#crofter house

[agentrouka-blog]

Given the lamp theory (I think that’s what it is called?), I am inclined to believe that Stannis will thrash the Freys, but he will be defeated by the Boltons. That bragging statement to Theon in his TWOW chapter feels very damning. A sound victory against the Freys can blind Stannis up to the point that he ignores the encroaching winter until it’s too late.

The Boltons, in all of their sins and gross faults, are still Northerners: they know how to prepare for winter and I’m sure they are. Now the Boltons downfall? I also believe in the Northern Conspiracy theory. An uprising from Manderly and his faction will factor in the Bolton downfall alongside Jon and Sansa uniting the rest of the North against the Boltons. The one wrench ironically, could be Manderly himself, since I imagine he’ll want to control Rickon. But that’s a fight he’ll have to take up with Jon and Sansa.

I am not good enough at speculating about battle-related anything, since I'm... painfully ignorant about that kind of stuff. But if Theonis warning you about Ramsay, you should listen, right? Stannis has been experiencing the hardships of winter for some time now.  

"Frey and Manderly will never combine their strengths. They will come for you, but separately. Lord Ramsay will not be far behind them. He wants his bride back. He wants his Reek." Theon's laugh was half a titter, half a whimper. "Lord Ramsay is the one Your Grace should fear."

Stannis bristled at that. "I defeated your uncle Victarion and his Iron Fleet off Fair Isle, the first time your father crowned himself. I held Storm's End against the power of the Reach for a year, and took Dragonstone from the Targaryens. I smashed Mance Rayder at the Wall, though he had twenty times my numbers. Tell me, turncloak, what battles has the Bastard of Bolton ever won that I should fear him?"

You must not call him that! A wave of pain washed over Theon Greyjoy. He closed his eyes and grimaced. When he opened them again, he said, "You do not know him." (TWOW, Theon I)

Theon giving the Sansa Season 6 GOT tent speech here. We know what happened there. We should take him seriously.

Just what Ramsay will do, I can’t say. 

All I know is Stannis survives and makes it back to Shireen with enough of his force intact to give him at least a trace of hope. There has to be a point to his burning of Shireen, and it would not exist if he was fully defeated by the Boltons as Ramsay's letter claims. (And why is Ramsay writing and not Roose? Why is he so desperately trying to lure Jon South? Why is he asking for Stannis’ family and court members and hostages? Why is he asking for Reek, who is Stannis’ prisoner at the crofter village? Not because he resoundingly won, certainly.)

So, yes, the Night Lamp (or the aspect of using false lights to lead enemies into doom) that Stannis learned of from the Three Sisters is very likely to make a come-back in some form but it will not give Stannis a full win, if any at all. 

I have speculated a little here that he’ll try to emulate Robert’s win at Summerhall during the rebellion, but it won’t work. Three foes that attack separately, betrayed by an informer who warns of their coming. (Theon!) Robert defeated each in succession before they could join up and later made friends of the losers. Stannis won’t. 

We shouldn’t forget that Manderly is not actually an enemy to Stannis. He won’t have to fight him, probably. But neither can Manderly command his own host and make an alliance with Stannis, tell him about Rickon or Davos etc. Stannis believes Manderly murdered Davos. Unless they can tell him otherwise, he’ll fight the Manderly men.

I am too fat to sit a horse, as any man with eyes can plainly see. As a boy I loved to ride, and as a young man I handled a mount well enough to win some small acclaim in the lists, but those days are done. My body has become a prison more dire than the Wolf's Den. Even so, I must go to Winterfell. Roose Bolton wants me on my knees, and beneath the velvet courtesy he shows the iron mail. I shall go by barge and litter, attended by a hundred knights and my good friends from the Twins. (ADWD, Davos IV)

Manderly can’t escape the castle, and had recently even been wounded, as well. He’s dead meat and he likely planned it that way, or at least counted on it. He has served and eaten human meat the same way his son Wylis was forced to at Harrenhal. He has made no secret of despising the Freys while at Winterfell, he has been antagonising them. Those are not the actions of a man planning to live a long life and control the North through a Stark heir. This is a man on a suicidal mission to take out his enemies. If Rickon is to be delivered to his House, it will be into the control of his heirs. Perhaps there are ideas to betroth him to Wylla. We can’t know. Wyman won’t be part of it. 

The Lord of White Harbor tried to jerk away, but the tabletop pinned him to his chair. The blade slashed through three of his four chins in a spray of bright red blood. Lady Walda gave a shriek and clutched at her lord husband's arm. "Stop," Roose Bolton shouted. "Stop this madness." His own men rushed forward as the Manderlys vaulted over the benches to get at the Freys. One lunged at Ser Hosteen with a dagger, but the big knight pivoted and took his arm off at the shoulder. Lord Wyman pushed to his feet, only to collapse. Old Lord Locke was shouting for a maester as Manderly flopped on the floor like a clubbed walrus in a spreading pool of blood. Around him dogs fought over sausages. (ADWD, Theon I)

That bloodshed was instigated by Ramsay.

Ramsay himself is undermining his own father, part of which leans on fanning the conflict between Freys and Manderlys. Ramsay and Big Walder put on this rehearsed play of "Little Walder was killed by a Manderly man over money won at dice!" and it creates chaos that Roose cannot control. He’s delighted to send his allies away to fight a battle. Which actually leaves him isolated should the Frey host not return. Who is on his side apart from the Ryswell/Dustin clan? It’s brilliantly done. 

Roose made an enemy of his son when he let Lady Dustin disrespect him, and now his new wife is expecting a trueborn son. Ramsay is probably very interested in removing him and his new Frey family. Whatever game he is playing, it involves a lot of manipulation of different players, the same way he has manipulated himself to a position of advantage time and again in the past.

I suspect the battle may see Manderlys and Freys turning on each other and Ramsay taking advantage of it. He knows the landscape. They don’t. 

The Karstark men won’t help the Boltons now, which might help Stannis but who does or doesn’t know that in this hastily approaching battle? 

It could be that all this conspiring and all the uncertain loyalties will simply lead to a general blood bath, with Stannis retreating North (and Ramsay trying to destroy his home base there with a letter) and Ramsay retreating to Winterfell to try and wrestle control from his father. 

It’s going to have to end in a way that preserves the status quo to an extent. 

It’ll make Stannis depserate for new resources -> fire sacrifice -> self-destruction.

It will leave the Boltons (and their remaining allies) generally in charge of the North with disparate groups ready to oppose him, just waiting for someone to rally behind. -> Enter Sansa, Jon and Rickon. 

[lesbiansandgayssupporttheminers]

This is a memorial from Roussay on Orkney to James Leonard, an early tennant organiser. He was ultimately evicted from his land by the infamous landlord Frederick William Traill-Burroughs. Following his eviction, three of his children died of diphtheria. But his work in organising the tennants and giving evidence to the Scottish government ultimately got more protections for the crofters and may have helped prevent other clearances on Orkney.

Despite this he failed to win protection in time for the crofters of Roussay, and the island's population has gone from over 1000 at the time of the clearances to less than 100 today.

James Leonard's words still ring true today: "I am prepared to speak the truth and will not be cowed by landlordism" and "We are under the despotism and terror of the landlord and we want that removed ; even though I should fail in this battle, I will fight it out."

Today, James Leonard's farm stands derelict, and the land he rented unfarmed. Meanwhile, Burrough's grand house was gutted by a fire in the 1980s and also currently stands empty.

[warnadudenexttime]

C!Thomas: Like, what’s everyone’s favorite food?

Patton: Cookies!

Logan: Crofters, of course.

Roman: Mmm… while I love many things- I’ll go with pasta!

Remus: I’d have to say, those silly little silicone packets that come in like jerky packets. :) they’re so spicy.

C!Thomas:

C!Thomas: Who let you in the house?

Remus: I live here :)

[istumpysk]

OPERATION ICEBERG: THE TIER LIST

THEORY:

Tysha is the Sailor's Wife

TIER:

Strong Contender: These theories have a lot of textual support, but there are still some elements of uncertainty.

[Tier list overview]

EVIDENCE:

First, who is Tysha?

Tysha was a crofter's daughter from the westerlands.

According to Tyrion, she had blue eyes, dark hair, and she was slender and beautiful.

They met when Tyrion and his brother Jaime rescued Tysha from outlaws; Jaime chased the men away while Tyrion cared for Tysha.

They quickly fell in love, married, and lived in a little cottage by the sunset sea, where they constantly made love to each other for a fortnight.

When Tywin discovered the marriage, he had Jaime deceive Tyrion by telling him that Tysha was a sex worker hired to make him a man.

Tywin then had his guards gang-rape Tysha, each giving her a silver coin afterwards.

Tywin then forced Tyrion to rape her last, and give her a gold coin, signifying that Lannisters are worth more.

The marriage was undone, and Tysha was never seen again.

Eventually, Tyrion learned that Jaime lied to him about Tysha, and he now spends every moment of the story wondering where she went.

Second, who is the Sailor's Wife?

The Sailor's Wife is a sex worker who works at the Happy Port brothel in Braavos.

Her real name is unknown.

We have no description of what she looks like.

What we know about her backstory will be covered below.

So, could they be the same person? Let's find out!

Born in 273 AC, Tyrion married Tysha when he was 13 years old (in or around the year 286 AC). If they had a child, that child would now be 14 years old.

The Sailor's Wife has a 14-year-old daughter named Lanna, who also works at the Happy Port.

Lanna was always begging the singer to play her stupid love songs. She was the youngest of the whores, only ten-and-four. Merry asked three times as much for her as for any of the other girls, Cat knew. - Cat of the Canals, AFFC

Did you catch that name? Lanna. The Sailor's Wife named her child Lanna.

In the same book that introduces the Sailor's Wife and Lanna, a pregnant woman asks Cersei for permission to name her child Lanna to honor House Lannister.

Lady Graceford, who was large with child, asked the queen's leave to name it Tywin if it were a boy, or Lanna if it were a girl. - Cersei II, AFFC

And guess what? Lanna has long golden hair. Not blonde hair, no, golden hair.

Yna was there too, braiding Lanna's fine long golden hair. - Cat of the Canals, AFFC

The Sailor's Wife lost her husband when she was 14.

Tysha was 14 when she met, married, and was separated from Tyrion.

The other whores said that the Sailor's Wife visited the Isle of the Gods on the days when her flower was in bloom, and knew all the gods who lived there, even the ones that Braavos had forgotten. They said she went to pray for her first husband, her true husband, who had been lost at sea when she was a girl no older than Lanna. - Cat of the Canals, AFFC

x

I was only thirteen, and the wine went to my head, I fear. - Tyrion VI, AGOT

x

"[...] My brother unsheathed his sword and went after them, while I dismounted to protect the girl. She was scarcely a year older than I was [...]." - Tyrion VI, AGOT

Arya finds there's something sad about the Sailor's Wife.

Tysha had a face that would break your heart.

She was good that way, and quick to laugh as well, but Cat thought there was something sad about her too. - Cat of the Canals, AFFC

x

She was scarcely a year older than I was, dark-haired, slender, with a face that would break your heart. - Tyrion VI, AGOT

The Sailor's Wife can speak the Common Tongue of Westeros.

Tysha was an orphaned daughter of a crofter from the westerlands of Westeros.

"He sings a pretty song," she murmured softly, in the Common Tongue of Westeros. - Cat of the Canals, AFFC

x

She was a crofter's child, orphaned when her father died of fever, on her way to … well, nowhere, really. - Tyrion VI, AGOT

The Sailor's Wife and Lanna both seem to have a fondness for singers and love songs.

Tyrion often recalls Tysha singing "Seasons of Love" to him with affection.

