#damon the devout

[asoiafandotherbooks]

TWOIAF/Fire & Blood: The Trial By Seven

Warning, Spoilers Ahead…

Visenya has crowned Maegor and proclaimed him King of Westeros. Visenya and Maegor arrived and King’s Landing and laid down the challenge: “Want some? Come get some!”

The Warrior’s Sons picked up the gauntlet. Seven hundred knights, led by Ser Damon “the Devout”, rode to Visenya’s Hill.

Maegor wasn’t in the mood to persuade or pacify his opponents: “Let us not bandy words. Swords will decide this matter.”

Damon the Devout agreed: “Let each side have seven champions, as it was done in Andalos of old. Can you find six men to stand beside you?”

This was the moment Maegor realized he left the Kingsguard at Dragonstone and Visenya isn’t as spry as she used to be. Maegor asked the crowd: “Who will come and stand beside his king?” The crowd played the “sorry, I can’t hear you” game as the Warrior’s Sons were fierce fighters. Dick Bean, a master-at-arms, volunteered to fight with Maegor: “I been a king’s man since I was a boy. I mean to die a king’s man.”

Dick’s courage shamed a knight to step forward: Bernarr Brune, the quire who had slain Harren the Red and had been knighted by King Aenys. Bernarr proclaimed: “This Bean shames us all! Are there no true knights here? No leal men?”

Bernarr’s scorn cased others to come forward: Ser Bramm of Blackhull (a hedge knight), Ser Rayford Rosby, Ser Guy “the Glutton” Lothson, and Ser Lucifer Massey, the Lord of Stonedance.

Playing for the other team are Ser Damon “the Devout” Morrigen (Grand Captain of the Warrior’s Sons), Ser Lyle Bracken, Ser Harys “Death’s Head Harry” Horpe, Ser Aegon Ambrose, Ser Dickon Flowers (the Bastard of Beesbury), Ser William the Wanderer, and Ser Garibald of the Seven Stars (the septon knight).

Before covering the Trial by Seven, have the opposing sides taken the time to clarify the stakes in the fight? What happens if Maegor wins? He’s recognized as king? The Warrior’s Sons leave King’s Landing? The Faith ceases their rebellion? If the Warrior’s Sons win? What? The Targaryens forfeit their claim to the throne? The Faith chooses the next king? Does Damon have the authority to make these decisions/concessions? Would the High Septon honor the agreements? What is the point of this mortal combat?

Damon the Devout led a prayer before the fight. Visenya gave the command to begin. Fight!

The only agreed version of the fight was that Dick Bean died first, cut down by Lyle Bracken. The rest of the details vary wildly. Some say the fight went on for hours, other say it lasted minutes. No one seems to agree on whether Lord Massey killed Harry Horpe or if Horpe killed Massey. The ending came down to Maegor versus Damon the Devout and William the Wanderer. Maegor slew Damon and dealt William a death blow but William gave the king a terrible blow to the head before dying. The blow cracked Maegor’s helm and left him insensate.

Maegor was declared the victor as he was the only combatant still alive – comatose but alive.

Visenya ordered Maegor to be taken to the maesters. The Swords of the Faith “dropped to their knees in submission” and Visenya ordered the Warrior’s Sons to return to Rhaenys’ Hill.

The trial didn’t resolve a thing – the Warrior’s Sons are still in King’s Landing with no intention of leaving. The Faith is still in rebellion. The only result was the death of thirteen men and a weakened Maegor. So what was the point? This is why you discuss parameters before a fight to the death! The main purpose of the fight seems to be a rationalization for Maegor’s post-coma cruelty.

Up next, Maegor takes a month-long nap.

[eliamartel]

When the Andals came, the Hightowers were amongst the first lords of Westeros to welcome them. "Wars are bad for trade," said Lord Dorian Hightower, when he set aside his wife of twenty years, the mother of his children, to take an Andal princess as his bride. His grandson Lord Damon (the Devout) was the first to accept the Faith. To honor the new gods, he built the first sept in Oldtown and six more elsewhere in his realm. When he died prematurely of a bad belly, Septon Robeson became regent for his newborn son, ruling Oldtown in all but name for the next twenty years and ultimately becoming the first High Septon. The boy he raised and trained, Lord Triston Hightower, raised the Starry Sept in his honor after his passing.

- The World of Ice and Fire - The Reach: Oldtown

[gotham-at-nightfall]

Some say the fight went on for hours, others that most of the combatants were down and dying in mere moments. All agree that great deeds were done and mighty blows exchanged, until the end found Maegor Targaryen standing alone against Damon the Devout and Willam the Wanderer. Both of the Warrior's Sons were badly wounded, and His Grace had Blackfyre in his hand, but even so, it was a near thing. Even as he fell, Ser Willam dealt the king a terrible blow to the head that cracked his helm and left him insensate. Many thought Maegor dead until his mother removed his broken helm. "The king breathes," she said. "The king lives." The victory was his. ~Fire & Blood

Visenya Targaryen and Her Son Maegor

Based on the painting Ivan the Terrible and His Son Ivan by Ilya Repin. I cannot take credit for the idea of this concept! It was thrown at @ visenyaism in an ask I can no longer find. Thank you anon for your huge brain.

Anyways, here is Visenya and Maegor right after winning his Trial of the Seven.

EDIT: the person that suggested this idea originally was none other than @ delendastra so thank you for the idea you're brain is fucking huge thank you.

[westerosims]

Atop the Hill of Rhaenys sits the Sept of Remembrace. When the Faith began its rebellion against King Aenys, they claimed and fortified the sept as their own. It serves as the headquarters for the Faith Militant in King’s Landing.

