through our journey together. You and Benjicot will have the same opportunity to grow and build a bond if you give things a chance to…grow.” He tried to reassure her, unsure if he was successful as she did not even glance at him. 

He turned his head and rocked back and forth against the ledge for a moment, “I know he was not the best as a child, but he’s grown despite his antics. Kermit tells me last night did not go as he hoped, he and his father extended their apologies this morning.” he explained, earning another bitter laugh, “Benjicot is a good man though, with good values and he is loyal. In time I can only hope that he will prove that and you will come to appreciate his character.” Elmo said, suddenly drawn to the sound of grunts and wood colliding from beneath them, craning his head to catch a glimpse of a training pit that had been haphazardly built, two boys swinging their swords in a spar; his body turned towards his daughter but watching on as he spoke.

Serra turned to him finally, frowning, “You think he will treat me with the respect and kindness I deserve? Do you truly think he has grown? Because it seems like everyone else believes that to be true, but he’s yet to show me any signs of that.” 

“I do.” 

“And if you’re wrong?” She asked. “Then I’m to be doomed to a life of misery and suffering, married to a man who finds me insufferable?” 

His gaze lifted from the spar below them, letting out a chuckle at his daughter’s rant and reaching out again to gather one of her hands in his, “You will be fine, I am sure of it.” He softly said, “While it’s natural to feel uncertain, trust that this union has the potential to bring joy and strength. Give it a chance, as I did with your mother. You have the support and strength of our entire family behind you. We will be here for you every step of the way, dove.” 

They stared at each other for a moment, and though Serra was unsure she felt any more confident in Benjicot, she felt a sense of comfort in her father’s words. His free hand lifted to cup her face, stepping forward and pressing a kiss to the top of her head, “You are a Tully, my dear girl. You will always be okay.” He muttered into her hair, backing up and releasing her hand. His gaze flickered towards the pit below them once more, flashing her a smile before he took his leave, brushing past her and returning in the direction of the hall without saying anything more and leaving her in silence, processing his words; picking at the edges of her nails, plucking at the skin. 

Her interest peaked at whatever his eyes had found amidst the yard as a shout interrupted her thoughts. 

Her gaze turned down to where her father’s own had been moments prior. She had to lean over the ledge of the window to see where his attention had been drawn to — there, her eyes landed on a dirt patch in a clearing of grass, a brown-haired boy engaged in a spar with another boy, circling one another with wood swords in hand; stripped down to their tunics as they trained, doublets long-since abandoned in the grass. Serra had never been one to take an interest in the hobbies of men, having never understood the fun of rolling in the dirt with faux swords, but as they turned slightly, her gaze was drawn to the taller boy of the two. 

Benjicot. He turned, broad-shouldered, lean, and admittedly handsome Benjicot, whose gaze was transfixed intensely on his opponent — a boy she recognized as a cousin of his — with such focus, sword in his right hand. His sweat-slick face, red and flushed, pulled into a frown of concentration. She watched on as he swung the sword down on the boy opposite of him, the swords colliding in a crack! that echoed through the yard, causing his opponent to stumble back before the sword swung in his direction again; just missing his belly and leaping back out of its path. There was hardly a chance for his cousin to recoil from his attack, the sword once more being swung upwards and just missing his chin in the process. She could admit that Benjicot was not just another Southern boy, weak and existing behind false confidence — Benjicot was also powerful and fierce. He was a ferocious warrior in battle. He was an impressive force to be reckoned with. Suddenly, the thought of her brothers and father fighting alongside him on the battlefield did not seem as daunting or terrifying to think about. 

She continued to watch on as his cousin stumbled back, holding his sword up and blindly swinging at Benjicot, who responded by lifting his right foot and kicking him by his chest onto his back with one swift blow; sending the male reeling backward into the dirt with a grunt when his head slammed back into the ground. Benjicot quickly stood over him, the tip of his sword being pressed against his throat, panting, “I thought you said you were going to take it easy today.” His cousin panted. 

Benjicot withdrew his sword, the pair laughing as he offered a hand to assist him to his feet after a moment, “I did.” He replied.

The two boys quietly chatted amongst themselves for a moment longer, laughter echoing across the yard. His cousin -- Emrys, a boy she had met once prior -- laughed as he walked away from their place in the training circle with a clap to his shoulder, shaking his head at whatever Benjicot muttered as he walked out of sight and into the castle floor beneath her. Serra, however, lingered; watching Benjicot now, who was seemingly unaware of her presence, go to the grass to pick up his doublet and a spare sword that sat beneath it. His back had been turned to her as he wiped off the swords of dust, his gaze cast out on the field that was slowly being engulfed by dusk for a minute.

She began to recede from her spot after a few minutes more passed, hoping to turn and leave before he even had the chance to see her. However, she was unsuccessful in her feat as he turned around abruptly, eyes turning their attention up to the balcony she stood on and meeting her gaze as she flushed with embarrassment and remained frozen to the spot -- there was no hiding the fact that she had been watching him now, looking down at him. His mouth twitched, the lines in his face appearing for half a second, but gone just as quickly as though what she assumed was a scowl threatened to surface as he held her gaze. 