When Cat slipped inside the brothel, though, she found Merry sitting in the common room with her eyes shut, listening to Dareon play his woodharp. Yna was there too, braiding Lanna's fine long golden hair. Another stupid love song. Lanna was always begging the singer to play her stupid love songs. - Cat of the Canals, AFFC

x

Cat was thinking about the fat boy, remembering how she had saved him from Terro and Orbelo, when the Sailor's Wife appeared beside her. "He sings a pretty song," she murmured softly, in the Common Tongue of Westeros. "The gods must have loved him to give him such a voice, and that fair face as well." - Cat of the Canals, AFFC

x

It was pleasant to think that men still sang, even in the midst of butchery and famine. Remembered notes filled his head, and for a moment he could almost hear Tysha as she'd sung to him half a lifetime ago. - Tyrion VII, ACOK

The Sailor's Wife only beds men who marry her; the rites are typically performed by a wine-soaked red priest or a septon at the Sept-Beyond-the-Sea.

Tyrion and Tysha were married by a drunken septon.

The Happy Port sometimes had three or four weddings a night. Often the cheerful wine-soaked red priest Ezzelyno performed the rites. Elsewise it was Eustace, who had once been a septon at the Sept-Beyond-the-Sea. - Cat of the Canals, AFFC

x

"A Lannister of Casterly Rock wed to a crofter's daughter," Bronn said. "How did you manage that?" Oh, you'd be astonished at what a boy can make of a few lies, fifty pieces of silver, and a drunken septon. - Tyrion VI, AGOT

Tyrion obsessively asks himself, "Where do whores go?" whenever thinking about his father or Tysha. He seems convinced she is in a brothel somewhere.

At one point, he wonders if she's at a port; another time, he mentions the term "courtesan," a word strongly associated with Braavos.

And the whores were out. River or sea, a port was a port, and wherever you found sailors, you'd find whores. Is that what my father meant? Is that where whores go, to the sea? - Tyrion VI, ADWD

x

"Do you know where whores go?" When they did not respond, he repeated the question in High Valyrian, though he had to say courtesan in place of whore. - Tyrion I, ADWD

x

"Have you ever visited the pleasure houses of Lys?" the dwarf inquired. "Might that be where whores go?" - Tyrion I, ADWD

x

Selhorys may be where whores go. Tysha might be in there even now, with tears tattooed upon her cheek. "I almost drowned. A man needs a woman after that. [...]" - Tyrion VI, ADWD

x

"Do you know a woman by the name of Tysha?" he asked, as he watched his seed dribble out of her onto the bed. The whore did not respond. "Do you know where whores go?" - Tyrion VI, ADWD

The Sailor's Wife claims that her first husband was lost at sea when she was 14, and often prays for him to return to her.

The author repeatedly writes scenarios in which Tyrion almost drowns.

The other whores said that the Sailor's Wife visited the Isle of the Gods on the days when her flower was in bloom, and knew all the gods who lived there, even the ones that Braavos had forgotten. They said she went to pray for her first husband, her true husband, who had been lost at sea when she was a girl no older than Lanna. - Cat of the Canals, ADWD

x

Was that why he reeled backward, or did he see the sword after all? He would never know. The point slashed just beneath his eyes, and he felt its cold hard touch and then a blaze of pain. His head spun around as if he'd been slapped. The shock of the cold water was a second slap more jolting than the first. He flailed for something to grab on to, knowing that once he went down he was not like to come back up. Somehow his hand found the splintered end of a broken oar. Clutching it tight as a desperate lover, he shinnied up foot by foot. His eyes were full of water, his mouth was full of blood, and his head throbbed horribly. Gods give me strength to reach the deck . . . There was nothing else, only the oar, the water, the deck. – Tyrion XIV, ACOK

x

The sudden cold hit Tyrion like a hammer. As he sank he felt a stone hand fumbling at his face. Another closed around his arm, dragging him down into darkness. Blind, his nose full of river, choking, sinking, he kicked and twisted and fought to pry the clutching fingers off his arm, but the stone fingers were unyielding. Air bubbled from his lips. The world was black and growing blacker. He could not breathe. There are worse ways to die than drowning. – Tyrion V, ADWD

x

He looked about for his wine cup, but when he found it all the rum had spilled. Drowning is bad enough, he reflected sourly, but drowning sad and sober, that's too cruel. In the end, they did not drown … though there were times when the prospect of a nice, peaceful drowning had a certain appeal. The storm raged for the rest of that day and well into the night. – Tyrion IX, ADWD

Furthermore, the theme of drowning is heavily present in much of Tyrion's arc, to the point where it's becoming kind of weird.

(There's always potential for karma when someone has a man thrown off a ship en route to the Wall or uses wildfire to bury an army at the bottom of Blackwater Bay.)

Once Janos Slynt realized he was not to be summarily executed, color returned to his face. He thrust his jaw out. "We will see about this, Imp. Dwarf. Perhaps it will be you on that ship, what do you think of that? Perhaps it will be you on the Wall." He gave a bark of anxious laughter. "You and your threats, well, we will see. I am the king's friend, you know. We shall hear what Joffrey has to say about this. And Littlefinger and the queen, oh, yes. Janos Slynt has a good many friends. We will see who goes sailing, I promise you. Indeed we will." - Tyrion II, ACOK

x

He retched the wine up and lay in it a while, wondering if the ship would sink. Is this your vengeance, Father? Has the Father Above made you his Hand? "Such are the wages of the kinslayer," he said as the wind howled outside. It did not seem fair to drown the cabin boy and the captain and all the rest for something he had done, but when had the gods ever been fair? And around about then, the darkness gulped him down. - Tyrion I, ADWD

x

Ser Rolly grabbed Tyrion by the collar. "Let us see how dwarfs swim," he said, chucking him headlong into the Rhoyne. The dwarf laughed last; he could paddle passably well, and did … until his legs began to cramp. Young Griff extended him a pole. "You are not the first to try and drown me," he told Duck, as he was pouring river water from his boot. "My father threw me down a well the day I was born, but I was so ugly that the water witch who lived down there spat me back." He pulled off the other boot, then did a cartwheel along the deck, spraying all of them. - Tyrion IV, ADWD

x

And the sight of me can only be salt in her [Penny] wound. They hacked off her brother's head in the hope that it was mine, yet here I sit like some bloody gargoyle, offering empty consolations. If I were her, I'd want nothing more than to shove me into the sea. - Tyrion VIII, ADWD

x

Tyrion found himself musing on how easy it would be to slip over the gunwale and drop down into that darkness. One very small splash, and the pathetic little tale that was his life would soon be done. - Tyrion VIII, ADWD

Yna, another sex worker at the Happy Port and a maegi, tasted the Sailor's Wife's blood. She claims her lover is dead and hopes he never returns, as he would be a corpse. That's a really strange thing to say, no? You always have to read between the lines with a maegi.

If you asked Tyrion, he would tell you he's been dead for a long time.

"She thinks that if she finds the right god, maybe he will send the winds and blow her old love back to her," said one-eyed Yna, who had known her longest, "but I pray it never happens. Her love is dead, I could taste that in her blood. If he ever should come back to her, it will be a corpse." - Cat of the Canalds, ADWD

x

There are worse ways to die than drowning. And if truth be told, he had perished long ago, back in King's Landing. It was only his revenant who remained, the small vengeful ghost who throttled Shae and put a crossbow bolt through the great Lord Tywin's bowels. No man would mourn the thing that he'd become. I'll haunt the Seven Kingdoms, he thought, sinking deeper. They would not love me living, so let them dread me dead. - Tyrion V, ADWD

Other things to consider:

Neither Samwell nor Arya provide a physical description of the Sailor's Wife, which many, especially myself, find highly suspicious. It's remarkably uncharacteristic of George R. R. Martin, given how much attention he devotes to this character.

On that note, why is it that among all the sex workers we encounter in the series, we learn so much about this particular one? (But again, not what she actually looks like.)

I feel super gross typing this, but one could argue that there's a twisted rationale to Tysha wanting to marry her customers after the sexual assault she experienced.

COUNTER-EVIDENCE:

Let's start with the obvious: Tyrion's not a sailor, and Tysha didn't lose him because he was lost at sea. (I'd argue it's fairly clear why she wouldn't share the real story.)

The whole point was that Tywin and Jaime lied, and Tysha wasn't actually a prostitute. Making both her and her daughter sex workers after what she experienced would be unnecessary, distasteful, and kind of offensive. (That said, I wouldn't put it past George to do it.)

What are the odds that Arya Stark runs into the Tysha in Braavos? (Roughly the same as Jorah Mormont and Tyrion Lannister bumping into each other at the other end of the world.)

After what happened to her, would Tysha really pray for Tyrion to return to her? Would she name her child Lanna? (Don't look at me, I don't know.)

The Gerion Lannister Consideration:

Gerion Lannister was Tywin Lannister's youngest and most reckless brother. It appears he was a sailor, given that he had a ship called the Laughing Lion and enjoyed the occasional adventure.

Circa 291 AC, Gerion went on a quest to find House Lannister's ancestral Valyrian steel greatsword, Brightroar, along with any other treasure that might have survived the Doom of Valyria.

Gerion was never seen again.

Almost a decade had passed since the Laughing Lion headed out from Lannisport, and Gerion had never returned. The men Lord Tywin sent to seek after him had traced his course as far as Volantis, where half his crew had deserted him and he had bought slaves to replace them. No free man would willingly sign aboard a ship whose captain spoke openly of his intent to sail into the Smoking Sea. - Tyrion VIII, ADWD

It's not unreasonable to speculate that it's actually Gerion Lannister who married the Sailor's Wife, and fathered Lanna.

But there are some issues.

For starters, the Sailor's Wife lost her husband at sea when she was 14 years old (in or around 286 AC). Gerion disappeared in 291 AC.

Gerion was in Westeros for Robert's Rebellion (282-283 AC), and Robert's marriage to Cersei Lannister (284 AC).

"[...] If you have need of a dagger, take one from the armory. Robert left a hundred when he died. Gerion gave him a gilded dagger with an ivory grip and a sapphire pommel for a wedding gift, and half the envoys who came to court tried to curry favor by presenting His Grace with jewel-encrusted knives and silver inlay swords. - Tyrion IV, ASOS

In 288 AC, Gerion had a daughter named Joy Hill, with a commoner from the westerlands named Briony.

"Joy is my late uncle Gerion's natural daughter. A betrothal can be arranged, if that is your wish, but any marriage will need to wait. Joy was nine or ten when last I saw her." - Jaime VII, ASOS

Remember, Lanna was born in or around 286 AC.

What are the odds that between Robert and Cersei's marriage and the conception of Joy Hill, 31-year-old Gerion Lannister sailed to Braavos—assuming that's where he met the Sailor's Wife—legitimately married a 14-year-old who wasn't yet a sex worker, conceived Lanna with her, left her there for reasons unknown, traveled home, never returned, and never mentioned any of this to anyone?

Let's say they met in the westerlands. Why didn't he acknowledge his wife and legitimate child like he did his illegitimate daughter Joy Hill? Why is the Sailor's Wife hiding the fact that Gerion Lannister was her husband?

Why aren't we getting the Sailor's Wife's name and description? Such information wouldn't need to be safeguarded, would it?

Why the emphasis on the specific ages of Lanna and how old the Sailor's Wife was when she lost her husband? None of this matters if Gerion is the husband. Lanna could be any age, the Sailor's Wife could be older than 14 when she met 31-year-old Gerion, and their encounter could be placed at a more logical time in history.

Why am I being told so much about the Sailor's Wife? The marriages to her customers, the drunken priest, the singing, the sadness, Yna's fear of his corpsy return—none of this is relevant to Gerion Lannister.

Most importantly, what is the point of all this? Calling Gerion Lannister a minor character in the series would be generous. He's merely a footnote in history. This is too much.

I think what's happening here is that George wants to trick you into believing her husband was Gerion, when it's actually Tyrion.

STUMPY'S THOUGHTS:

Please don't overlook that Lanna is older than Sansa.