[twoiafart]

The Trial of Seven Artwork by Ertaç Altinöz  

Ser Damon Morrigen, known as Damon the Devout, was the Grand Captain of the Warrior’s Sons at the time, and he led seven hundred of his men from the fortified Sept of Remembrance atop the Hill of Rhaenys to challenge Maegor’s right to rule. A Trial of Seven—an ancient Andal custom of pitting seven knights against seven more—was established to resolve the conflict. Accounts of the combat differ in many of the details, but they all agree that King Maegor was victorious—and the sole survivor.  

[spunkpunx]

Bittersweet Bundle Of Misery - Graham Coxon

Plot: Reader is dating Alex James, and finds herself miserable, but finds comfort in a tumultuous affair with his friend, and guitarist, Graham Coxon.

I will probably do a part 2.

Word count: 5153!

Warnings: Drugs, Alcoholism, Smut, Angst, Smoking

April 1996

Alex loved France. Not only that, but the French loved him, specifically the women. I didn't need to understand his words to recognise the flirty tone in his voice when he spoke to the waitresses, the bar staff, in fact, basically any attractive woman who fluttered her eyelashes at him. I wasn't sure how to feel about it. Of course, I knew Alex well, so I was never under the impression that he would be a devout, faithful partner, but I also never expected him to be so explicit in his relationships with other women. We both considered the relationship open, but Alex was the only one who seemed to take advantage of that situation.

I found solace in hanging around with Graham. The tour was stressful. We both struggled. We all drank, but for Graham it was a necessity. I spent more time with Graham than with Alex, but of course he didn’t care. The words “jealous” and “possessive” were not in his vocabulary, but then again, neither was “monogamous”.

I was tired and miserable. The venues where the band played could be stubborn about sound-checking themselves. This resulted in a lot of arguments, as I was strictly instructed that the band were only to have their own sound technician (me). Alex and Damon could be rude. Since I’d been dating Alex, nobody took my work seriously. I stopped being a technician with almost seven years experience on tour, and became “Alex’s girlfriend helping out”. The crew could be horribly sexist at times. Even Ivan dismissed me when I brought him a problem.

“Get one of the other technicians to look at it,” he said, after I told him that one of the venue’s sound guys had wired the bass into a guitar amp and not the subwoofer. He must have turned up the volume to compensate for the sound and blown the speaker.

“I know what I’m doing! I’ve worked with this band for years!” I ended up snapping. I heard one of the roadies mumble something about a period and it sent me over the edge. Sometimes I got so angry it was like I didn’t have control over my impulses anymore. I told them all to fuck off and stormed out the room, kicking the door with a tremendous thud as I left. After I’d cooled down and returned, the crew tiptoed around me like I’d overreacted. After the gig, Ivan came over to speak to me.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to undermine you. You’re one of the best sound techs we’ve had,” he apologised, giving me a friendly pat on the shoulder. I appreciated the apology, it was the first one I’d had since the tour began.

Alex and I had an argument that night. We argued often, but this was explosive. He came into my room, coked up and horny, sitting next to me on the bed and pressing wet kisses to my neck.

“Are you over your little tantrum?” he asked, kneading my breast a little roughly. I pulled away.

“Little tantrum?” I repeated, surprised at his tactless words. “Everyone has been treating me like shit recently Alex.” He shrugged, running a hand up my thigh over my jeans, toying with my top button.

“Whatever it was. Ivan was trying to help and you just went mental,” he laughed, like it was all a big joke. He pressed his lips against mine and I pushed him away.

“It’s your fault I’ve been feeling like this!” I snapped. “If I didn’t start dating you then people would actually treat me like a professional! All of a sudden Damon is asking the drum tech to check the mic volume before they go on!”

“All of a sudden it’s my fault?” he asked, voice raising slightly. “Just cause you overreacted and bit Ivan’s head off?!”

“You don’t get it Alex! If you were ever actually here you’d understand how I was feeling, but you’re always off snorting lines and banging these fucking French girls!” I shouted at him.

“Well maybe I’d be here more if you actually put out instead of just going off at me!” he yelled back. I stood up, walking across the room with my hair clenched in my fists. I wanted as much distance between us as possible.

“Put out?” I looked at him incredulously. “So you’re only here if you can have sex with me? This relationship only exists so you can rely on me having sex with you whenever you fancy?!” We were both properly shouting now.

“That’s what relationships are! That’s what love is! The only difference between friends and relationships is sex!” he replied, seeing this as perfectly valid reasoning.

“So all I am is sex to you?” I asked, my voice now dangerously softer but still dripping with venom.

“No... That’s not- Stop twisting my fucking words!”

I calmly picked up my cigarette carton and lit one, letting his point ferment.

“Get out,” I spat. He glowered at me, standing up and leaving the room, slamming the hotel room door behind him.

As soon as he left the room, hot tears started spilling down my face, not tears of sadness but of rage. I felt overwhelmed. I smoked a cigarette, then another, the deep inhalation subduing my frustration. I heard a soft knock at the door.

“Piss off Alex!”

“It’s not Alex,” came Graham’s gentle reply. I stood and opened the door, wiping at my cheeks with the back of my hand.

“Gra,” I huffed in relief at his presence.

“I heard you were arguing, I wanted to see you were okay,” he said. It didn’t surprise me he’d heard it. Graham’s room was just across the hall, and we’d not been quiet. “Pub?” he offered, smiling slightly.

“Yeah alright, I’ll just grab my coat.”