Instead, he bowed. 

“My lady.” He muttered, standing upright before striding back inside; her gaze stuck on the spot where he had been. 

She blinked, glancing behind her once, the fact dawning on her that in moments, he would be in her hallway and she would be face to face with him. She clenched her fists, embarrassed enough as is and red-faced, beginning to hurry back to her chambers; the sound of footsteps echoing from the staircase as she passed them. If the Gods were cruel, they would have had her run right into him, but if they had any mercy to spare her-- 

Her thought was interrupted, slamming her door behind her and pressing her back to it, wide-eyed as she stood there, struggling to hold her breath to be as quiet as possible. She listened carefully to the hallway, able to make out the sound of footsteps approaching her door. Surely, he had not come to confront her? She hadn’t done anything wrong. 

The footsteps slowed to a complete stop just beyond her door, halting there, just outside. She tensed up completely, eyes closing as she silently crept further into her room and away from the door, praying the floor would not give away her presence as she slowly walked towards the center of the room; hand over her mouth to silence her heavy breathing and glancing towards the door to see if she could make out any feet beneath the door. Though she could not see anyone, even as she bent over at the waist and strained her eyes, she could still sense their presence. 

The footsteps suddenly continued, walking past her doorway quickly and receding down the hallway until she could no longer hear them, free to breathe and finally relax. What in good God's name was he doing? Was he just hellbent on tormenting her, by stalking around the castle like that? Surely, this couldn’t be the same man her father thought had changed and grown out of his tactics of terrorizing her as a child. 

She continued backing up until her knees met the frame of the bed, her hand dropping away from her mouth and letting out a sigh as she sat down. 

—

Benjicot did not even wish to join the feast.

The thought made him feel sick, doing everything in his power to prolong his having to head down to the dinner hall that had been busy with servants finalizing decorating, and setting up before they began greeting guests — he could hear the chatter from his chamber, and if he looked outside, stuck his head out the window and turned his head just right, he could see them coming and going with supplies. On the other hand, he knew if he was too late, his father would sooner have his head on a spike — there seemed to be no winning for him these days. 

Rather than feed into the dread that sat heavy in the pit of his stomach like a ball of lead, he chose to busy himself with tasks that had value to them, tasks that would busy his mind — rather than twiddle his thumbs, he organized and skimmed through his old history textbooks; previously a stack on the floor in a corner of his chambers. Rather than chew his nails, he chose to seek out Emrys and train. But even that had not done much for him, coming face to face with one source of his anxiety — feeling her gaze watch his every move. He could feel his shoulders tense, realizing someone was watching him from somewhere behind, and coming to find the Tully girl on the balcony that overlooked the training ground; reeling back when he turned. The very sight of her caused the taste of bile to crawl up the back of his throat, anger bubbling up inside him that he was forced to push down, somewhere deep within him.

He could still hear his father’s voice, his hand at his neck and warning him whenever he saw her — and then that stupid look on her face when he had come out of the doors the night prior. Pitiful and sad. 

He hadn’t even realized he was doing it, coming to her door and stopping outside of it, unsure what possessed him to follow her there — he didn’t have anything to say to her. He didn’t need anything from her. Maybe he just wanted to look at her again. Benjicot could hear her footsteps from beyond the door, creeping further from him as he could presume she was trying to get as far away from the door. And just as quickly as he had slipped into a daze that found him at her door, he shook it off and stormed back to his room, fists balled at his sides and jaw clenched. 

His gaze was fixed on the ceiling of his room, the servants coming and going meanwhile, with their gazes down as they retrieved soaps and oils for the young heir before hurrying out as quickly as they rushed in without a word. The room soon fell into a silence as he sank into the tub, embracing its warmth that worked to ease the tension in his muscles with his arms laid out over the sides of the tub, and clutching the ledges with a white-knuckled grip — he should have found it relaxing…the silence and the warmth the water provided. But the past twenty-four hours had left him too on edge to think of anything more than the war, his father’s words…his soon-to-be-bride. His head turned, leaning against his right shoulder as his hand released the tub, watching his fingers flex, stretching out before clenching into a fist. 

Benjicot had never pictured himself to be much of a husband. As a boy, he understood the duty of it — of marriage and honor, the need for heirs to keep their house strong, their future line secure. That was the value of it, after all. Was security. Built through hundreds of years of alliances, marriage pacts, and children that would follow the path of their father and their father before him. Just as Benjicot’s father had done at the young age of ten and six. 

Benjicot did not remember much about his mother  — he did not even know who she was before all the grief and illness that kept her confined to her room, as his father had avoided the topic of her much throughout his childhood. After trying to ask about her time and time again after she passed when he was ten-and-one, Benjicot gave up. Of the very little he could manage to get out of his father, he knew that she had struggled in childbirth with him, that she had reached for him, brought him to her chest, and uttered her love for him. Benjicot resembled his mother in a lot of ways — he was a splitting image of his sweet mother but had taken his father’s hair color. She had been born a Lannister and married into the Blackwood’s, barely sixteen herself; well-spoken and confident. Benjicot knew his father loved her, even if he did not say it aloud. 