This one theory is better than all the secret Howland Reed theories combined. For the record, if it is Tysha, I don't think anything will come of this. I would be stunned if Tyrion ever came face-to-face with Tysha again.

VOTE:

I welcome discussions. Feel free to reblog, respond, or challenge my perspective—I won't be offended by any of it.

Please note, if "no" is the eventual winner, or if it's competitive, a second poll will be conducted to determine the proper location.

NEXT THEORY:

Olyvar Frey is Rosby's ward

[Main menu]

[melxhunter]

A WARRIOR’S VOYAGE

"With the sins of the sun and the sadness in the sky, you shall wonder why the universe never loved you back."

— In a world overrun by the corrupt and mad, driven by lust, greed, egoism, desire and obsessionalism, having a sweet and innocent nature always ends with death. Being honorable and having a strong moral compass is viewed as something ethereal one can only dream of.

That being said, her chances were slim. But she wasn't going to let that stop her.

It was winning or dying.

And Fiyona Mormont was not ready to die.

SCROLL DOWN FOR MORE…

HOUSE MORMONT of Bear Island is a vassal House which holds fealty to House Stark of Winterfell, to the Warden of the North. They had always been a small House – it was no secret. But somehow, that alone just made them even prouder.

It didn't matter how many overlooked the island's inhabitants and failed to see the whole picture. For even if most didn't fully realize it, House Mormont was fearsome enemies but also excellent allies. Even if they indeed are a very small house.

Their ancestral home of Bear Island is an island far to the northwest of Winterfell, its location and densely forested areas with a large bear population the main reasons to why it's the home to mostly woodsmen, crofters and fisherfolk. Despite that, Bear Island was one of the places within the Seven Kingdoms known for their skilled warriors. Known for how impeccable they were at sword fighting.

Not only that, but Bear Island was also one of the few subcultures within Westeros with an tradition of female fighters. You see, over the age of time, there had always been dangers of imminent attack from ironborn raiding ships while the men were out at sea which eventually led to the women of Bear Island being expected to defend their homes from attacks. Sometimes it even was attacks from wildings who avoided the wall completely by using boats to cross the bay from the Frozen Shore.

Thus people who hail from Bear Island are mostly strong, hardy, loyal and deep down compassionate and kindhearted. When they know what needs to be done, they don't hesitate to take action.

Fiyona Mormont was no exception. The young she-bear was taught to be a warrior from an early age, and she had always known the true horrors of the world, known about the monsters hiding in the shadows since the early stages of her youth.

Fiyona was no stranger to death either, for she had watched the life leave disappear from the animals which she hunted, even watched the life slip away from her father's eyes. It was horrible, but she knew it was a part of the harsh world she lived in.

Nothing could ever change it. It was the way it was, the way it always had been and always would remain.

What Fiyona was a stranger to, however, was love. Not the kind of love you receive from your mother, a sibling or a dear friend. No, Fiyona was a stranger to the kind of ethereal love which exists between two souls. Between two hearts which ignites in such a heated flame whenever they're near one another.

Not even in her life as Mia Nordin had she ever experienced it... not that she remembered that life...yet.

As the Seven Kingdoms seemed to hold its breath while preparing itself for yet another war, completely amid the world where greed and power reign supreme, Fiyona's life collides with a another's...under arranged circumstances.

Thus began the story of Fiyona Mormont and Robb Stark. Two young humans who would change the course of the game itself.

The future Warden of the North and the former heiress of Bear Island.

The Young Wolf and the She-Wolf.

The King and Queen in the North.

As brave as the dusk & as fierce as the storm.

Fiyona Mormont's tale is filled with broken pieces, terrible choices, betrayals and ugly truths. In spite of those parts indeed being heavy and literally true, they are nevertheless misleading. For the tale is also filled with happiness, heroism, love, humanity, kindness and peace in her soul.

It's an entangled tale in which a black bear is forced to run with the wolves only discover she was one of them all along.

A tale of the wild wolves and the black bear.

Interested to read more? Then check out the story A Warrior’s Voyage on my wattpad profile melxhunter!!

[calethelettuce]

SaSi Prinxiety Week 2/7: Feathered Fallacies

Prompt: Feathered Wings

Tags: @prinxietyweek

Synopsis: [Fallacy (noun): A false or mistaken idea.] Logan does an experiment incorrectly. To put it simply, Roman accidentally gains a pair of silky white wings. Virgil's simping over- I mean admiring how hot the Prince looks with them.

Relationships: Romantic Prinxiety

Characters: Brief Appearance Logan, Roman, Virgil

TW: Small panic attack, Remus being mentioned

~

“Erm…. Logan?”

Logan sat at his desk, working on schedules. He looked up as he heard Roman call his name. “Yes, Roman?” He called back, taking a sip of his coffee- was it actually wine? Who knew.

Roman paced outside the door. “We’ve got a problem!”

Logan leaned back in his chair, raising an eyebrow. “Which is?”

“It’s better if I show you.”

Logan stood up, adjusting his tie and glasses. What in the world could be so important? He unlocked the door, it open. He pauses mid-movement, looking Roman up and down.

“Roman, how on Earth did you manage to gain wings?”

Roman crossed his arms with a huff. “Gee, teach, I wonder. Think about it for a second.”

What- Oh.

Logan internally cringed. “You were nearby when I was working with those chemicals, weren’t you.”

Roman have him a look that clearly meant that he was. “No shit, Sherlock! Fix this right now!”

Roman’s newly gained wings lay folded against his back, the feathers a dove white. They were fairly large, though not large enough to be considered an issue fitting through doors. They were rather beautiful, Logan had to admit, although the princely side clearly wasn’t enjoying it much.

Logan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This is why I specifically state that nobody is to come near my house when I’m working with chemicals.”

Roman shrugged. “Patton said you might have an extra jar of Crofter’s! I ran out!”

“Terrible excuse.” The blue tied side summoned a clipboard and a pen. “Now, about your issue…” he scribbled a few things down before continuing. “I’m unsure if there is a cure I can conjure this very second. I’ll get back to you when I find one.” Logan went to close the door, but Roman placed a hand on the doorknob.

“What do I do in the meantime? If Remus finds out they’re about to be fried chicken wings.”

Logan thought about it for a moment. “Go to Virgil.” He forcefully closed the door this time, relocking it.

Roman groaned in frustration. “Damn you, scientific laws of the Mind Palace!!”

“I heard that!”

“Oh shi-“

~

“Virgil, stop petting them.”

Virgil ran another hand over the soft and fluffy feathers. “No,” he concluded, “I will not.”

“You’re acting like a five year old right now!”

“Okay, well you’re the one who decided not to listen to Logan!”

Roman felt a shiver run down his spine as Virgil continued to run his hands along the wings.

It wasn’t very often that Virgil was interested in things. But these wings? The greatest thing he’d seen his whole life. Period.

“So you can feel this?” He asked.

Roman was not about to admit he was enjoying this. “Sure can, emo. Can you stop that? I don’t like it.”

Virgil raised an eyebrow with a smirk. “Your face says otherwise, you royal pain in the ass.”

The prince blushed, scoffing. "Does not!"

Virgil rolled his eyes. "Okay, okay, fine." he removed his hand from the feathery limb. "There, are you happy now?"

Roman stared at him. "No." He grabbed Virgil's wrist gingerly, placing his palm back onto his wings. "Keep going."

"You confuse me."

"Just shut up and do it!"

The two sat in silence as Virgil continued to pet Roman's wings.

"They're very pretty," Virgil mused after a while, examining the feathers, "What the hell was Logan even doing that day?"

"I have no idea." Roman adjusted his sash, brushing off any possible dirt or lint that could have gotten on it. "I did see Remus at the door, saying something about 'cephalopods' and tentacles, but that was it."

Virgil hummed in response. "Your wings need to stretch," he concluded, standing up, "They look tense."

"Oh! Okay." Roman stood up as well, observing Virgil's room. Very emo. Just like him. "Shall we head to the Imagination, then?"

"You want me to come with you?" Virgil looked confused.

Roman gave him a soft look. "You're the only side I trust with this right now and Logan's busy. Patton would probably die from cuteness overload, Janus is Janus, and Remus- well, I don't want to become fried chicken."

Virgil snickered. "You got that right. They'd probably taste like glitter."

"Haha, very funny." Roman playfully nudged him in the side. "Now come on! I can sink us out!" He placed his hands on the purple-clad side's shoulders and sunk them out.

Virgil shrieked, not expecting the sudden change of gravity. He latched onto Roman, as he randomly shot out any curse he could think of.

It was certainly different than sinking into Thomas' house.

"Woah, are you okay, Virge?"

Virgil's breathing was rather heavy as he clung onto the prince from the side. "HOLYSHITDON'TFUCKINGDOTHATTOMEAGAINOFISWEARTOGOD-"

“Hey, hey! Breathe.” Roman brought him into a hug, rubbing soothing circles on his back. “4, 7, 8. Remember?” His tone was hushed, soft and caring. “Breathing is good for you, yeah?”

“We’re imaginary you- you dipshit.” Virgil was surprised he even managed to get that sentence out. His chest was tight and gee, was he shaking.

“Focusing on breathing, my prince.” Roman supplied, holding him in a gentle embrace, “you can cuss me out later.”

Roman helped Virgil sit on the ground next to him, keeping a protective arm around him. They were quiet as Virgil focused on his breathing.

The sides sat on a grassy hill, surrounded by flowers. The Imagination’s castle was in the distance, it’s winding and tall towers looking small from their spot.

Roman carefully opened his wings for the first time, being surprised at how big they really were. They looked much smaller folded, he decided. He tried flapping them very slowly as if he already knew how to use them.

Virgil had become much calmer by then, and watching intently.

Roman gave him a bright smile. “I have to admit, they are rather cool.”

“They really are..” Virgil cuddled up to Roman’s side, smiling. “I’m kind of sad I have to see them go.”

Roman chuckled. “Me too.”

The red-sashed side extended a wing, carefully folding it over Virgil’s like a blanket. “For protection,” was what Roman said, “Just in case.”

Virgil scoffed playfully. “Protection from what? Your terrible humor?” He pauses. “…it feels like a weighted blanket.”

Roman beamed. “Well, you look tired, creeping beauty. Why don’t you take a nap? I’ll protect you.”

Virgil blinks up at him. “Oh, okay. If you say you.”

There’s a blissful silence between them as Virgil drifts off to sleep. Roman observes the fluffy clouds, before looking down at his dark and stormy knight. He pressed a gently and loving kiss to the top of Virgil’s head. “Have a good nap, dear.” He whispered with a smile.

Roman wasn’t too happy when Logan called him a few minutes later.

“Not now, nerdy wolverine!”

“But-“

“If you wake Virgil up with how loud you’re talking through this receiver I’ll kick your ass.”

“Okay. I’ll just text you. Don’t do anything stupid.”

Roman rolled his eyes and hung up.

On the other side, Logan rolled his eyes as he grabbed an unopened bottle of red wine. “I can’t deal with this shit right now.”

He drinks half the bottle.

~

Listen, I just wanted some Logan in this- I thought it would be funny

[headcanonsandmore]

'Stand and Deliver!' Chapter Four

Summary: Tegan normally finds the sunday service dull, but a certain pastors daughter may just liven things up for her…

~~~~~~~

Read on AO3.

~~~~~~~

For Tegan, the rest of Saturday passed in a haze of renewed acquaintances and friendships. She was invited over to Polly’s house, as well as being received at Ian and Barbara’s cottage for some home-made scones.

It was a good way to spend the day, Tegan had to admit. And, well, it also took her mind off of her current confusion regarding a certain pastor’s daughter.

When Tegan arrived back at her parents inn for their evening meal, Adric spent the entire time shooting knowing looks at his sister, who cooly ignored him. Adric knew a little too much for his own good and, while Tegan did appreciate that he didn’t seem to have any issues with it, she preferred not to comment on it. The last thing she needed was Adric accidentally blabbing to their parents about the matter. That would be a recipe for disaster, to say the least.