We found a small bar not too far away from the hotel. Neither of us spoke particularly good French, but Graham knew enough to order some wine. The Parisians didn’t drink the same way the British did, and both of us were a little too embarrassed to try and order two pints of beer and a pack of cheese and onion crisps. Instead, we sat with a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc and two glasses, hidden away in a back booth and laughing at our clumsy attempts at the French language.

“It’s so embarrassing walking round with Mr Culture speaking fluent French like it’s the most natural thing in the world, meanwhile I struggle asking the man in the shop for a packet of fags,” I complained, chuckling.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what were you arguing about before?” Graham queried.

“Oh, just...” I paused, unsure whether to tell him or whether he’d just agree with Alex. “Well you know how I lost my temper before?” Graham nodded, sucking his lips into his mouth like he always did when he was listening. “Well he made a joke about it, and it pissed me off. I dunno, I feel so tired and miserable recently, and the way everyone has been treating me like I’m totally incompetent at my job is so difficult. Alex is never there, he just swans around doing whatever he wants, meanwhile I just feel so overwhelmed,” I spilled, not even intending to share that much. Something about the build up of emotions in my life and Graham’s reassuring presence at the end of the table made me feel the sudden need to tell him everything. “I just don’t feel happy anymore.”

“I know how you feel, kind of,” Graham reassured, placing his hand over mine, while I took a large swig of wine. Looking back, I think that was the first moment I thought about kissing him. Of course I didn’t, we stayed out most of the night and then stumbled back to the hotel drunk. But I actually considered that maybe I wouldn’t feel so bad if I was dating Graham, not Alex.

October 1996

I never expected the knock at the door. It was a cold night in mid October, so when I opened the door wearing only a large t-shirt and odd socks, the biting breeze nipped at my bare legs. Graham stood there awkwardly, wrapped up in a fleece lined jacket and his eyes slightly glazed in his drunkness. I didn't ask any questions, just greeted him with a hug that lasted a few seconds longer than usual, then invited him in.

Graham wasn't a happy man, but I myself was hardly a ray of sunshine. I sat down next to him on my old settee, lighting a cigarette and refilling my wine glass. I offered him a glass but he shook his head.

"What's up Gra?" I asked him softly, reaching out to cover his hand with my own. He let out a dejected sigh.

"I can't do it anymore (y/n)," he explained. "The band. I'm starting to hate them all. The press, the tours, the people. It's way too fucking much. Damon won't change the music we do, he's being a controlling bastard, and then Alex, fuck." Graham pulled at his earlobe, something I noticed him do often when he was feeling nervous or stressed.

"What is it?"

"He's out living his playboy lifestyle, shagging around, doing lines, drinking champagne. Meanwhile, you just sit around pretending like everything is fine!"

I dropped my hand from his. I wasn't ready for this criticism, especially not from a man who was currently drunk every second of his life.

"It is fine, Gra."

"No it's not, because he barely gives you a backwards glance when he goes out and I have to watch it," he complained. He turned to me, looking over my face like he was drinking it in. "I think you're so beautiful."

"What?"

"So, so fucking beautiful," he repeated. Graham was bad at eye contact, but right now he was drunk, and looking at me with such a sinful look in his gaze. He glanced over my lips, and the small flip in my stomach as he did was my only sign. There had been moments over the past year where Graham and I had shared similar glances, but neither of us acted on impulse, until now.

I leaned in and pressed my lips against his. Immediately his hands slipped around my waist, pulling me flush against his body. His tongue slipped into my mouth, and as he deepened the kiss I pushed his jacket off of his shoulders. He assisted my movements, pulling it off to fall lazily on the floor.

His hand travelled down to my underwear, tucking a finger beneath the waistband of my knickers, pausing to see if I stopped him. I did, but only to pull his t-shirt over his head. I had seen Graham without a shirt before, but now I took in his lithe physique and broad shoulders. He slipped his hand to my clit, rubbing it in slow circles. I gasped at his touch and he leant down to brush his lips against my ear.

“You turn me on so much,” he whispered honestly, slipping two fingers inside me and curling them up. I moaned into his neck, pressing a kiss against it. Alex never really bothered with foreplay so this felt like heaven. After a minute he pulled his fingers out to push me down against the sofa, as I pulled him into another hungry kiss. He pushed his hips against mine and I let out another soft moan while he smiled into the kiss. Soon the desperation over took us and I fumbled with his belt, helping him remove the rest of his clothes before he pulled my t-shirt over my head, drinking in my body.

For a second he tucked his hands into my hair, holding my face behind my ears and stroking me cheeks with his thumb, before kissing me playfully on the nose. He pushed himself inside me with a slight groan, watching my face as I let out a satisfied sigh. I felt so appreciated, the way he looked at me was so tender. Unlike my day to day misery with Alex, this felt so raw, so right. He cupped one of my breasts with his hand, kneading it gently as he softly kissed and nipped at my neck. I felt sweat beading along my thighs, pressed into his body as we lay on the sofa, fully naked with the exception of our socks. He picked up the pace, and I could tell he was trying to control his urge to finish as quickly as possible. He rubbed my clit with the rough pad of his thumb, causing me to let out an unexpectedly loud moan as I clenched around him and my body shook. This brought him over the edge and he finished inside of me with a string of swears. He looked at me slightly panicked.

“Are you on birth control?” he asked, and I laughed, nodding, still out of breath and thrumming from my orgasm. He rested his forehead against my own and we lay there for a moment, panting, letting it register what had just occurred. I didn’t feel guilty at all, although I could tell Graham did. Alex had said so many things to me now that I couldn’t feel regret for sleeping with his friend, not when the moment was so sweet. Then he seemed to be pulled back into reality.

“I’m sorry,” he apologised, standing up and looking for his boxers. “I didn’t mean to do that, it wasn’t the plan.” I furrowed my eyebrows slightly.