He could recall the pain in his eyes whenever he pressed the subject to know her better, dismissing him as a boy and ending the conversation at that. 

“She loved you.” Was all he could offer.

Benjicot had heard whispers, too. That there had been at least four stillborn and two miscarriages before him; wracking her with guilt and grief that left her bedridden for days on end. His father had spent weeks trying to coax her from her room, taking her meals to her. There had been one more stillborn after him and that had been it, the final straw. That was the only version Benjicot had come to know — the empty shell of a woman, who sat by her window, looking out over the pastures for hours at a time with empty, sunken in eyes, struggling just to eat the least amount of food she could. She was skin and bones, and Benjicot feared that if he had hugged her too tight, she might crumble in his arms. The sight of her that last year frightened him honestly. 

He shook off the thought, sinking further into the tub until the water lapped at his chin, knees bent up and out of the water to accommodate the short tub that was already a tight squeeze for him. If that grief and that pain and agony was part of “honor and duty”…Benjicot wanted no part of it. He had distanced himself from the subject of marriage after his mother’s funeral and had avoided any mention of it as best he could. The horror he felt when his father had gone behind his back and forced his hand was undoubtedly made even worse by the prospect of his bride. 

A girl who could barely look him in the eye, more fascinated by bugs and creatures than to have had the decency to introduce herself when they first met. He could recall her mother having to introduce her, bent at her side and reminding her daughter of propriety; only then did she quietly speak her name, covered in dirt. Benjicot could have forgiven it if she had taken to something like swordsmanship and training in battle like his aunt had — a skilled warrior with an arrow, but instead, she collected bugs.

Surely, she’d had a say in their match, as well. 

The very idea perplexed him that she would even choose him after everything. Benjicot had never been shy of making it known that he could not stand her as children. Even if they had both grown up and changed since he still could not see the reason behind it or what she had to benefit by choosing him. Benjicot Blackwood was a man who needed to understand and have an answer for everything.

Benjicot was not unaware that she had grown much since they had last seen each other. He also could not deny that she had taken a likeness to her mother’s beauty, having grown into her looks in womanhood — she could not have been short of her pick from potential suitors who would have given her the time of day, asking for her hand. She was by means not unlucky in looks. She had less interest in playing with bugs that crawled all over her these days, too. The very fact that he could not make sense of it frustrated him to no end; instead, thoughts of Serra Tully stirred a feeling in his belly, ones that spread across his chest that he could not quite place a finger on — a mix of fury and…something more. 

He sat up abruptly with a growl, water splashing around him and over the ledge of the tub; spilling over onto the wooden floors as he cupped some of the water between his hands and splashed it into his face. His hands carded through his hair, tugging at the roots as he let out a sigh that echoed off the walls of his chamber, slumping back against the tub — this seemed to be his only safe space, away from the suffocating reality of the expectations placed upon him, laying heavy on his shoulders. It was doing little to rid him of the thoughts that plagued his mind if even just for a moment.

He stilled, frozen and unmoving as a thought crossed his mind. His right hand, which had found its way back to the ledge of the tub, slid underneath the water, his hand slipping between his thighs and taking his cock into his grasp— confident he would have some time at least. He was desperate for some kind of distraction at this point, a last-ditch effort to soothe his mind as his hand moved with languid movements against himself, head hanging back against the headrest as his eyes closed and he started to relax for a moment; attempting to lose himself in the lewd act. His mouth dropped open with a sigh, the early flickers of arousal beginning to burn in his belly as his hand increased pace, chest rising with a heavy breath— 

“My lord.”

The door shot open with minimal warning, Alistair’s voice interrupting the silence as he entered the room, coming to an abrupt stop at the door. The sudden interruption caused Benjicot to shoot upright in the tub, hand leaving his crotch and gripping the tub once more to pull himself forward, hissing, “Fuck!” He shouted, heart pounding as he panted, a hand dragging over his face, “What? What is it?” He snapped hurriedly, humiliated.

Alistair stuttered for a moment, visibly flustered as Benjicot turned his head slightly to look at him; hair falling into his eyes that he quickly brushed back. He nodded, “My apologies, my lord, I--…” he said, pausing. “Your father and the Tully’s have already been seated in the great hall. As have your guests. Your father has asked for you.” 

Benjicot was still trying to bring down his heart rate when he nodded, waving him out dismissively, “Thank you.” He grumbled. 

Alistair nodded once more at the heir, gaze down as he turned and rushed from the room, allowing Benjicot to finally slump back again; face burning from the humiliation of their interaction. 

— 

The feast was loud and dragging on. 