Tegan did eventually manage to fall asleep that night, although her sleep was fitful. Nonetheless, she found herself mostly rested by the time the dawn arrived. After a quick breakfast, the family changed into their Sunday best, and headed through Crofters Lodge towards the little chapel.

It wasn’t anything to write home about, of course. Crofter’s Lodge was not a large parish area, nor did it have a large congregation. The simple country chapel was adorned with little other than the bare essentials of pews, prayer books and a pulpit. Instead of an organ, there was a small piano, now rather care-worn with years of use and lack of funds for anything other than essential maintenance.

However, it had a homely feel, despite its modest trappings. But maybe that was just the familiarity of it, now renewed for Tegan after years spent in London.

Given that Tegan’s parents were the proprietors of the local inn, they were afforded the privilege of sitting in the row of pews second-from-the-front. Or, at least, Joy insisted that it was a privilege to her doubtful children. Tegan certainly didn’t find it much of a privilege; she had spent most of her childhood wishing she could be sat towards the back where no-one was watching her.

However, as she sat down on the pew, all thoughts of this nature disappeared from her mind.

Nyssa, sat in the pew just in front, turned in her seat to smile at her, cheeks dimpling as she did so. Her grey-green eyes sparkled despite the dim winter sunshine slipping through the windows of the chapel.

Blinking quickly and desperately trying to ignore her frantic heartrate, Tegan returned the smile.

‘Hello,’ she whispered, as the congregation all sat down around them. ‘You okay?’

Nyssa nodded.

‘Yes; yourself?’

Tegan nodded, smiling wider.

There was the unmistakable sound of Adric snorting next to her. Tegan elbowed him in the ribs. Nyssa gave a quick giggle and turned round to face the front again.

A few moment later, the congregation fell silent and Pastor Tremas strode up to the pulpit, smiling down at the assembled villagers.

‘A happy Sunday to you all,’ he said, kindly. ‘It is good to see you all here again. Especially, as my daughter reliably informs me, that Miss Jovanka has now returned from London.’

Tegan felt her cheeks flush as the congregation broke into polite applause. Nyssa turned in her seat again to flash a soft smile at her, and Tegan’s heart beat faster once again.

She held back the sigh that threatened to escape her lips as she smiled back at the pastor’s daughter. The rest of the congregation might as well have dissolved into the background. Tegan knew it was selfish, but she couldn’t help it; whenever Nyssa smiled at her, it was like the rest of the universe became less important.

The applause subsided after a few moments and, as her father began his sermon, Nyssa turned back around in her seat to face the front.

The sermon was fine, by all accounts, but Tegan had never been one to get very concerned with religious matters. She stood with everyone else when it was time to sing the hymns, and chorused “amen” when directed. Her brain was still buzzing with the giddiness that it had experienced when Nyssa had smiled at her, and it was hard to focus on anything else for the time being.

However, eventually the pastor finished his sermon and, now that religious matters had ceased, Tegan began to take notice again.

‘Now, as you all know,’ Pastor Tremas continued. ‘The chapel collection for poverty aid has been very successful this past month. You have all been incredibly generous to donate… how much was it, Nyssa?’

Startled, Nyssa stood up and pulled from the pocket of her dress a long piece of parchment. She turned to the congregation, looking a little flustered.

‘Er… I am p-pleased to report,’ she stammered.  ‘That the collection this week has come to… ten pounds, five shillings and tuppence.’

There was a large amount of clapping, and Tegan joined in enthusiastically. She was happy to have an innocent reason to stare at Nyssa, and the pastors daughter seemed to blush under the praise from the assembled villagers.

‘Well done,’ said the Pastor, smiling proudly at his daughter. ‘Nyssa, you are a credit to us all.’

Face burning with embarrassment, Nyssa gave a quick courtesy and sat back down.

Pastor Tremas ended the service, and so the assembled villagers began getting to their feet (the older members grumbling as they did so) before heading out of the front doors of the chapel.

In the crush of bodies, Tegan lost sight of Nyssa, and was only able to get her bearings when she had followed her parents and Adric outside into the small churchyard. It was a rather pretty place, although the trees were still bereft of leaves given the season. At the very least, the rain had held off again, so that the air was simply cold as opposed to freezing and drizzling.

‘Nyssa seemed rather embarrassed,’ Joy said, as she linked her arm through William’s. ‘She’s normally very calm when reading out the donation totals.’

William nodded.

‘Yes,’ he replied, stroking his chin absentmindedly with his other hand. ‘I wonder why.’

‘I know why,’ Adric said, with a cheerful laugh. ‘It’s because of-ow!’

‘Tegan!’ Joy exclaimed. ‘Don’t elbow your brother!’

Tegan rolled her eyes, before shooting a glare at Adric. The boy had the decency to look apologetic.

‘Speaking of Nyssa, I best check on her,’ Tegan said. ‘I’ll see you all later.’

Joy looked confused, but William gently patted her on the arm and escorted her away. Adric gave a grin to Tegan before following them.

At which point, Benton appeared.

‘Hello,’ Tegan said, quickly. ‘You wouldn’t happen to have seen-’

‘I believe Miss Nyssa is sat on the bench in the graveyard,’ Benton interrupted, with a knowing -yet kind- smile. ‘And all alone, by the looks of it.’

‘Er, r-right. Thank you.’

With a fond chuckle, Benton doffed his hat and headed away.

Tegan followed the other path around the side of the chapel. She was glad that her boots were of hardened sturdy leather, as the mix of winter rains and cold weather had reduced the path to a somewhat muddy and watery surface.

Sure enough, Nyssa was sat on the bench in the graveyard, looking quietly out over the village. The bench was just underneath a large oak tree, drawing the eye towards the figure sat below, and to whom Tegan felt herself irresistibly  drawn. Tegan hadn’t really had the chance to notice earlier, but the pastor’s daughter was wearing a lovely dress in very dark -almost midnight- blue, with her bonnet back with white frills. Even for an austere Sunday best, it was rather fetching on her.

‘Room for a little one?’

‘Oh, h-hello, Tegan’ Nyssa said, smiling quickly as she noticed Tegan’s approach. ‘Did you enjoy the service?’

‘I suppose,’ Tegan said, sitting down beside her. ‘I was more impressed with your fundraising, to be honest; I wouldn’t think such a small village would have so much spare cash to give.’

‘I was surprised too,’ Nyssa replied, with a chuckle. ‘But it is wonderful to see people being so generous. And it will definitely go a good way to helping the villagers currently out of work or struggling to make ends meet.’

Tegan smiled.

‘You really believe that, don’t you,’ she said, softly. ‘Your father wasn’t kidding about you being a credit to us all.’

Nyssa blinked quickly, and her cheeks seemed to flush.

‘I-I really don’t think the praise is necessary,’ she stammered. ‘But… thank you, Tegan. That… that means a great deal to me.’

‘Not like you to stumble over your words,’ Tegan giggled. ‘It’s not because of little-old-me, is it?’

‘Stop it!’ Nyssa said, softly slapping Tegan’s arm. ‘Don’t make fun!’

The two young woman lapsed into giggling, and Tegan relished the feeling of uncomplicated ease with which they sat together. There was something magical about being sat with Nyssa in this way, as if the day was just for the two of them. With the graveyard quiet around them, aside from the occasional call of a robin amongst the hedgerows.

It was little moments like this that Tegan held on to, and that she revisited in her quieter moments to put her mind as ease.

‘Thank you,’ Tegan said, softly, ‘for saving my life, by the way.’

‘W-what?’

‘Yesterday morning,’ Tegan said, confused as to Nyssa’s startled expression. ‘With that wardrobe, remember?’

‘O-oh, yes!’ Nyssa replied, quickly. ‘Well, no need to thank you; like I said, you would have done the same for me.’

‘Probably not as swiftly as you did,’ Tegan said. ‘I’ve never seen anyone move so quickly.’

‘Er… just instinct, I suppose. I have read about husbands pushing their wives out of harm’s way.’

‘We’re not married, Nys.’

Nyssa’s face burned red.

‘T-that’s very true, yes,’ she said, quickly. ‘Silly me.’

‘It’s sweet,’ Tegan replied. ‘I… I appreciate it, Nyssa.’

The two of them stared at each other for a moment, and Tegan felt the faint stirrings of hope within her heart. What had Adric been implying earlier? That Nyssa hadn’t been flustered because of the congregation applauding her, but that Tegan had been?

Oh, how she wished she could be as brave as to enquire further.

But she couldn’t dare. To suggest anything else would be presumptuous, not to mention unfair to Nyssa.

One of these days, Nyssa would find a young man who she wished to marry, and that would be that. It hurt Tegan to imagine that, but she knew that she could do nothing to prevent it. And, in the long run, if a marriage made Nyssa happy, then Tegan was fine with that. Even if it did pain her to know that any future Nyssa would have would not be with Tegan by her side, at least in that sort of way.

‘You are too kind. Tegan, I wish that…’ -Nyssa’s eyes were fixed on Tegan’s for a second longer before looking down quickly at her own lap. ‘Oh, nevermind.’

There was a pause but Tegan was unable to voice her desire to enquire what Nyssa wished for. Fear choked her throat, and she crinkled the fabric of her dress underneath her hands.

‘Er… Nyssa?’

‘Yes?’

Tegan deliberated for a second.

‘I imagine you’ve already been aware of this, but there is due to be some dancing and singing at my parents inn this evening. It’s probably too much to ask but-’

‘O-oh, I see,’ Nyssa replied, blinking quickly. Her hands clasped the folds of her dress. ‘Tegan, I would love to… I-’

‘You’re probably busy,’ Tegan said, words stumbling over themselves. A nervous smile broke over her lips. ‘I was just wondering, you see. Mum normally keeps trying to get me to dance with Benton, and I think she might stop it if you’re there-’

‘W-well,’ Nyssa interrupted. She swallowed quickly before continuing. ‘I… being the pastors daughter doesn’t prevent me from dancing, of course. As long as I do not partake in any drinking, I’m sure my father will have no issues with me attending.’

‘Really?’ Tegan’s eyes widened, and she grinned. ‘That’s fantastic; thank you!’

‘My pleasure, Tegan. Although…’ -Nyssa looked up at her from under her long eyelashes. ‘I… I do not have much experience dancing with people.’

‘Oh, that’s no matter,’ Tegan replied. ‘You can… you can dance with me. If… if that’s okay?’

Nyssa reached out and squeezed Tegan’s hand softly.

‘That is more than okay, Tegan. I would consider it an honour.’