“The plan? What was the plan?” I asked.

“I was going to tell you I love you, but you weren’t supposed to... You were going to tell me to piss off and then I could lay it to rest. I’m sorry. I’m drunk.” He pulled his boxers up and started looking for his jeans, but I reached out for his hand, pulling him round to look at me. I was still naked, knees drawn up to my chest on the sofa. I saw his eyes soften, his behaviour calm.

“Gra, I don’t want you to go,” I pleaded, my voice coming out a lot quieter than i intended. Alex and I had had another argument, and I was already feeling so lost until Graham showed up.

He paused, looking at out two hands together. I held my breath, waiting for his response. I needed him to make the irresponsible decision. Eventually, he nodded, and I nipped to the bathroom to clean myself up. When I came back in, clean and wearing a t-shirt and knickers, Graham had settled on the settee with the telly on, he’d also pulled his t-shirt on. I came to sit next to him, and he rested his head on my chest slightly while I began to run my fingers through his hair and he hummed contentedly. The show was boring, a late night crime drama. Within a few minutes Graham was snoring softly on my chest. I sipped my wine and smiled to myself.

November 1996

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Graham rolled over with a groan of pleasure, panting with sweat on his brow. I turned on my side to face him and he pulled a stupid face, still lying on his back. I let out a sigh and turned over, away from him.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” he asked, concerned, moving closer and pressing a kiss onto my shoulder. One of his large hands rested on my waist and I suppressed the urge to sniffle.

“We don’t love each other though do we?” I said rhetorically.

“Why’d you say that?”

“Well, if we loved each other, then I’d leave Alex and you’d stop drinking so much.” I felt so bad saying it, but it was true. Even as Graham arrived in a better mood today, there was still an alcoholic taste on his tongue. We’d been seeing each other for over a month, and I knew I wasn’t breaking up with Alex any time soon.

“Maybe you’re right, but still, it feels nice to say, doesn’t it?” he pointed out, nuzzling his head into my neck as he ran his hand round to lay against my stomach, pulling my back closer to his chest.

Sometimes it felt like Alex must have known about me and Graham’s relationship, because he suddenly changed last month. Of course, we still argued. He still enjoyed champagne and cocaine and plenty of women, but god he was good at apologising. After arguments he’d always pull off the perfect apology. He’d me out to an expensive restaurant and completely overlook every gorgeous woman there. He’d make a point of telling the waitress that he must be the stupidest man on earth to have an argument with his ‘beautiful girlfriend’ and would try and show me off to every person in the room. Sometimes his apologies were less flashy, sometimes they came in the form of a home cooked croque monsieur in the morning, and kisses all over my face. Alex had the ability to make me feel both completely worthless and wonderfully special, but when he made me feel so special the guilt always tainted my mood.

In fact, it was at this moment a knock came at the door. I sat up in slight panic. Graham looked at me in confusion.

“It must be Alex,” I told him in a hushed voice.

“Shit.”

The knock came again. I pulled on a shirt from the cupboard, padding through my flat to the living room.

“Hey, (y/n). I know your home,” he said through the door.

“Can you come back later, Al?” I asked, doing up a couple of the buttons. “There’s someone here at the minute.”

“No, just open the door,” he persisted. I sighed, walking over and unlocking it. I stood there in a just the oversized shirt and some underwear I’d pulled on. My bedroom door was shut, Alex wouldn’t mind as long as he didn’t know who was in there.

“I’m in the middle of something,” I said slightly exasperated.

“Fucking hell, you look good,” he grinned, looking me up and down before pushing his way past to get into my flat.

“Hey, don’t come in!” I protested.

“It’s fine, love. I left my keys somewhere here, I just came to grab them,” Alex replied, going into the kitchen and picking them up off the side. He walked into the living, cheeky smile on his face. “Hey, can I say hello to whoever is in there?” he teased, stepping towards my bedroom door. I rushed forward, pushing him away while he teasingly stood his ground.

“No you cannot, it’s weird. If I come into yours while someone’s there you look like a philanderer, but when you come here guys think you’re my pimp or something,” I argued, managing to get him across the room toward the front door.

“Okay, fine,” Alex agreed, dropping his hands to around my waist. “Kiss goodbye?” he requested in a silly voice, tilting his head to the side. I rolled my eyes, but agreed. He pressed his lips to mine for a moment, dropping his hand to squeeze my arse jokingly, and I pulled away to give him a lighthearted smack on the arm and hurrying him out the flat.

When I walked back into my room, Graham was still nestled beneath the duvet, his head poking over the top.

January 1997

"You have to be joking, right?" came the surprised voice of Blur's bassist. Alex was stood in the doorway of a backroom at Groucho's. His pupils were like goddamn dinner plates, as per usual, but for once he was acting surprisingly sober for someone so off their tits. We'd been caught, and as Alex cast a disbelieving look between myself and his bandmate my heart dropped down into the bottom of my stomach.

I had been dating Alex James for just about two years, and had known him for four, and although our relationship wasn't defined as such, it was a rather open one. This, however, seemed to be a breach of our agreement. This wasn't a random person, or even a distant friend, this was Graham.

When Alex had walked in, he'd come across a scene that was a little bit more than over friendly. The guitarist had his hand underneath my skirt and was kissing my neck while we laughed drunkly. Of course, then came the interruption, and we had jumped apart at the arrival of my boyfriend. I sat awkwardly, chewing my lip, feeling like a naughty school kid. Nobody spoke. It was difficult to know what to say. There was no chance of convincing him it was less than he thought, I'm sure our guilty faces spoke volumes. After a pause that went on for way too long, I tried to speak up.