Benjicot had arrived and been greeted by the familiar faces of the many other houses of the Riverlands, painfully aware they were not oblivious to and noted his lateness as punctuality had not a trait that he had ever been known for since he was a boy. He had become quite practiced at avoiding their gazes as he took his seat, not bringing any further attention to himself than was necessary -- or at least more than already was. It had been no secret that the feast was hosted on his behalf, specifically emphasized in the letters that had been dispatched by Raven two days prior, and he could have only assumed that everyone had some inkling of what had brought them together. Samwell Blackwood was not a man who cared for hosting events as grand as this occasion had turned out to be often unless it was of high importance, and it had been no secret that he intended to find a wife for his son. Even glancing around, Benjicot could have counted at least a half dozen of the Lords who were within arms reach who had offered their daughters hands since he was ten-and-six, his face buried in a chalice of wine and scanning the table. 

His father, although he had announced his arrival with feigned pride at the sight of the boy Lord, Benjicot could see the hint of a discontented frown from the opposite end of the table when he entered. He had remained silent, however, relieved but unsure if he preferred the silence over a scold, leaving him on edge the entire night. 

It didn’t help his nerves that the only chair that had been saved for him was nestled right in between his father and his betrothed at his right, with Elmo sitting across from him on his father’s left, Kermit across from Serra. He had balled his hands into fists at his side during the walk to his seat at the head of the table, bowing his head with a muttered greeting to the Tully father and son who offered pleasantries among the hum of conversation. Meanwhile, Serra’s eyes had remained down at the table, hands in her lap, demurely sitting beside him and only briefly catching his stare when he muttered a quiet greeting to her while pulling out his chair and sitting down. 

They remained otherwise silent, the quiet that had befallen them only broken by his father, spiraling into Elmo and Kermit making conversation by recalling stories of their childhood. Benjicot sat with his elbows on the table in front of him, hands clasped together while his chin rested on his knuckles, humming and letting out a chuckle sometimes in response to certain memories, his eyes otherwise scanning the table and the guests. He watched the way they became rowdier with more wine. 

His thoughts were interrupted by the clink of a cup, his father standing from the table. The table finally silenced for the first time in hours, eyes watching his father with anticipation as he held his chalice high. 

"Lords and ladies, esteemed friends and allies, it is with great pleasure and honor that I stand before you tonight. In the spirit of unity and the strengthening of bonds between our noble houses, I am delighted to announce the betrothal of my beloved son, Benjicot, to the gracious and noble, Serra, daughter of Lord Elmo of House Tully.” Samwell announced, his voice carrying to every corner of the room. He paused, looking down at the young couple who looked up at him, his gaze landing on his son and nodding to himself before he continued, “May their union bring prosperity, joy, and enduring friendship to our families. Let us raise our glasses in celebration of this auspicious occasion." He finally finished, looking back out at the table that erupted in applause and cheerful exclamations of agreement. 

Benjicot, however, sharply inhaled; fighting the urge to scowl as he looked into his nearly empty cup, hiding his stare as his father began to sit down. In the corner of his eye, he witnessed a guard come forward, Alistair standing over his shoulder when Ben’s eyes lifted briefly to look over and see him muttering something into his ear; witnessing the moment his father tensed up. 

“Excuse me, pardon-- I…” Samwell said, standing up again. 

The prying eyes of the room remained on Samwell as he nodded, the guard stepping back and towards the wall where he had planted himself. The Blackwood Lord slowly turned his attention back to the table that had fallen silent, awaiting his next words, his cool stare shifting around for a moment before his mouth opened once more, “My apologies for disturbing your supper once again,” He begrudgingly stated,  “It has been brought to my attention that…the Prince Jaehaerys Targaryen was murdered in his bed last night.” 

It was at that point that all hell broke loose, his words met with a gasp from somewhere at the table before the table erupted in men’s anger and uproar at the news. Meanwhile, Benjicot watched his father slowly sit back down in silence, the prior joy on his face now replaced by a stoic expression; visibly drawn back into his thoughts as Elmo spoke up, “Gods be good... Pray that he went quickly.” He quietly muttered, his hand tightening around his chalice as the chaos raged on in light of the news. 

“Yes…” Benjicot blurted, his gaze meeting Elmo’s from across the table, the latter of whom had gone for a drink from his cup; glancing between the young lord and his daughter who was visibly shaken by the news, her hands now clenched on the table. Benjicot could make out in the corner of his eye as she looked over at him, turning his head just enough and looking down at her left hand that was closest to him. He released his cup, setting it down against the table, and reached across to lay his hand over hers as if to comfort her though he could feel her stiffen. He disregarded her reaction and turned back to her father, “Pray that his suffering has ended.”

Benjicot watched as her father stared at their hands, glancing again between them before he visibly relaxed at the sight and nodded in response to his words. He wasn’t certain his eyes were playing tricks on him, but he saw the small hint of a smile on Elmo’s face, thrown in the direction of his daughter that was brief before he looked away.  Serra’s hand quickly withdrew to drop into her lap, her gaze bearing into the side of his face as he lifted his chalice then with the now free hand and took a drink -- he only meant to gauge her reaction, get some hint of his prior question on her motive. He let out a ‘hm’ into his cup, his eyes casting left and meeting hers, his eyebrows shooting up. She looked down. 

He had an answer he could work with at least.