The two young woman shared a smile, and Tegan could see herself softly reflected in those grey-green orbs that she found both intoxicating and yet relaxing all at once. As Nyssa continued to gently squeeze her hand, Tegan felt -just for a moment- that maybe things weren’t as hopeless as she had once believed.

~~~~~~~~~~

Apologies for the delay between this chapter and the last (got sidetracked writing LOTR smut for Merrywyn day XD) but I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless. In the next chapter: dancing, pining and a new arrival to the village!

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Cold Comforts

Prompts: Sorry if this is too much, but do you think you could maybe do another hurt Roman fic. I absolutely eat that stuff up. My idea what the after POF Roman just disappears. He’s not in his room, the mind palace, the house. The others think they’ve checked the imagination to its full extent, but they miss one part (but you can’t necessarily blame them). Roman has trapped himself in a hidden and/or invisible castle on his half of the imagination. Slowly, he begins to fade/disappear, believing the others would be better off without him. But, as he goes, so do the things that belong to him. Items in his room start to go missing. Small trinkets turn to computers and posters. Computers and posters turn into chairs and furniture. Furniture turns into literally every single thing in his room, and then that turns into the room itself. Roman won’t disappear until everything he’s tied to does. That means his room disappears, the gifts he’s given others vanish, the videos he’s featured in start to glitch and have to be taken down, his writing and art are nowhere to be found. Everything he’s made in the imagination goes poof, but that also means that castle he’s made to ‘protect’ himself. Since that’s last things that needed to go, Roman is on the brink of disappearing forever when everyone finds him. I would write it but I just don’t have a lot of motivation right now, and I’m so tired my writing comes off as gibberish. I don’t mind any ships, but I’m definitely leaning towards found family and I really love how you write the creativitwins. That’s all I really have. Throw however much angst in as you want. I just like projecting onto imaginary characters :) thanks - anon

hi again! i’m still obsessed with your Roman angst writing. Amazing, by the way ☺️ I hope you don’t mind me asking for more. So how about some Logince where Logan and Roman have a heated argument that results in Logan snapping at Roman. Roman is scared off by that and sinks out while Logan regrets his actions. Roman then avoids Logan all day and doesn’t talk to him. Until later in the middle of the night when Logan finds Roman crying on the kitchen floor and eating Crofters. Logan then takes that chance to make things right and learns a lot more about Roman. Some concerning stuff and some interesting stuff. I hope that isn’t too much! Keep up the good writing, friendo! - lio-the-chaotic-nonbeanie-weenie

Read on Ao3

Warnings: self-doubt, self-esteem issues, ducking out kind of

Pairings: gen

Word Count: 5151

Some arguments between Logan and Roman stay as little bits of contention.

Logan will bring up a point and Roman will read it wrong; either he'll make a joke that won't be received well or he'll take it as an insult when it wasn't intended that way. Logan will explain what he meant and the two of them will settle a little, at least until they can get back into the flow of the conversation and move past it.

Or Roman will let slip a comment he should've kept to himself and Logan will draw himself up, at least until Roman can apologize and claw it back, or he'll smirk and let loose a quip of his own and forgiveness will go unstated. They'll bounce off of each other until the conversation gets back on the rails.

This isn't one of those arguments.

"If you were capable of seeing reason, we wouldn't be in this position in the first place."

"Oh, and you think that just because you're Logic that you hold the monopoly on rationality?"

"Yes. By definition."

Roman throws his hands up, almost knocking over some of the papers. "So why do the rest of us even bother? Matter of fact, why do you even bother with the rest of us? If we're so unteachable and ridiculous?"

"Believe me, I've had the same thought many times." Logan juts his chin upward and looks down his nose at Roman. "Although some of you are more teachable than others."

"Oh, here we go again! 'Roman's stupid, Roman's dumb, Roman's un-teachable—'"

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to! It's written all over your stupid prideful face every single time I say something that doesn't line up perfectly with what you want to hear!"

"Resorting to exceedingly childish insults isn't making you look any better."

"Yeah, well, what else am I supposed to do?"

"Perhaps take a breath and listen to me so then I can explain why you're wrong."

"But I'm not wrong. Maybe you should take a breath and listen to me."

Logan laughs, loud and cruel. "I should listen to you? When I need to fill my head with nonsense I have much better sources for it."

"Nonsense?"

"Yes, Roman, nonsense. This is nonsense, right now. We should have been finished about half an hour ago but you keep insisting that—"

"Because you don't know about this!" Roman gestures emphatically to the papers scattered about the table. "You don't know how to do this, you don't know how to come up with things like I do, so you have to come to me! And you have to listen to me!"

"I don't have to do anything, Roman."

"Well, if you want a halfway decent idea, then yeah, actually, you do."

Logan's mouth twitches and his hand tenses on his pen. "Arrogance is not going to do a better job of convincing me than insults."

"I'm not being arrogant, I'm telling you the truth."

"Thinking yourself irrevocably better than someone else is arrogance. Or have you somehow forgotten the meaning of the word?"

"I know what it means, don't patronize me. How come you get to be Logic and say that no one else is capable of rational thought but I can't say I'm Creativity and thus I'm naturally better at coming up with things?"

"Because I didn't say that no one else was capable of rational thought. I said that you of all people are incapable of seeing reason."

"What the hell's the difference?"

Logan smiles smugly, sitting up a little straighter. "Perhaps if you were capable of understanding reason I wouldn't need to explain it to you."

Roman growls, his hands curling into fists and Logan raises a scolding eyebrow.

"Careful, Roman. You're letting your emotions get the better of you. Again."

"I'm letting—you're antagonizing me!"

"I'm not sure you know what that word means either."

"I don't—don't you sit there and tell me I don't know what an antagonist is," Roman splutters, pointing a finger like a dagger at Logan, "and you don't have the high ground right now either."

"Why not?"

"You're insulting me as often as I'm insulting you!"

"So you can admit you've been insulting me."

Roman fumes. "So have you!"

"No. I have been pointing out facts."

"Insulting facts."

"Facts are most often insulting to people who lack the intellectual capacity to understand them."

"Lack the—are you capable of going a single sentence without calling me stupid?"

"Go a single sentence without being stupid and I won't have to."

"And here I thought you were supposed to be useful."

The room stills. Logan's face freezes for a moment and Roman winces internally. That's a button he shouldn't have pressed. Sure, maybe he wanted to needle Logan for making him so upset but he shouldn't have gone there. That's a sore spot that hasn't healed yet. He should apologize. He should apologize right now.

"I—"

"I am useful," Logan says, his voice dangerously low.

"Logan, I—"

"You, on the other hand," he continues, ignoring Roman's attempt to apologize, "are nothing but a waste of time."

Any words Roman may have had in his throat choke off. He gulps around empty air, staring at Logan.

"Are you capable of thinking of anyone but yourself? Do you understand that you are not so important that everything revolves around you?" Logan hasn't stood up, but the way he's just glaring at Roman makes it feel like he's looming over him. "You think yourself, what, some great presence or some great menace that I have to vanquish?"

Scrabbling for words in a filling grave, Roman grabs a chunk of dirt that buries him alive.

"I'm not Remus."

Logan's eyes flash dangerously. "No, Roman. You are not Remus. Remus has a function. Remus serves a purpose. And Remus, despite what you think of him—"

I love him. I love him, he's my brother, he's my Remus. I'm sorry, Re, I didn't mean it, I'm sorry.

"—is actually capable of listening to reason. You, Roman, you are not. At best you are a nuisance and a mild inconvenience, one easily dealt with and not worth the time it takes to do so."

He takes a moment to collect himself.

"I am busy. I cannot afford to waste time on you. If you are so determined to thrill me with impossible feats, go and find somewhere you are wanted."

Roman's chest burns.

He stares wordlessly at Logan, who just stares back at him. Against all hopes he wants Logan to take it back, the way he was going to, to apologize or realize what he just said or something, something, but he doesn't. He just stares at Roman and glares and then he turns away.

He packs up his things and leaves.

Roman is left alone.

He stares after him for a long time, still in shock. The words bounce around and around his head like bullets ricocheting off metal plates only to score grazes in every surface. They replay over and over and over until they threaten to swallow him whole.

He's not stupid. He's not stupid. He knows that there are ways to draw attention to himself that aren't good and that he—he can be a nuisance sometimes. And in being a nuisance, he's cultivated an atmosphere where the lack of him is to be looked forward to. But he—he's not stupid. He knows that where that comes from is the opposite; everything he's done, every part of the persona he's crafted, is in defiance of that invisibility.

This isn't a revelation, he realizes, but the difference between knowing and knowing. The kind that gets sobbed into your pillow in the dead of night.

And in that petty, spiteful, semantic kind of defiance that children are so often accused of, he sinks out to his room because that's where Patton said he wants him to stay.

He stumbles around the room in a state of shock, clumsy and inelegant and utterly irredeemable, knocking into his bookshelf and his desk and almost tripping over a notebook he left lying on the floor. He strips off the prince costume and throws it away like it burns to touch, staggering to the bed in nothing but undershirt and boxers and crawling under the covers.

He shouldn't be doing this. He's just proving Logan right. But he doesn't want to be something other than he is right now and if Logan thinks he's a stupid child that throws temper tantrums and sulks when he doesn't get his way, then he's allowed to curl up into a ball and clutch his hand to his chest. It's still hurting, the words still dragging themselves over his exposed nerves, and he curls up around it like he could offer it protection.

He should go to someone, he knows. They've all been trying to get better about asking for help and support. He should get up and go—but who would he go to?

Patton would want to hear everything that happened and he'd be scolded for being so mean to Logan. Patton would make him go apologize right then and there and he doesn't think he could bear going anywhere near Logan right now.

Virgil would take Logan's side immediately, he's sure of it. Virgil calls him stupid all the time, he'd probably be happy that someone finally told you like it is, Princey, deal with it.

Janus would take Logan's side too. Not because he'd necessarily agree with him—even though he would—but because it's not Roman's side.

Remus…Remus would hate him.

A pained noise leaves the safety of the covers and Roman only belatedly realizes it's him. He doesn't want to go and expose himself anymore to the possibility of being hurt. He wants to run away and lick his wounds and be upset all by himself. He doesn't want to be accused of being attention-seeking and overdramatic and all of that, doesn't want to be lectured and scolded and then—only then—offered the barest scraps of comfort like a starving animal being tossed a bone. He doesn't want to be hurt and then have them say it's for his own good. He doesn't want that, he doesn't want that, he doesn't want that.

He wants someone to just come and hold him. To say it's okay that he's upset—not even that he was right or that Logan shouldn't have said that or even that it's all going to be okay.

He just wants someone to comfort him. It doesn't have to be big or sweeping or anything, they don't have to stay for a long time, they don't—it doesn't have to be large or—or complicated, he doesn't—he just wants a hug, okay? Or not even a hug, it doesn't have to be a hug, it can just be a touch or something—or not even that, it can just be a—a look, or a nod or—okay, it doesn't even have to be that, okay? He just—he just wants—

He just wants, okay?

Roman's eyes start to grow heavy and he curls up tighter, limp and aching fingers brushing against his face as he almost nuzzles into his hand. He moves his head until he can get his nose tucked into the space under his thumb and feel the shuddering of his own breath against his palm. Oh, he wants and wants and wants and in the safety of the covers he can pretend.