"Al-" I began to reason but my voice was cut of.

"No," he interjected. "I can't fucking believe it. You're my mate, Gra. You're in the band. Of course, the quiet, sweet one. Works for you doesn't it? 'Cause this whole time you've been fucking my girlfriend," Alex snapped. I saw Graham look down, his jaw clenched slightly. I wanted to reach for his hand but I knew it wasn't the time.

"Alex,” I warned but he scoffed at me.

"Piss off with that, (Y/N)," he scolded with an incredulous laugh. "Get your stuff from my place tomorrow, but don't come too early 'cause I'm bringing home that blonde girl from the bar tonight," he told me harshly, leaving the room, probably to go practice his lines in the bathroom.

I sat back down next to Graham, my frown mirroring his. I tipped my head onto his shoulder, and he pulled me into him with a comforting arm. It was difficult to pin down my feelings, although guilt was the presiding one. I felt especially guilty for not finding the ability to care that Alex had just split up with me. I felt tears prick my eyes, unable to stop myself from crying. Graham tilted his head to me, brushing the tears from underneath my eyes with his thumb, and pressing a kiss onto my forehead. I tried to pull him in for a kiss, to distract myself from my current feelings, but he turned his head away.

“Now’s not the time,” he told me gently.

February 1997

I didn’t expect to still accompany the boys on the American tour, in fact, I was aware Alex had greatly argued against it, but Ivan had insisted. I was under contract to the record label and familiar with the set up and how the band liked things. I rather have stayed in London to be honest.

Before we left, Blur released their self titled album, kicking it off with a 'secret' gig at the Astoria to a sold out crowd of two thousand people. The mood was so elevated, all tensions seemed to be erased. A huge after party went down. It was packed with Britpop royalty and went completely out of hand. That night I even stupidly assumed that things would go back to normal, water under the bridge.

I only listened to the album two days later. It was totally different to anything they'd done before. I recognised the influence of the underground bands Graham listened to, although the tone seemed slightly ironic. The album seemed fast paced, but then, halfway through the album came an unexpected softer number, Graham's soft voice coming into my living room through a layer of crackly voice effects. The first verse was despairing. I knew Graham was struggling with his alcohol, but I'd been doing so awfully myself that I didn't even realise how bad it had gotten. It was the chorus that really ruined me though; heartwrenchingly honest and bitterly optimistic. I didn't care if he'd written it about me or not, but that last line hit me somewhere deep in my heart and put tears in my eyes. By the time the song had ended I was a sniffling mess on my living room floor and brimming with such a strong sense of love.

We left to France two days later. The crew were acting strange with me. Everyone knew that I’d now slept with two members of the band, and there was lots of implication I was going to try a third. Damon was acting well off with me and usually I found myself sat with Graham receiving glares from both Damon and Alex. We had to go through Paris and then Tokyo before we arrived in the US at the beginning of March. Things were okay when we all got drunk enough, the boys tended to forget about my crimes against the band. We did sing alongs at our hotels. Alex got a bit arsey when Graham fell asleep with his head in my lap in Tokyo, but he’d happily bring girls to drink with us and happily snog them while I was sat there. I didn’t mind, the part of me that cared was so easy to shut off now.

I loved Japan, and the Japanese loved Blur. Damon was particularly popular with his blond hair, blue eyes and pretty face. The reception at the airport was always brilliant. There would always be a crowd of teenage girls desperate for a signature off their favourite band member, I think one of the Gallaghers already said it, but it was like a second wave Beatlemania. I usually sat back with Ivan, watching the boys deal with their fans, especially Graham. While Alex and Damon used a charming smile, Gra always seemed so unsure what he was doing was right. It was very endearing. I wanted to stay as far away from fame as possible.

Me and Alex’s breakup was extremely high profile. Of course, why we split up was a public mystery, only adding to interest levels. We kept our relationship fairly private, although I had experienced the odd incident with paparazzi, but the Blur management team saw great opportunity for promotion with our split. I was hounded by music journalists for weeks, and photos of me suddenly started appearing all over the gossip magazines. As much as I didn’t want to be stuck on tour with Alex, I had to say it was a relief to leave it behind.

Graham still came to my hotel room late at night, but for both of our sakes he left way before the sun rose. That part was the hardest, when he climbed out of bed to get dressed and leave. I’d watch him put on his clothes, peeking my head over the bedsheets and not speaking. He’d press a kiss to my forehead and tiptoe out the room, back to his own. Then I was alone. I think that fear of being alone was what kept me from ending things with Alex, because staring up at the ceiling after Graham left was the most saddening feeling in the world. I couldn’t say I love you to him anymore, even if I did. When I was still with Alex, it was just a phrase, but then it had become an empty promise. I was far too scared to bear my soul to him like that. I think it upset him slightly, when I wouldn’t say it back, but he never mentioned it.

It was moments like that, lying alone in bed and feeling totally isolated, with nothing but the rushing thoughts in my head, that I would have given anything for Alex to burst into my room and pick a fight with me again. Sometimes I wanted him to loose his temper, to see me across the room and to shout at me, to call me names. His willing acceptance of the situation hurt me most. His ability to move on like it was nothing.

March 1997

Things went downhill once we arrived in America. Everyone was jet lagged from the flight and we were mainly travelling around on a tour bus. Being in such close confines did have a habit of getting on everyone’s nerves. I was sharing a tour bus with some other sound technicians, which was a nightmare. I was the only woman on tour, and every morning I got up an hour before everyone else so I could get dressed without being stared at by a group of blokes. Unfortunately, I was also going to bed in the early hours of the morning anyway, so I was feeling twice as exhausted as usual.