TAGLIST: @tannyfairy @username199945, @cxcilla, @thethiccestdaddy, @deltamoon666, @drwho-ess, @callsigncrushx , @clarityisnofun @jhepolie, @juhdoche @majoso12 @roseheart5 , @nixtape-foryou , @poppyflower-22 @accidentpronedork

[monika-396]

Stories that should be turned into full muppet movies (feel free to add more)

Sherlock Holmes (can be adaptation of the original books or the muppet comic released back in 2010)

Literally any of Shakespeare's story.

Romeo and Juliet? Make Gonzo and Camilla play them.

Hamlet? Can be either Robin the frog going to avenge his dad uncle Kermit or maybe make it Miss Piggy the protagonist to make a pun out of the tittle.

Dracula (Uncle Deadly here's your call)

The Three Muskeeters (staring Kermit, Fozzie, Gonzo and either Robin, Scooter or Rowlf as D'artagnan)

Don Quixote

The Little Prince (with Robin playing the prince and Kermit playing the Pilot, obviously)

The Pirates of Penzance (I just wanna see a full muppet version of I am the Very Model of a Modern Major General)

Moby-Dick (find the right writers and they'll have a field day sneaking adult jokes into the script)

The Phantom of the Opera

The Nutcracker (we had the disney one, we had the barbie one, we need to have a muppet one! Maybe make an exception and make Elmo play the nutcracker and Zoe play Clara)

The Wizard of Oz (the og books not the MGM movie)

Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde (the chance to bring Constantine back)

Frankenstein (the chance to make Dr Bunsen the main character for once)

[moseslikellamas]

♱𖣂 Redfork Menace ♱𖣂 pt.30 Finale pt. 1

Benjicot Blackwood x Bracken!OC

Summary - the trial continues and there are a few upsets along the way.

Warnings - fem!reader, suspense, adult language, period typical misogyny, condescension, adult language, feelings of shame, feelings of guilt, feelings of rage, feelings of hatred, fantasies of murder, fantasies of suicide, manipulation, benjicot brainrot, Kieran Burton fancast.

Word count - 3.7k

She is a chonker!! And I lied there will be one more chapter. Haha oops ✨✌🏻🤪

Martyn had talked for what felt like forever by the time his testimony ended. Shanda’s legs were shaking with the sheer mental effort it kept to keep herself there under the weight of collective judgment. But eventually they had taken their seats and watched in a helpless sea of torment as Joth Piper weaved his own tale. His main argument was hinged upon their mother having left the kingsroad to cross unauthorized, across the pinkmaiden road. He argued that it was only reasonable that the guard acted, regardless of the inhabitants. It was a stupid argument and she knew it was to rile Martyn up. It was paltry defense but enough of a cover for anyone bribed into supporting him to hide behind.

When Violet Smallwood, Fisher now she amended mentally, gave her testimony she felt satisfaction at the enraged look on the various Piper 's face. They had already presented the dagger and necklace as evidence. Several Bracken family members and guards had confirmed that they belonged to the deceased parties. Martyn and Alysanne were pivotal in that they witnessed Pipers with the items in their possession. But she knew it wasn’t enough to sway all of the riverlords. Years of riverland politics was at play undercutting the trial and she would need more to sway years-long alliances. The very thing Elmo was trying to eliminate. Something was nagging at her about Violet’s testimony but she couldn’t decide what it was. So she put it off to the side as she listened to a member of house Frey testify on the behalf of the Pipers.

“We will have a short three hour break. Lunch will be served shortly.”

No warnings accompanied Elmo’s words after the Frey’s finished speaking. She didn’t think anyone was willing to try him at the current moment. The lackluster energy was accented by how quietly people dismissed themselves from the hall. She watched as her father darted out of the room with a worrying speed.

“I’ve got to speak to Elmo.” Alysanne said, hardly looking at them before she was on the lord's heels as he left the room.

“What is sh-“

“I better go with her.” Benjicot interrupted her, his eyes never leaving his aunt as he left.

She turned to her brother. “What is their problem?”

He shrugged. “Maybe they’re bribing Lord Tully. Can’t hurt to try.”

She rolled her eyes at him and grabbed his arm, dragging him up from the table. “While I wouldn’t put it past Alysanne to try, I don’t think that’s what they're up to.”

She felt a heavy weight come off of her shoulders as they stepped outside of the room full of people milling about, waiting for lunch. The hallways were less crowded as they made their way to a familiar drawing room with a set of large windows. The rain was coming down in a torrent that never ended. She could see the trees whipping in the wind and the ground was littered with debris. The two of them stood together staring out at the madness, watching the lightning light up the dark clouds.

“Martyn, you said you got into a fight with Royce the day Stone Hedge was set ablaze right?”

She felt his eyes on her face as she stared at the ripping water beneath them, the rain causing the surface to dance.

“Yeah. I told you, he thought it was you. When he saw you at the river.”

She nodded, still thinking about Violet's testimony. She’d given them plausibility that the Pipers were headed in that direction and Mellara could confirm she had seen them in the area. But no one could place them at Stone Hedge. Martyn hadn’t seen who started the fire, he had admitted that himself.