"Shh," he mumbles in a half-voice that he's more thinking than saying, "shh, shh, it's okay. It's okay."

He brushes his lips against the skin there and it almost feels like a kiss.

"Shh, it's okay, it's okay, shh…it's alright. It's okay. It's okay, it's okay." He does it again, trying to narrow his focus down to just that, the gentleness of the touch and the shaking voice from his own throat. "It's alright. Shh, it's alright."

His fingers twitch from a small gust that blows under the blanket and he moves, pressing it deeper into the chasm between his chest and the bed and lets his breath blow warm and stuffy over the skin again.

"Shh-shh-shh," he warbles in broken half-tones, "it's okay, it's okay, it's okay."

Slowly, he works himself back from the brink, mumbling the half-comfort to his hand until the thought of moving no longer threatens to tear him apart. He keeps at it as he drags himself from beneath the covers, as he drags on a t-shirt and shorts, mumbling that it's okay, we just have to go get something to eat, then we can come back and sleep. He keeps the hand pressed to his chest, holding his breath as he creeps down the stairs.

It's late. Well past midnight. The others are likely gone to their separate corners of the Mindscape. Had he the wherewithal to notice he might feel ridiculous, stealing away like a thief in the night as he makes his way to his own kitchen, but all he has space for is the lifeline of comfort that he still murmurs in the darkness.

"Just a little further," he mumbles, "almost there."

The kitchen looms in sharp lines and cold surfaces. He lumbers in and goes to the cabinet, reaching up for the one food he knows he can eat. The fingers on his useful hand brush against the cool glass of the Crofter's bottle and he takes it down, slumping to the floor and curling up, only belatedly realizing he didn't grab a spoon and groping around until he can get one.

It's his jar, almost empty, but just enough left that if he eats it he can make it until morning.

The spoon clinks and rattles as he props the jar up in his lap, eating clumsily until he can scrape the spoon around the edges and get the last of it. He starts crying somewhere in the middle and he only notices because it starts to taste salty.

Almost done, he thinks to his hand, almost there. It's okay. Shh, shh, it's okay.

He's just about to throw the empty jar away and skulk back to his room when the stairs creak.

Don't come here. Oh, god, please don't come in here.

The footsteps get closer. He curls up tighter, thinking maybe he won't be seen in the dark. They get closer.

A shadow looms in the sliver of light from the window.

Don't see me. Please don't see me.

A figure rounds the corner and stops, staring down at him. Its eyes narrow behind glasses as it sees the jar clutched in Roman's hands.

Logan doesn't get the chance to say anything before Roman is gone.

He drops into some random part of the Imagination and just runs. His bare feet cry out in protest as he runs over jagged rocks and sharp stones but he pushes onward. His hand lies useless in the wind, just aching from the memory of harsh words and the panic of being discovered by Logan. The frightened animal that lives in his brain digs its teeth into the soft part of his heart and makes him run faster, faster, faster.

Somewhere he's wanted. Somewhere he's wanted. Somewhere he's wanted.

Unbeknownst to him, the Imagination is building him something. A tall tower, high enough that its head loses itself in the clouds, invisible save for the way clouds can't pass through it, where he can curl up in a small room and be far away from everyone else. It waits until he collapses from sheer exhaustion, carrying him up, up, up, closing itself around him until he's locked in.

Roman doesn't notice any of that. He's too busy curled around his hand again, trying to murmur to it, comfort it, drag himself out of this ache again. He chokes on the words it's okay and it's alright and so he gasps out shh, shh, shh.

Sobs force their way out of his throat and it just hurts. He keeps trying, struggling to shush them, to shush his hand, to shush himself, to give himself something, anything, just to make it stop.

But his hand is just a hand and the pain is just pain. There's no tragedy in it, no pity in it, nothing redeemable or salvageable from the mess he's made.

He really is stupid.

* * *

A jar, discarded and empty on the kitchen floor. It clinks as it rolls over the boards until it comes to a stop, resting in the shadow of the stove.

Its label, half rubbed away from being handled, still clings stubbornly to the glass. One of the letters is still visible, just slightly, the single 'R' barely more than an outline in the faint light from the windows.

The lid is still up on the counter, laid on its back, cold and alone on the flat surface. The jar is somewhere else, air blowing through the empty spaces where it should be.

It fades away as the morning sun dawns, still empty.

* * *

"Hey, Pat," Virgil calls as he walks downstairs, "have you seen Roman?"

Patton frowns, glancing around the living room. "No, I haven't. Why?"

"Something really weird is happening and I think it's his fault."

"What's going on?"

Virgil comes into the kitchen and holds up his phone. One of their videos is playing but as they watch, it starts to glitch, skipping back and forth as though someone's dragging the slider.

"Huh. That's weird."

"Right?"

"Why do you think Roman has something to do with this?"

"'Cause all the parts it's skipping are the parts with him in it. And look at this." Virgil taps through a menu. "See?"

The thumbnails with Roman in them are conspicuously missing a certain prince. Patton puts his hands on his hips. "Well, that is strange."

"That's what I said. So yeah, we need to find him."

"I haven't seen him in a few days, I don't think. I guess I thought he was busy."

"Well, great, who was the last person to see him?"

"See who?"

"Do not do that," Virgil grumbles, helping himself up from the stair rail as Janus strides from the shadows, "you'll make me break something."

"Oh, relax, you're fine."

Virgil mutters something decidedly unflattering and shoves his hands in his pockets. "Have you seen Roman?"

"Not for a while, no." He frowns. "Why, is something wrong?"

They show him what's happening to the videos and he hums.

"That's…that's not good."

"No, it isn't."

"We need to find Remus."

"Wait, what? Why Remus?"

"He's the one who'll most likely know what Roman's done to cause this." Janus is already striding away. "Come on. We need to hurry."

They do, because as they walk they realize that Roman's poster is gone. Then his paintings. They break into a run when they see that his door is no longer bright red.

"Remus," Janus barks as they tear into the other living room, "Remus, we need you now."

As soon as Remus appears they know he knows already. He's almost frothing at the mouth, his hands itching around his Morningstar as he glares at them.

"What did you do," he snarls, "where is he?"

"We were coming to ask you," Virgil says, his hands raised, "we haven't seen him. We don't know."

Remus glares at all of them before looking at Janus, who nods. "He's Fading. He's trying to disappear. We need to find him now."

"Wait, Fading? What's that mean?"

"Like ducking out but worse, 'cause he's Creativity and I'll be happy to explain this once he's back. Now who saw him last?"

"Not me," Patton says, "I only saw him at breakfast a few days ago with everyone."

"That's the last time I saw him too."

"Janus?"

"We met up briefly to discuss a show but he had to leave early. Said he was…"

Remus growls as Janus trails off. "Said he was what?"

"…meeting with Logan. He had to go meet with Logan."

No sooner has Janus finished speaking, Remus reaches out a hand and yanks. A body falls to the ground in front of him.

"Start talking, bitch boy," he snarls, stalking over to loom over Logan, "what the fuck did you do to my brother?"

"I didn't—I don't know—"

An animalistic roar leaves Remus's throat and he hefts the Morningstar, ready to bring it down when Virgil catches his wrist.

"Hey, hey, easy! If you hurt him, we won't find out what happened!"

"He hurt Roman."

"We don't know that for sure, Remus, just—just take a second, okay?"

"I don't care—"

"Look at him," Janus interrupts quickly, "Remus, look at him."

Remus growls and tears himself free from Virgil's hold but does. Logan is still on the ground, his hands raised in surrender, glasses askew on his face. His shirt is dirty, tie mussed and torn, scratches on his arms and neck.

Wait.

"You were looking for him," Remus spits, "in the Imagination, weren't you?"

Logan swallows. "Yes."

"Why?"

"Because you're right. He's Fading and he's not anywhere else and that's the only place he can be but I don't know where else to look."

"Why is he Fading," Patton asks as Virgil has to hold Remus back again, "what happened?"

Janus gives Logan a warning look as he opens his mouth.

"…we had an argument."

"I get into arguments with Princey all the time," Virgil says sharply, "they don't end with Roman Fading."

"I may have said some things."

"You're going to have to be more specific."

"I—we're running out of time, we need to find him—ah!"

Remus, quicker than Virgil, shoots forward and pins Logan to the wall, Morningstar thrust against his chest. Logan winces as the spikes dig into him and Remus just growls.

"If you do not tell me exactly what you said to him," he says in a calm voice, "you and I are gonna run a little experiment on how hard it is to break the human spine."

Logan swallows. "I…I called him stupid. I said he—that he was incapable of listening to reason and that he—he should go somewhere where he was wanted."

"Why," Virgil growls, "in the fuck did you do that?"

"I was angry," he defends weakly, "I—I didn't mean it, I just wanted to hurt him—"

"Congratulations," Janus says lowly, "you did. You hurt him so badly he wants to disappear."

"I didn't know that," Logan says impatiently, "and I was trying to fix it! I went and looked for him the moment I'd calmed down enough to realize it was wrong and he wasn't anywhere! I only managed to find him that night in the kitchen and he vanished before I could say a thing!"

"Remus," Janus says softly, pulling Remus back, "we need to look in the Imagination. You know it better than the rest of us, where is he?"

Remus glares at Logan one more time before stalking to the door and ripping it open. "He's going to be hidden. The Imagination is him when he gets like this, if he's scared and hurt it's going to protect him."

But the Imagination they step into isn't rolling fields or towering castles or fairytale woods. It's glitching messes of clumps of grass and loose bricks, a white and lifeless sky overhead. Remus growls and breaks into a run.

"Look for anything that is still intact," he barks over his shoulder, "that'll be the last to go."

They run for hours.

A broken scarecrow, its arms dangling by the thinnest splinter as a crow glitches in and out of existence.

A frog, frozen mid-leap as its legs reach for nothing.

A bridge, splintered and torn by something massive except all that's left of it are shards of wooden boards.

They're losing him.

"There," Virgil shouts, pointing, "the tower!"

A single tower, the only thing still intact, stretching as high as the clouds, its shadow as long and thin as a needle as it pierces the last of the ground. They race towards it and crash through the door.

"Whoa!"

"I've got you, I've got you."

"Is everyone alright?"

"Don't fall!"

For there are no stairs inside this tower. Only a bottomless pit that stretches into yawning nothingness. Remus blocks the path with his body, Janus's arms around his waist as Logan and Virgil cling to the crumbling walls.

"How the hell do we get up there?"

"We climb."

"You can't be serious."

Remus hoslters the Morningstar star and digs his hands into the brick. He hoists himself up and glances down. "Sooner or later the rest of this is gonna go. You wanna be down here when it does or you wanna be closer to Roman?"

Brick by brick.

Hand over hand.

Inch by inch.

When Remus finally touches smooth wood, feeling around for the latch of the trapdoor, he shoves it open and they pile in, panting from the effort of it as he looks desperately around for Roman.

In the center of the room, surrounded by a wooden shell, is a pile of blankets and pillows. If he strains, he can hear quiet mutters coming from within. Leaving the others on the floor, he stands up and cautiously makes his way over, crouching down and peeling back the very top layer.

"Oh, Ro…"

Roman lies there, curled into a ball, cobwebs and dust caked on his skin. The only parts free from it are his face and one of his hands, his lips moving just enough to let air circulate and blow it away. Tear tracks are evident in the soot, his voice so overtaxed only the faintest sounds still audible.

Just enough to make them out.

"Shh, shh, shh, it's okay. It's okay. Shh. Shh. It's alright. Shh."

A lump rises in Remus's throat and he reaches out shakily, pulling the covers away. "Roro, Roro, it's me. It's me, Ro-Bro, I'm here."

Nothing.

"Roman, it's me," he tries desperately, "Ro-Bro, Ro, Roman!"

"Roman?"

"Roman, it's us."

"Open your eyes, little prince, we're here, it's okay."

Roman twitches slightly as Janus speaks but doesn't stir.