Suddenly, Alex seemed a whole lot more pissed at me than before. Any time Graham and I were even in the same room, he would glare until one of us left. He couldn't help but leave snide comments.

The other issue with being on tour was privacy. I barely got a second alone with Graham. Damon had walked in on one of our few opportunities, while Graham had his head between my legs, and aside from it being very embarrassing, since the incident Damon had been twice as off with me as ever before. Eventually, Graham and I settled for cuddles and conversation, this seemed to cause the least tension.

One night in Detroit, we all went out to a bar. I found in America all anyone ever wanted to know was 'what you did'. Of course, this was in reference to career, but I'd recently found entertainment in replying "nothing much". I spoke to lots of American's, receiving regular compliments on my accent. We drank lots, Alex ended up taking a very attractive blonde girl to the tour bus, leaving the rest of us to continue our evening by drinking enough to knock out an elephant. At one point I wobbled outside for a cigarette and some fresh air.

I stood by the back door and the bins, inhaling the smoke and letting the cold sober me slightly. Then, a very drunk Damon stumbled out the pub, proceeding to bend over by the wall and vomit onto the floor and his trainers. I rushed over, putting a hand on his back and trying to shuffle his feet away to avoid where he was being sick. He finished throwing up and swatted me away.

"Piss off (y/n)," he slurred. "It's your fault it's like this." I stepped back, surprised at his words.

"What?"

"You cocked everything up!" he whined, leaning against the wall for support. "You broke Alex's heart, and now he's mad at Gra, and now Gra's in love with you and you're going to hurt him. Fucking hell, (y/n), look at him! Can't you see what it'd do to him!"

I couldn't help it. For what seemed like the millionth time in the past month, tears prickled my eyes. I never usually cried, but now all my emotions lay very close to the surface.

"I don't want to hurt Graham, Dames. I never wanted to ruin anything," I sniffled, taking a drag from my cigarette to try to calm my wavering voice. "I love Gra, I really do, it's just... complicated."

Damon's eyes softened slightly, and then he fell over into his own sick.

[admaioremdeigloriam]

The Beheading of Saint Dymphna - Godfried Maes

Saint Dymphna

Birth: 7th century

Patron: of those suffering for nervous and mental afflictions

Feastday: May 15

Death: 7th century

Canonized: on 620

*trigger warning for abuse victims*

Dymphna was born in Ireland sometime in the seventh century to a pagan father and devout Christian mother. When she was fourteen, she consecrated herself to Christ and took a vow of chastity. Soon afterward, her mother died and her father - who had loved his wife deeply - began to suffer a rapid deterioration of his mental stability.

So unhinged was Dymphna's father, Damon, that the King's counselors suggested he remarry. Though he was still grieving for his wife, he agreed to remarry if a woman as beautiful as she could be found.

Damon sent messengers throughout his town and other lands to find woman of noble birth who resembled his wife and would be willing to marry him, but when none could be found, his evil advisors whispered sinful suggestions to marry his own daughter. So twisted were Damon's thoughts that he recognized only his wife when he looked upon Dymphna, and so he consented to the arrangement.

When she heard of her father's misguided plot, Dymphna fled her castle with her confessor, a priest named Gerebran, two trusted servants, and the king's fool. The group sailed toward what is now called Belgium, and hid in the town of Geel.

Though it becomes uncertain what exactly happened next, the best-known version claims the group settled in Geel, where Dymphna built a hospital for the poor and sick, but in using her wealth, her father was able to discover her location.

When Damon found his daughter was in Belgium, he traveled to Geel and captured them. He ordered the priest's head to be separated from his body and attempted to convince Dymphna to return to Ireland and marry him.

When Dymphna refused, Damon became enraged and drew his sword. He struck Dymphna's head from her shoulders and left her there. When she died, Dymphna was only fifteen-years-old. After her father left Geel, the residents collected both Dymphna and Gerebran's remains and laid them to rest in a cave.

In defense of her purity, Dymphna received the crown of martyrdom around the year 620 and became known as the "Lily of Éire. In 1349, a church honoring St. Dymphna was built in Geel, and by 1480, so many pilgrims were arriving in need of treatment for mental ills, that the church was expanded. The expanded sanctuary was eventually overflowing again, leaving the townspeople to accept them into their homes, which began a tradition of care for the mentally ill that continues to this day.

Unfortunately, in the 15th century, the original St. Dymphna Church in Geel burned to the ground, and the magnificent Church of St. Dymphna was erected and consecrated in 1532, where it still stands above the location her body was originally buried.

Many miracles have been proven to take place at her shrine in the church erected in her honor, and her remains were placed in a silver reliquary in the church. Some of her remains can also be found at the Shrine to Saint Dymphna in the United States.

The priest who had helped Dymphna was also sainted, and his remains were moved to Xanten, Germany.

The United States National Shrine of Saint Dymphna is at St. Mary's Catholic Church in Massillon, Ohio and St. Dymphna's Special School can be found in ballina, County Mayo, Republic of Ireland.

Saint Dymphna is the patroness of those suffering nervous and mental afflictions as well as victims of incest.

[96thdayofrage]

Pearl Young, affectionately called "Pearly," was born in Alabama, where she still has family.

The Fayette native was many things: a mother, a wife of a pastor, a grandmother, a substitute teacher in the Buffalo Public Schools, a Sunday school teacher and a head of a local food pantry.

Young was among 10 people killed Saturday by a gunman who opened fire in a Tops Friendly Market on Buffalo's East Side in a racially motivated attack. She was 77.