“But you didn’t know where he was during the fire?”

He stared at her bewildered. “I assume he was in the stables. I never asked him though because well, we weren’t exactly on speaking terms.”

When she continued staring out the window he turned to face her fully. “What’s this about? You’re not implying Royce did it are you? Cause the thought crossed my mind briefly but no way.”

She shook her head. “No, I don’t think he did it. But I think he might’ve seen whoever did it. We still don’t have a way to place them at the scene. We just ask Royce if he saw anything out of the ordinary. He worked in the stables, Martyn. He would know if anyone odd or different rode in to stay the night.”

Understanding dawned on his face. “You’re a genius. Let’s go.”

The two of them hurriedly made their way to Royce’s room where he was spending the time with his betrothed.

***

“You’re the Lord Paramount!”

“Aye and even if I were the old king himself I could not make them vote any differently than they will!” Elmo yelled back, finally frustrated enough to lose his temper with the small terror who had become his shadow. He sighed. “Look, the trial is going your way. Keep going, there’s still time.”

“Not if the cards are stacked against us! They’re bribing people! I saw houses Wayn and Vypren taking sacks of gold for the gods sake!”

“And if you’d like to file a formal complaint, I’m all ears Alysanne. But unless you do, I’m afraid I can’t interrupt the proceedings.”

Alysanne growled, throwing her hands up in defeat. “It would only be more of the same! The secret deals and politicking.”

At that the lord actually laughed. “Tell me about it. Now imagine that and there’s a troublemaking woman who’s decided you need a second skin berating you for it all hours of the night. I have a wife, you know.”

Benjicot stepped in front of his aunt, sensing she was about to blow a fuse. He wanted to save them both the trouble. “And you aren’t open to a litll-“

The look Elmo shot him could have melted him to nothing in an instant. He held his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “Just checking. I know the Tully honor never wavers.” He smiled at the man before stepping back and pulling Alysanne with him out of the room.

She protested loudly the entire time but they’d caused the Lord enough grief for a good long while.

“Alysanne! Snap out of it. Fume all you like but stop acting like a baby about it. Elmo’s done all he can for us.”

She swelled up, inhaling as if she were going to tear into him before she deflated. “You’re right, I guess.” She sighed. “There’s got to be something we can do.” She whispered and Benjicot could hear the gears turning in her head.

“Come on.” He said, pulling her away from the wall where she’d slumped. “Let’s go find our better halves.”

Alysanne snorted at that but stood nonetheless to join him.

***

“I don’t understand. What do the stables have to do with the fire?”

Shanda rolled her eyes, hands planted firmly on her hips and explained for the fourth time to her baby brother why it mattered.

“Because Royce, the Pipers obviously wanted to sow discord among us. They wouldn’t show up waving their banners would they? No, they would send a small group. Maybe even just one person. Do you remember anyone coming to stay around that time?”

Royce sat quiet, his face drawn tight in concentration. “I dunno, Shan. I don’t remember anyone coming by. It was just me.” He sat silently, looking distressed. “There was only me. But well, there was an old guy who came by. One of the smallfolk on a donkey, slept beside me on a stack of hay.”

Bingo, she thought. Royce spent more time in the stables than out and he almost never forgot a face. He was friendly with smallfolk and the house help everywhere. That kindness extended to those around Stone Hedge. He’d been caught more than once sneaking food out of the castle walls to them.

“How long did he stay?”

“Two or three days. I remember because I was a bit sad to see him go. I’d gotten up early because we were supposed to rehearse a song he was showing me. But well, his donkey was gone and I figured he just moved on.”

He shrugged and she could tell he still hadn’t considered the man to be the one to set the fire. She was willing to bet it all that he was. “Would you remember his face, if you saw it again?”

“Of course.” He looked at her incredulously and then she saw understanding settle over him. “You think he was the one to set the fire?”

“We’re about to find out. Come on.”

“Thank the gods.” He said, grinning. “I never thought I’d find a way into the courtroom.”

“You were trying?” Martyn asked in disbelief.

“Actually we both were.” Lady Lyla Blantree spoke up from behind them.

Shanda just laughed. Elmo had made a bad pairing after all, the two of them were going to wreck havoc. The four of them set out to identify the arsonist. The walk there was uneventful. Though she was wishing they had saved the calm for when they arrived. As the Pipers were scattered all about the room and it was very clear that they were actively wheeling and dealing people. Shanda felt her face grow hot with anger. She spotted Benjicot and Alysanne huddled together at a table and directed the group towards them.

Through clenched teeth she said, “Tell me you were bribing Elmo.”

“Would that we could.” Benji answered.

“You guys come up with anything?” Alysanne asked.

“We think Royce might’ve seen the guy who set the fire.” Shanda whispered conspiratorially, glancing around to ensure no one was listening to them. And most importantly that there were no Pipers lingering around. “Problem is it might not matter if they bribe every house in the fucking riverlands.” She continued bitterly.