"Why isn't it working? What do we have to do?"

Remus shakes him harder. "Roman, wake up!"

"It won't work."

They all turn to stare at Logan.

"What do you mean," Remus hisses, "that it won't work?"

"He needs to be comforted," Logan says, slowly approaching the shell too, "he—he's trying to comfort himself. Let me try."

Virgil glances at Remus and tugs Patton and Janus back. Remus glares at him but doesn't stop him.

"If you fuck this up—"

"Then I'm your lab rat, I know."

"Good."

Logan takes a deep breath and looks in.

Oh, little one, he thinks as he takes in Roman's poor state, oh, I never meant for this, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.

He lifts a shaking hand and fits it clumsily around Roman's.

"Shh," he murmurs, "shh, shh, it's okay. It's alright. It's alright. Shh, shh."

Roman's hand twitches.

"It's okay," he says again, "shh-shh-shh, it's okay. You're alright. It's all okay."

Roman stills, then slumps. Logan fits his other hand to his face, not wincing at how cold it is.

"You're okay," he keeps saying softly, "shh, little one, you're okay. It's alright. It's okay."

The ground rumbles. Color begins to bleed back into the sky. Logan leans down and puts his mouth to Roman's ear.

"I'm sorry, little one," he whispers, "I'm sorry, it's okay. Shh, shh, I'm sorry."

"It's working!"

"Keep going, Logan, it's working."

"Come on, Roman, you can do it."

"Shh, little one, it's okay." He runs his fingers through Roman's hair, shaking loose the dust and debris. "It's all okay now."

Slowly, painfully slowly, he coaxes Roman's Imagination back to life. He brushes away the dust and the cobwebs and murmurs that it's okay, you're alright now, it's going to be alright. Every word that leaves his lips leaves Roman looking a little more like he's just asleep.

He debates with himself for a moment, before leaning up and brushing a kiss across Roman's temple.

"I'm right here."

Something shudders.

"Roman?"

Roman's eyes flutter and slowly open. "L-Logan?"

"Hello, little one," he whispers, "it's okay. I'm here now."

General Taglist: @frxgprince@potereregina@gattonero17@iamhereforthegayshit@thefingergunsgirl@awkwardandanxiousfander@creative-lampd-liberties@djpurple3@winterswrandomness@sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes@iminyourfandom@bullet-tothefeels@full-of-roman-angst-trash  @ask-elsalvador @ramdomthingsfrommymind@demoniccheese83@pattonsandershugs @el-does-photography @princeanxious@firefinch-ember@fandomssaremysoul@im-an-anxious-wreck@crazy-multifandomfangirl @punk-academian-witch@enby-ralsei@unicornssunflowersandstuff@wildhorsewolf @thetruthaboutthesun @stubbornness-and-spite @princedarkandstormv  @your-local-fookin-deadmeme @angels-and-dreams@averykedavra @a-ghostlight-for-roman @treasurechestininterweb  @cricketanne @queerly-fluid-fan @compactdiscdraws@cecil-but-gayer@i-am-overly-complicated@annytheseal@alias290@tranquil-space-ninja @arxticandy @mychemically-imbalanced-romance @whyiask@crows-ace @emilythezeldafan@frida0043 @ieatspinalcords @snowyfires@cyanide-violence@oonagh2@xxpanic-at-the-everywherexx@rabbitsartcorner @percy-07734@triflingassailantofmyemotions @virgil-sanders-the-gay-emo@cerulean-watermelon@puffed-up-bees@meltheromanstan@joyrose-fandomer@insanitori@mavenmush@justablah65@10paradox10@uhhh-hi-there-i-am-nervous@cutebisexualmess@bella-bugatti-frogetti-baguetti @ultrageekygirl  

[5am-the-foxing-hour]

Logan and Janus: *playing poker*

Logan: Hm, I raise the bet with a jar of crofters.

Janus: Oh? That's an interesting choice from someone who is about to loose.

Logan: I doubt it.

Janus: Fine fine, I add some of my finest wine to the betting pool.

Logan: Are you bluffing me, Janus?

Janus: I have no idea what you're referring too~

Logan: Hmph, let's get this over with. *places down his cards* A Full House, I believe that's my win.

Janus: Ah- ah- ah- Logan, let's not get ahead of ourselves, hm? For you see...

Logan: I swear to all that is holy Janus!

Janus: I have a Royal Flush~ *places down his cars with a smirk*

Logan: FOR FUCKS SAKE!

Janus *picks up the jar of crofters*: Ooh plum, don't think I've tried that one before

Logan *face down on the table*: *weird mix of frustrated and sad noises*

Janus: ... I will say I admire your poker face, Logan, but your intentions shine through your actions, you only add something of importance to the betting pool when you have good cards, dear.

Logan *lifts his head so his jaw is against the table with a huff*: It should be against the rules for you to be THAT observant of my tells...

Janus *chuckles*: Now now dear, you know I love your tells, but if you're really hung up about this, how about a game of chess, winner takes all?

Logan: ...

Janus: I might even throw in a snuggle session as well if you win, love.

Logan *grumbles while blushing*: Could we skip the game of chess... and cuddle now, instead?

Janus *also blushing, slightly pitched voice*: Sure!

[lovelylogans]

i'm doing! more! polls! this time i'm doing a tournament based on favorite episodes! i put all the episode names into a random generator, so these pairings were not chosen for any reason in particular! i've discounted blooper episodes and song covers, so sorry if those were your faves!

either scroll through the tag on my blog, or find the links to the polls here! (winners in bolded italics.)

round one:

alone on valentine's day vs. my negative thinking

moving on part two vs. a new year of lying to myself

putting others first vs. can lying be good?

twelve days of christmas vs. the mind vs. the heart

losing my motivation vs. my true identity

moving on part one vs. working through intrusive thoughts

the dark side of disney vs. becoming a cartoon ft. butch hartman

making some changes vs. embarrassing phases

sanders sides q&a season one vs. learning new things about ourselves

selfishness vs selflessness vs. accepting anxiety part two

flirting with social anxiety vs. why do we get out of bed in the morning?

have i grown? vs. dealing with intrusive thoughts

growing up vs. accepting anxiety part one

the return of the jam vs. fitting in (hogwarts houses)

am i original? vs. i'm in a disney show!

crofters the musical vs. taking on anxiety with lilly singh

are there healthy distractions? vs. giving my series to a teenager

round two:

am i original? vs. embarrassing phases

accepting anxiety part one vs. the dark side of disney

dealing with intrusive thoughts vs. can plushies improve our mental health?

learning new things about ourselves vs. flirting with social anxiety

twelve days of christmas vs. are there healthy distractions?

fitting in (hogwarts houses) vs. crofters the musical

my negative thinking vs. selfishness vs. selflessness

losing my motivation vs. working through intrusive thoughts

a new year of lying to myself vs. putting others first

SUDDEN DEATH:

embarrassing phases vs. flirting with social anxiety

round three: quarter finals

dealing with intrusive thoughts vs. flirting with social anxiety

putting others first vs. working through intrusive thoughts

are there healthy distractions? vs. selfishness vs. selflessness

accepting anxiety part one vs. crofters the musical

round four: semifinals

accepting anxiety part one vs. dealing with intrusive thoughts

selfishness vs. selflessness vs. working through intrusive thoughts

round five: finals

dealing with intrusive thoughts vs. selfishness vs. selflessness

[fanfictalkdotcom]

Congratulations to all of our story finalists! Don't forget to vote for your favorite story by March 27th! Click here to access our voting threads.

Best Long Form Story:

After Destiny by @CambAngst

How to Retire in Regency England, A Handbook by @Nigel the Backpacking Hipster

In This Darkness by @quill2parchment

Stupid Alex Summers by @Lost_Robin

The Crofter and The Snake by @Oregonian

Best Short Form Story:

Call It What You Want by @RogueSlytherin

Paper Rings by @RonsGirlTuesday

To Know Your Heart by @Gallifrey Gal

Best One-Shot Story:

Friends Don't by @RogueSlytherin

Here's To Looking At You...Again by @Gallifrey Gal

Mouse by @Agent Michael Scarn

run, run, run away, run away darlings by @Zarquon

three summers ago by @quill and ted

Best Drabble/Flash Fiction:

In Light Of You (ch 1: The Boy Who Lived) by @quill2parchment

Limitless by @RonsGirlTuesday

microcosm (ch 2: walnuts and peaches) by @VaguelyCreativeName

Best Series/Universe:

all roads lead to you by @dreamthief

The Moonlight Quartet by @inmyownlittletemporalanomaly

Best Original Fiction:

even the iron still fears the rot by @grumpy cat

A Mourning in January by @blackholeballet

A Season For Wallflowers by @Gallifrey Gal

Best Angst:

The Heart is Hard to Translate by @Gallifrey Gal

Lying Josephine by @Agent Michael Scarn

The Outsider by @Nigel the Backpacking Hipster

pink porcelain by @Zarquon

stay with me by @singmetothesun

Best Slow Burn Romance:

blue skies by @quill and ted

Fish For Pearls by @Zarquon

The Pride of Burrough House by @RonsGirlTuesday

Witchful Thinking by @The Grim Leaper

Best Raging Fire Romance:

Call It What You Want by @RogueSlytherin

A Language All Their Own by @prideofprewett

What A Wonderful Night This Is by @Ineke

Favorite Lead Character:

Lavender Brown in blue skies by @quill and ted

Howard Sutton in The Crofter and The Snake by @Oregonian

Verity in Don't Quit Your Day Job by @Goatspeed

Josephine Adaire in Lying Josephine by @Agent Michael Scarn

Favorite Supporting Character:

Jasper Jordan in as the lights went out by @dreamthief

Remy Chadwick-Esposito in Days That End in Y @RonsGirlTuesday

Daniel Knapp in How to Retire in Regency England, A Handbook by @Nigel the Backpacking Hipster

Fred Weasley Lying Josephine by @Agent Michael Scarn

Favorite Lead Pairing:

John Murphy/Emma Rhodes in as the lights went out by @dreamthief

Aziraphale/Crowley in Come Fly With Me by @Gallifrey Gal

Eddie Munson/Chrissy Cunningham in (i think) you taste like rock candy by @grumpy cat

Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley in In Light Of You by @quill2parchment

Ted Tonks/Severus Snape in More Than Words by @inmyownlittletemporalanomaly

Not an FFT member yet? Check out our welcome post if you're looking for a writing community to join!

[scotianostra]

James Nicolas Sutherland Matheson was born on October 17th 1896 at Shiness, near Lairg, Sutherland.

The was the son of a Scottish trader in India. After attending the University of Edinburgh he also became a trader in India and in 1832 he co-founded Jardine-Matheson company in Canton (Guangzhou) with the aim of trading opium, tea and other goods with China.

I’m not going to beat about the bush, Matheson wasn’t a nice guy, he persuaded the Government to wage war with China, which had rejected proposals to legalise opium. The drug had become a problem for the Chinese Government who tried to abolish the trade by confiscation and port blockade.

The subsequent Treaty of Nanking in 1842 allowed Jardine Matheson to expand its business empire from Canton to Hong Kong and mainland China.

There was some good points in his life, in 1844 Matheson bought the Isle of Lewis for more than £500,000 from the bankrupt estate of the MacKenzies of Seaforth. Construction of the Castle, which was built on the site of the Seaforth Lodge, commenced in 1847 and took seven years to complete. During his period of ownership of the island Matheson provided employment, funded famine relief and engaged in many other social and economic projects to the benefit of the whole community, spending some £329,000 by 1850.

However.

As well as Lewis he also took charge of the Island adjoining it - Bernera. He appointed a solicitor to be his factor, Donald Munro. Munro was soon seen to be heavy handed, and his evictions were naturally unpopular. In 1874 Donald Munro went a step too far for the crofters - he sent in a Sheriff Officer to Bernera to serve 58 eviction notices.

Really, there was no just cause for this action and it was greeted with utter disbelief! When the bailiffs arrived at Tobson they were pelted with a shower of clods of earth. The sheriff officer also had his coat torn and he issued a threat saying that “ if he had a gun may Bernera mothers would be mourning the loss of their sons”.

After three crofters were singled out and arrested hundreds of Bernera men with pipers at the front marched on Lews Castle, Stornoway. They demanded an audience with Matheson himself. Matheson who was somewhat aged at the time disowned Donald Munro, who came to be dismissed in 1875. It has become known as the Bernera Riot.

The Bernera court case of 1874 is the first documented victory for Highland crofters and correctly holds its place as the opening shot of the crofters fight-back which led to the Napier Commission and land reform. The prisoners were acquitted following the brilliant performance of the Inverness lawyer Charles Innes. Mr Innes’s name is still revered in Bernera today. This case was a most welcome victory for the crofters and it inspired many more to revolt.

Stones from every croft on Bernera and Tir Mor are incorporated in this cairn and the coping stones are taken from the houses of the three men who stood trial.

Matheson died in 1878 at the age of 82 in Menton France. The Lewis estate passed to his widow and subsequently to his nephew Donald and great-nephew Colonel Duncan Matheson.

His widow erected a memorial to him in the grounds of Lews Castle He left £1,500 to help pay for the construction of the harbour at