When she was 14, Young began living with her eldest sister, Mary Craig of Tuscaloosa, and her husband. It was through Craig that Young found Christ. The two sisters were very close. 

"She worked faithfully in her church, she fed the people, the hungry, the needy she was always there," Craig told NBC15.

Young moved to Buffalo in 1967 after marrying her husband, Oliver Young Jr., the Buffalo News reported. For 25 years, she helped run the church's soup kitchen.

"Even if it was nothing but soup and bread, whatever she could do, she would just always avail herself to help the people," Bishop Glenwood H. Young, Young's brother-in-law said. "That's what she was noted for ... her life was full of giving."

A member of Good Samaritan Church of God in Christ, Young helped prepare and hand out food at the park for Saturdays.

Young's unwavering faith and loving personality propelled her through life. She was a licensed missionary who fed people through scripture and through meals. 

"She was always baking cookies, baking cakes, doing stuff like that, cooking spaghetti," Young told the News. "Whatever she could do for people, she did that."

Bishop Glenwood Young is the prelate Church of God in Christ Second Jurisdiction Western New York and has been for more than 20 years, the Rev. Dr. Devale Hodge says. Hodge was born in Buffalo, born in the second jurisdiction and now pastors in Connecticut, where the Young family is also connected.

He says the diocese, which has over 60 churches, is like a family, where everyone knows each other. Pearl Young was the Sunday School Field Representative for the entire diocese at one time he says.

"She would go across to all of the churches and she would visit to help the teachers within the churches to teach Sunday School and to train them," he said. "She was a very community-oriented person."

Hodge was one of the children who grew up in the diocese in Young's care. He remembers her cooking "the best" gumbo, he says with a laugh.

"She would fill it up with all kinds of nutritional goodies and just be happy about serving you with a smile on her face," he said. "She would say: 'Baby, do you want more? If you want more, I got more for you.' She was just that kind of person."

Young was good friends with Hodge's grandmother, and with Yvonne Bottoms, who was like a childhood mother to him. Though he has now left, Hodge says that he is still connected with the diocese.

"She was a devout person of faith," he said. "Loved God and did everything she could for her family and friends and community. Whatever that was, she was there."

The Church of God in Christ is Pentecostal, Hodge says, so worshippers dance, shout and run through the church as an expression of their faith. Young "really expressed her faith in a lively and joyful way."

"You could see her dancing and running down the aisles. Every time she came to church--there was never a time she came to church that she did not run around church and rejoice and shout. She was one of the loudest persons in church, that's just who Pearl Young was. She was just a vibrant, vibrant person — full of life and always an encouraging word," he said.

The last Saturday of Young's life in this world was spent attending a morning prayer breakfast. Afterwards, her sister dropped her off at Tops, where she was planning to purchase a few items and go home.

Damon Young, Young's son, told the Washington Post that he had been communicating with his mother while she was at Tops. She stopped responding — instead, his phone began buzzing with alerts about the shooting. He ended his Saturday communicating with police.

Jacqueline Wright, Young's niece who lives in Alabama, spoke to WBRC.

"She did not deserve this," she said. "She was an individual that just poured out of herself and of her substance you know to help anybody, and she as full of love."

Hodge agrees that, "a person like Pearl Young certainly didn't deserve to pass and die in this kind of way." He says he will never understand why it happened the way it did.

"She was a pearl, she was a gem," Wright told NBC15. "She was a precious gem, jewel, and it reflected her name."

Hodge says he is the person he is today in large part due to Young's influence.

"Her life and her memory speaks for itself. She was a Christian," he said. "You would have wanted to be a Christian by just by being around her because she exuded those characteristics and those virtues of love and grace and forgiveness and faith. That's who she was."

[dumbnojutsu]

pls eat. i had food, i think. pancakes a while ago but i’ll have ??? something else soon. also hdjsjs ur ideas are brilliant and imma credit u if i ever finish this chapter that i might’ve started writing. kalli & nova are in separate universes/fics or whatever but i will be doing a oneshot where they meet for the lolz. oh!! we should do a watch party where we both rewatch tvd and scream at each other per usual. 

katherine is not in the tomb, but when kalli hears about how she is from damon, she’s like shit i need to see this funny shit (she’s definitely not still jealous of the clear affection elijah had for her and every doppelgänger ever) but ends up :( when she can’t find her, but she does inadvertently save grams and get to boss vampires around so yay

that dw idea is so heartbreaking i need it.

i am: cooking so i have practically eaten already lajdkff. didya have the something else already? 👀 pancakes sound good, never had em, but they sound good 🤩 use the ideas to your heart's content ksjd. their one-shot meeting for the lolz, i would like to see it 👀 KDHDK i am: intrigued, if u wanna do it for realz count me in ✌️ i feel kalli embodies hell hath no fury like a woman scorned but only kind of? with elijah i mean cos like u said, he doesn't know she's still alive but at the same time eh a thought for later 🃏 oohhh, yay for kalli for the save, also yay for 'queen' kalli of the vampires of the gravkammer as a norwegian vampire that was in there would call them, he feels very grateful to kalli, becomes a devout follower 👀 or something, it just occurred to me lol someone she wouldn't have to compel because they want to sincerely follow her imagine that. 🃏 why 👀 do you think 👀 it's heartbreaking 👀 what were your thoughts 👀 when u read that 👀 like? 👀

[fieldsofwax]

There is not enough anti Stefan and to me it means people did not watch the show intently enough. The most telling depiction of who Stefan is and how it affects Damon is that flashback to when they were kids scene, where the alcoholic abusive father is asking who took his money, Damon claims he did it to protect Stefan (protect Stefan’s hero image by being the scapegoat) and Stefan immediately gets up to get his father’s lighter to light the cigar that Giuseppe then uses to torture Damon. His is a devout worshipper of the same kind of moral highground in which toxic masculinity, white supremacy, and Christian abuse comes from. THAT is why I hate Stefan. And it is so clear from even the way he looks and moves, and in all that he doesn’t say or dodges. He exudes milquetoast mildness as superiority, as being more refined. He turns that block-ass chin up at everyone around him, including his teenage girlfriend he stalked to become his delusion project.