“Which one is it?”

“I need to look.” Royce answered her. He was craning his neck to try and see the scattered Pipers.

Alysanne had already left, probably to harass Elmo again and Benjicot let her. It was to their benefit even if it was to Elmo’s detriment.

“We need to get them all together.” Lyla whispered and Shanda nodded.

“But how do we do it?”

Benjicot motioned to Alysanne across the hall, talking animatedly to Elmo on the dais. “I think that’s what she’s working on.”

They all watched as she talked to the lord intently until Martyn cleared his throat. “Eat, don’t stare them down. People will start to notice.”

Shanda knew anyone who was going to notice already had the second Alysanne stood up from the table but she turned her gaze away anyway. She began to eat despite not wanting to. It gave her something to do with her hands if nothing else. It stopped her from the insatiable urge she had to leap across the room and throttle Joth Piper to death in broad daylight. If her brothers were keeping it together, so could she. When Alysanne returned, a bit of the tension eased at the table.

“He won’t do a lineup but I think he was right not to. Might tip them off, who knows what they’ll do then. He’s going to call you up there, Royce.”

Just then Lord Elmo’s voice rang out in the hall, calling him up just as she said. “Take a good long look while you’re up there!” She hissed as Royce stood to walk over.

“If you’re right-“ Alysanne started before Shanda cut her off, watching her brother walk to the front.

“Whatever it is you're about to say, say it after I’m right.”

***

It was bedlam. It was clear the Pipers were wildly successful in bribing a good portion of the riverlands. After Mellara testified there was unrest among the spectators who were feeling the heat of justice bear down on them. But it hadn’t been enough to ruffle them completely, just as they had known it wouldn’t be. The same could not be said once Royce had tapped Elmo on the shoulder. House Ryger was testifying when it happened. His voice had slowly trailed off as her brother leaned down to tell the lord he’d seen the man.

The tune had changed the moment Lord Tully held up his hand before standing to declare a short intermission. He left the room and all of them anxiously looked at each other, waiting for their liege to return. Shanda wondered curiously why he had left but perhaps he was calling for more guards, sensing the situation at hand was about to explode. He had been very sensible in making that call if that was the case. As when he returned and called them to order, it felt like lightning could strike right there in the middle of the floor. He waited a long minute before he spoke, she had wondered why he was dragging it out. But she knew now it was to allow the guards time to arrive and move into position. All of the crowd's attention was so focused on Elmo that they did not notice the fish swimming up beside them.

Then he said, “Joss Rivers.” A young man, no older than fifteen stood. Elmo continued, “You stand accused of arson. How do you plead?”

The room had gone insane at that and it was only then that she noticed the abundance of Tully guards standing around the room. Shanda watched with growing dismay as the lords of the riverlands yelled over each other with angry fervor. She felt like she was deep underwater, watching them from under the waves. In the middle of it all stood a scrawny and shaking boy. She felt sick at the sight of him. Elmo was screaming in the background but it only added to the cacophony of noise around them. Is this who we are? She thought, watching grown men fighting. Half were salivating to hang a child and half were trying to paint her brother as an unreliable madman, in her mother’s murder trial. Where did they draw the line? Could they ever draw one that would stick?

The storm outside raged harder than ever before, the ground shook beneath them as the thunder rolled through the riverlands. Elmo would not dismiss them, the doors were barricaded as they tried to quell the raging crowd. All Shanda could think was someone should help Joss off of the floor. He was terrified and she knew Joth Piper would be all too pleased to allow this bastard boy to lay claim to the crime. Shanda had no doubt the boy had lit the fire but he was no killer. He had no station, no strength, no name. And he was as white as a moonlit lily, shaking like a leaf in the wind. It was a sure strike against the Pipers though. Joss Rivers was Joth Pipers little bastard cousin, he lived in Pinkmaiden. And who else would the boy be riding with through the river lord's lands?

The outrage was split between those who’d hoped to make a sweet deal off of supporting the Pipers at minimal social damage and those who wanted to see justice enacted against a known criminal. Fifteen was nearly a man grown and he would be held responsible for his crimes. Royce had named him personally to the lord paramount. There was no undoing that damage. She just wished it had been anyone else, preferably Joth Piper himself as much as she knew it wouldn’t be.

“We can’t let them kill him.” She said to her father as the volume level in the room began to die down. “He’s no killer, he can barely stand on his own two feet.”

“Don’t do this to yourself, Shanda.” She looked away from him, cringing. “You know how justice is enacted.”

“Maybe we’re wrong!” She hissed vehemently.

“He made a choice.”

“Under duress!”

He looked at her his gaze firm and unwavering. She bit the inside of her cheek, willing her eyes not to glaze over with tears.

“We all have to make a decision with the circumstances we are given.”

“And you’re such a paradigm of morality.” She spat, her hands started to go numb from how hard she was gripping the table.

“You, of all people, know we have to recognize our station. Play to our strengths, that boy didn’t stand a chance.”