The organisation that Matheson co-founded has evolved into Jardine Matheson Holdings, which still exists today, in 2013 the company was in the top 200 publicly traded companies in the world. Until 1936, principles of staff recruitment, told by Keswick, remained Scottish first, Oxbridge second, while the leadership of the company is Scottish, the firm is international in its dealings. The firm now employs around 390,000 staff with an annual turnover in excess of £35billion.

Pics are Matheson, the family Tomb at Lairg and the cairn was situated in the centre of Bernera in 1992 to commemorate the Bernera Riot of 1874.

[edupunkn00b]

Where the Air is Sweet, Chapter 7

Photo by Rachel Martin on Unsplash

Prev - Ch. 7 - Next - Masterpost - [ AO3 ]

Patton and Logan share a quiet evening together. WC: 782 - Rated: G - CW: fluf, fluf, fluff

After dinner, Patton and Logan shared a big slice of the angel food cake drizzled in Crofters syrup. They sat together on the floor in front of the coffee table, backs pressed against Patton’s overstuffed armchair.

“What, um..” Logan began carefully. He stabbed at a soft berry and tapped it against the plate. “What would you think about trading in our chairs for a…” He glanced up at Patton’s eyes, courage bolstered by his smile and the way he leaned a little closer, listening.

“Well, for a sofa. Or a… a love seat to fit the space.”

Patton’s eyes twinkled, lips curled in a tiny grin, as he looked around their living room. “It would give us a comfy spot to enjoy together,” he nodded.

Unbidden, Logan’s eyes caught on their open bedroom door and the two twin beds within. He looked back quickly, but not before Patton followed his gaze, grin growing. “I like the way you think, Lo.” He took another bite of the cake, then speared a piece for Logan, as well. “We could go shopping for a sofa next weekend.”

Still chewing, Logan nodded, appreciating both the chance to think and Patton’s quiet agreement to ignore his other, unspoken, musings. Did he want to propose a similar change in their room? 

He and Patton hadn’t ever talked about their furniture before. Not really, at least. They’d simply each brought a few things from their college housing after they graduated and gone in together on the television they rarely watched and coffee table. But lately, they’d found themselves drawn to this little spot on the floor, dissolving the distance between them when they each sat in their separate armchairs.

With the exception of the occasions when Patton woke with nightmares, they each stuck to their own beds. Logan couldn’t deny, though, how more than once, he had lay awake, listening to Patton’s quiet sleep sounds and wished he had a reason to curl next to his warmth and breathe in the vanilla scent of his curls.

“Lo?” Patton had set the plate down on the coffee table and reached for him, one hand cupping his cheek. “Still thinking about Monday?”

Logan’s face flushed under his palm and he shrugged, unsure which was more embarrassing to admit, that he’d been imagining smelling his best friend’s hair or that he’d completely forgotten about his interview. “Per—perhaps,” he stammered, covering Patton’s hand and pressing it closer to his cheek.

Grinning, Patton brushed a thumb over his cheekbone. “I have an idea for another distraction before bed if you’re up for it.”

“I believe I would benefit from an additional distraction tonight,” he admitted.

Still smiling, Patton pressed a kiss against his forehead and gently detangled their limbs before rising to his feet. “I need to get something from the closet and I’ll join you in the kitchen.”

“A mystery,” Logan said, Patton’s smile soon spreading to his face, too. “I’ll take care of this,” he nodded as he picked up their plate and turned to the kitchen.

“Oh, thanks, Lo!” He shot him another thousand-watt smile and hurried off to their room.

Not at all certain what to expect, Logan washed the plate and wiped down the counter. He’d just put away the dried dish when Patton returned with an old, dented shoe box. The faded size sticker on one end was just barely visible, revealing a size Patton hadn’t worn since high school.

A low laugh bubbled up from deep in Logan’s belly. “Is that your broken crayon collection?”

“Tada!” Patton cheered, tugging off the lid with a flourish. The box was filled to the brim with snapped bits of crayons in a kaleidoscope of colors. The familiar scent of wax hit Logan’s nose, the scent of coloring books and kindergarten. The scent of childhood.

“You’ve filled it!” Logan laughed again, moving around the counter and running his fingers lightly over the broken crayons within. Patton had been collecting them since the day they’d met. When a crayon broke or had been worn down to a nub too small to hold, he’d squirreled it away. Years of crayon boxes were represented in that box and years of coloring. “What are you—” 

Logan’s eyes widened when a sudden thought struck him. “Wait, Pat… you’re not getting rid of them, are you?”

“Oh, no!” Patton shifted the box, cradling it close to his chest and reached with his other hand to cup Logan’s cheek. “No, of course not!” He grinned, shoulders dancing. “I was thinking we could melt them down and make rainbow crayons with those old mini muffin tins Remus found. Will you help?”

“I’d be honored, Pat. What shall we do first?”

[agentrouka-blog]

What’s up at Torrhen’s Square?

So last we saw, Torrhen’s Square was still in the hands of ironborn, with Dagmer Cleftjaw holding captive the remaining Tallharts: The Lord’s daughter and heir Eddara Tallheart (age nine or ten), her aunt-in-law Berena of House Hornwood (widow of the lord’s brother Leobald) with her two sons Brandon (fourteen) and Beren (ten).  (Interesting succession constellation warming up there, btw.)

It was an unattractive destination while Asha was still holed up at Deepwood Motte. 

Between Deepwood and Dagmer lay long leagues, rugged hills, thick woods, wild rivers, and more northmen than she cared to contemplate. (ADWD, The Wayward Bride)

And Stannis dismissed it as strategically unimportant.

"Dagmer Cleftjaw holds Torrhen's Square. A fierce fighter, and a leal servant of House Greyjoy. I can deliver that castle to you, and its garrison as well." Perhaps, she might have added, but it would not serve her cause to show doubt before this king. 

"Torrhen's Square is not worth the mud beneath my heels. It is Winterfell that matters." (ADWD, The King’s Prize)

But if things do go South for Stannis at the crofter village (to a point), it may prove a useful close-by retreat. Either for Stannis himself, or simply for Asha, should she escape. Theon might be another story. Considering what role he played in the fall of Moat Cailin, he may neither want to go nor be welcome or safe there. 

If Asha heads to Torrhen’s Square, they actually choose to serve her loyally and she manages to create the peaceful surrender that Theon was only able to fake with Ramsay, the Northmen may gain some experienced sailors for that fleet Wyman Manderly has squirreled away. 

If Stannis heads there, he could re-establish communication with Castle Black through their rookery. 

I would like to think that we haven’t heard the last of this castle yet. 

[box-of-fandom]

I'm bored but I don't wanna go to sleep so here's some more autistic sides. (Some of them are me projecting) (some of these are regular headcanons)

Virgil:

Special interests are mcr and horror movies

Used to mask around the light sides until one of them was like "dude we're all autistic no one cares." He still does it subconsciously but not as much as before.

MUST have his headphones within reach at all times.

Hates feeling warm, his room is 65⁰ on cool.

Has a purple lava lamp, hes always watching Remus when he comes over to make sure he doesn't try shit.

Logan:

When he's angry, he tries to rationalize his feelings, feels invalidated by said rationalizing, gets even angrier.

Crofters on toast is a same food for him, he eats it for breakfast every morning

Plans everything out, gets upset when plans change last second

Has a fidget cube to stim with

Patton

NEEDS soft things to calm down, his room is full of stuffies

Speaking of, him and Virgil has a jack skellington build a bear and Patton has a Sally one. (Let them be friends!)

Stims by baking! So many sweets around the house

Picky eater gang💪💪 he can try new stuff but it has to be on HIS terms, yk?

Remus

Chews EVERYTHING, he has chewlery but that doesn't stop him from eating table legs. Regularly chews pens until they explode

Rabies pride Remus. (This isn't even a headcanon at this point.)

Also jumps as a stim! Generally big stims

Hyperfixated on JTHM, regularly talks about the JTHM-> gay cartoons pipeline. Also probably about the 9/11 -> Twilight pipeline.

Janus

Like Logan, he gets upset when plans are changed last second.

Gloves help his sensory issues

Probably hyperfixated on phycology at one point, helped Patton with his plushie video.

Sometimes is the "allistic translator" for the others

Roman

Spinterest is Disney (obviously) but I also see him really enjoying Greek drama. Maybe has a book club with Logan/Janus (when they make up)

Also loves Minecraft, helps him destress.

Probably the reason Thomas got diagnosed at some point

Sings/flaps hands/rocks himself to stim.

Helps Patton bake (LET THEM BE FRIENDS AGAIN) his favorite thing to bake are cupcakes because he likes decorating them.

[aegor-bamfsteel]

Why do you think Tywin had Jaime lied to Tyrion about Tysha being a whore? I found the gangrape of Tysha being disgusting and unnecessary to the story. Since Tywin already had the marriage undone, Tywin could have thrown Tysha out of kingslanding and it could still had impacted Tyrion. Tywin will still look bad guy. Don't understand with forcing Tyrion to raped Tysha decision. I really hated grrm here.

Rape is a very sensitive subject, so I’m sticking my answer under a cut:

Jaime tells Tyrion why when he admits Tysha was a crofter’s daughter:

A girl, she was only a girl, no older than Sansa. "My wife," he croaked. "She wed me."

"For your gold, Father said. She was lowborn, you were a Lannister of Casterly Rock. All she wanted was the gold, which made her no different from a whore, so . . . so it would not be a lie, not truly, and . . . he said that you required a sharp lesson. That you would learn from it, and thank me later . . ." —ASOS Tyrion XI

I interpret this as Tywin not believing Tysha loved Tyrion for himself but rather because he was a great lord’s son and she could get money out of a relationship. Thus sleeping (among other things) with Tyrion for gold was the same as what Shae did, just without Tyrion being aware of the arrangement, according to Tywin’s idea. In addition, Tywin also thought that Tyrion needed to be taught a lesson about not to trust lowborn women who would—in his eyes—make a mockery of the Lannisters as their paramours; this seems to be what he felt Lord Tytos’ second mistress did, as he punished her by having her paraded naked for 2 weeks confessing to be “a thief and a whore” before being exiled. Yes, Tywin could’ve exiled Tysha from the Westerlands and be done with it, as some lords did with lowborn paramours, but that’s not in Tywin’s petty, cruel character. He wanted Tysha to suffer for being a peasant girl who dared to marry his son, and he wanted Tyrion to suffer for daring to love a peasant who obviously was just after his money and Lannister name; the “lesson” was that no woman would ever love him, but just his money. And while Tytos’ mistress was a public affair because she’d basically replaced his wife, nobody knew about Tysha, so any lesson would have to be private. Hence the gangrape by Lannister guards giving her a silver each, proving that Tysha was “nothing more” than a prostituted woman with the only value between her legs, ending with Tyrion forced to rape her and give her a gold coin because “he was a Lannister and worth more” to show Tyrion shamed House Lannister by marrying her.

I’m pretty sure that HBO agrees with you that the gangrape of Tysha was disgusting, because she’s not in the show. While people complained this muddles the Tyrion-Tywin relationship and why he latched onto Shae so fast, I disagree because there are enough reasons for Tyrion and Tywin to hate each other. Tyrion didn’t necessarily need to be told of the lie about Tysha to want to kill him; finding Shae, the lady who testified against him, in his bed could’ve been enough. We didn’t need another peasant woman—we already have Pia, Shae, Alayaya, Palla, Layna, Bessa of Hag’s Mire, Kyra, Lacey, Maerie, Mhaegen, both of the Miller’s wives, Pycelle’s serving girl, Senelle and the two puppeteers, Victarion’s salt wife—in the main series whose role in the story is to be beaten, tortured, raped, or murdered just to show how bad war is or that the lords don’t care about the smallfolk…or in this case, to further a conflict between two male characters while the smallfolk woman is a memory between them (and not even, if Tywin says he forgot who she was). Yes, Tyrion was a victim of Tywin’s abuse, and he needed a reason to kill him and to get mad at Jaime to not trust him anymore, but GRRM could’ve told that story without yet another weakly characterized peasant woman being unrealistically raped. Women in Refrigerators is never going to be a trope that sits right with me, and unlike Victarion’s third wife—which considering GRRM considers Vic a dumb brute, makes me think that she’s basically a parody of fridged women—Tysha is played disgustingly straight.