She was burning with rage by the time the room was quiet again. Her father was right of course. They lived within the now and it was best to play the game to win. Don’t get caught and if you do, worm your way out. Just like Joth Piper was trying to do. She couldn’t stand the thought of it all. She did not want to keep doing this. She would fight against his death even if no one else did. She did not want to see a boy beheaded ever and if she could help it, it would not happen here.

“Alysanne, you’ve got to help me.”

“They’ll let him take the black.”

Shanda's face scrunched up in anger. Both of her hands were balled into fists and she slammed one of them into the table top. “That’s not what I mean!”

A few heads turned to look at her. “Shanda, you can’t-“ Benjicot began from across the table and she savagely cut him off.

“I’ll thank you to not tell me what I can and can’t do.” She turned her attention away from the two of them to Elmo who’d finally helped the boy to a seat away from the bloodthirsty watchers.

Joth Piper was up again, ready to argue in his defense she imagined. But when Elmo was seated once again Joth opened his mouth and said, “I demand a trial by combat.”

And all of the air was sucked out of her lungs. She felt Martyn tense up beside her.

“Don’t even fucking think about it.” She said as she turned to face him. “We’ll decide together.”

“You already have.” Benjicot left the table before she could protest and ignored her shouts as he walked towards Elmo declaring himself as their champion.

Shanda sat with a malevolent hatred burning inside her at having been born here and now. That this was her life, that this was the way their ancestors decided life must be. She watched as her newly acquired husband was handed a sword and shield. As he began to swing the blade back and forth she thought she was going to scream. There was so much horrible energy inside of her and there was nothing she could do about it.

She was on her feet in the next second, having never really made the conscious decision to leave her seat. One second she was sitting beside her brother and the next she was halfway across the room. She rammed straight into Benjicot, catching him off guard and taking the blade from him when it clattered to the ground. She held it up at him, the point centered on his jugular. The Tully guards quickly moved to disarm her but Elmo’s rough baritone stopped them as they approached.

She loudly said, “I will do it. And if you make a single move against me, I’ll cut you down.” She snarled at her husband when he tried to inch his hand towards the blade. He looked at Lord Tully expecting him to speak reason into her and she waited for him to order her back to her seat. But to everyone’s great amazement and utter surprise, he did not.

“She had the right, as well as her brother, to claim the fight. Joth wishes to fight for himself, they have the same opportunity.”

When Martyn stood to argue with her over it she scoffed, “Please Martyn, you’re no swordsman.”

“Are you sister? Are ladies known for swinging swords?”

She threw her head back laughing in a half hysterical manner. “You’ll find this one is. Or haven’t you heard? I’m the menace haunting the Redfork. And if I have to cut a star maiden down, I will. Now help me out of this dress.”

Concessions were given to allow Shanda to change clothes. It was an unprecedented event that would send shockwaves through the riverlands and maybe even the entire realm. A lady fighting in a trial by combat. No one would believe it and yet she was about to live through it.

“You stubborn, foolish, impossible woman!” Benjicot yelled through the door as a few handmaidens helped her into a pair of riding pants and a button up shirt. She wore a nice pair of leather boots and most importantly, a sword at her side. Elmo had given her a beautiful Tully shortsword and she was thankful she was fighting Joth and not someone as tall as Harry Fisher. Joth would not be wielding a greatsword and that was a relief. However he would be using a longsword and that posed a challenge. His reach would be longer and he’d be quicker. That was a big disadvantage for her. She had managed to best Benjicot by using his size against him. Joth was bigger than her but more evenly matched than Benjicot.

Luckily for her, Martyn was almost the exact same size as her and always had been. While he was an abysmal sword fighter, he was a great grappler and so she had more than enough experience dealing with that. She needed to figure out his pattern of attack early on if she hoped to end the fight without taking an injury. The duel of course, did not have to be to the death. If Joth admitted his wrong doing the trial could end. But she knew he would not admit to any wrongdoing. He was going to try his best to kill her and that was her advantage. He looked at her and saw a small and useless lady. She knew she was a feral river rat that was itching to get her hands on steel again. It had been much too long since she held a weapon in her hands. She felt a little more in control with it in her hands. And it also helped her ignore every insult her husband spewed through the door at her actions.

[thejadedjewel]

Little Muppet Sesame Things #81

I did say I'd come back to Karli and here we are. In other videos aside from her one clip with her foster parents explaining why she's with them, we learn more about what's been going on with her and her birth mother. For example, we learn that Chris is friends with Karli and her mom and helps look after her when her mom is at a meeting. We learn about adult meetings (which is more than likely AA Meetings) and similar meetings for kids like Karli and that Karli's mom has been dealing with addiction, but is getting the help that she needs.

We also see more in how a parent having an addiction can affect a child with Karli talking about how, when her mom was 'sick', Karli would think that what happened to her mom was Karli's fault. But she explains that she knows it's not her fault and what happened with her mom and her addiction was a problem caused by her mom and mom alone.

Also, I have no idea why the coloring is so weird to make Karli go from lime green to a pastel and why Elmo had a slightly pinkish hue. Maybe it's the lighting, but it looks weird.