“You don’t know what I look like when I’m not in love with you.”

YES YES YES. You’re fucking right Stefan. This is who you truly are. A manipulative, selfish, jealous, psychotic SICKO.

Stefan is over a hundred years old, GROW TF UP. Boo-hoo, Elena chose Damon, as if you didn’t drive her to it throughout season 3. He has every right to be hurt, but acting out like bleeding his brother dry because of jealousy (let’s be honest, it wasn’t just to keep him locked up cause Kol compelled him), and then sleeping with Rebekah (aka the bitch that is RESPONSIBLE for Elena becoming a vampire in the first place).

I dont like Stefan, he irritates and annoys my fucking soul. He puts on his mask of compassion and heroism, but deep down he’s so fucking horrible. It honestly makes me laugh.

And it makes me think. Y’know how everyone says vampirism heightens who you are inside? And then remember how Stefan acted RIGHT AFTER he was turned? Boy didn’t waste no time being a ripper.

I’m ranting. This post no longer makes sense. That’s how much this man ANNOYS ME.

[livlepretre]

This is prob a weird question, but do you wonder what a ‘typical vampire’s’ relationship to religion would be like in the tvd universe if it had been explored (&I get why it wasn’t), at least upon being turned, considering that most vampires would have been brought up in eras where religion (generally) played a comparatively more serious role in everybody’s lives? I mean, how would one BEGIN to grapple or fit in this critical aspect of one’s (prior??) worldview, with rising from the dead as what’s essentially a demon, w supernatural powers & preying on humans — what would be t implications of your existence? Were the Salvatores never believers? Plus, do u have any hc on the Originals’ faiths as humans?? Were they Pagans? Christians? Or… I guess not the latter/they would have believed in the spirits as their mother was a witch..? Thoughts? (Srry if I’m bothering you with this question btw, I appreciate that you’re probably busy)

No, not bothering me, I'm very interested in the intersection between religion and vampirism.

We have to assume that religion played a huge role in the lives of MOST vampires-- secularism is relatively recent, and even then all that's happened is that older gods have been replaced with newer gods. And I can't think of any religion where rising as a vampire would be anything other than, as you say, rising as essentially a demon, a night hag, an abomination. And also, to make a blanket statement here, many religions focus a lot on the progression from life into death-- on making sense and peace of the natural order of birth, life, death (and rebirth). Vampirism breaks a person from this cycle, forever divorcing them from the natural world, the natural order. The combination of becoming that demon, of fearing themselves, and of becoming trapped in the netherspace between life and death is a horror unto itself-- one of the main reasons I find tvd vampires in particular so fascinating is because it is not just that they are truly monstrous and frightening, but that the show delves into the way the vampires horrify themselves with their own monstrosity (at least, it used to). They can only be horrified by that monstrosity if they retain some sense of what it is to be human-- and therein is the key. TVD vampires don't lose their human souls, as the vampires in BTVS do-- they simply... transmute. They're cursed with that never ending bloodlust that turns them inevitably into monsters, and they go further and further down that road until they just give in. It's a very dark curse. I'm sure there are plenty of vampires who lose faith... but there are probably even more who don't lose their faith, but instead come to accept their role as the dark mirror in opposition to life. There are a lot of really profound psychological implications to all of this.

As for the specifics of the religions of the vampires-- Damon and Stefan would have almost certainly been raised Catholics-- and I've never thought they weren't still Catholic, although, being Catholic doesn't necessarily make one devout, as with any other sect of any religion. Damon obviously crossed a lot of lines as a human. Also, the show would never have gotten into the thick of us, but how much of Stefan's guilt and shame is tied up in an understanding of the world and morality based on his religious upbringing? We can talk about Humanist ideals all we want, but I think it would be stretching credulity that someone turned as a 17 year old in the 1800s would be feeling so much shame from pure philosophical ethics and not from a sense of morality built into the religion he was brought up in. (And how do we know that Damon isn't so furious with Stefan for forcing him to turn because Stefan has essentially damned him?)

The other vampires are interesting because they're medieval people, so their worldviews would have been even more strongly intwined with religion than the Salvatores.

Katerina I've always assumed would have been Bulgarian Orthodox (you could make an argument for other religious takes based on the Travelers-- but that came later and I tend to just blot that all out of my memory because frankly I think making Katherine exceptional at all other than as the doppelganger is stupid and actually robs her story of tragedy-- it's tragic for her to just be living her normal life and losing her baby the way she did and then to discover that no, she has this dark fate she had no idea about-- it's somehow less tragic if she also is from a family with superpowers and her daughter just gets vamped to track her down) -- nothing much to this other than that is a likely choice. Although I have ALWAYS wondered about Katerina's life in Bulgaria, since it was part of the Ottoman Empire at the time and of course, the show has no interest in history so there's nothing that even touches on this potentially fascinating detail.

Okay the Originals. I have a special place of loathing in my heart for the Viking!backstory and have basically decided to whole heartedly reject it. I think Elijah's "my father was a landowner in Eastern Europe" story was much more convincing and likely. I prefer the idea of Russian!Originals, for various reasons I've documented here on this blog, so I think they would also be Orthodox Christians. (But: potentially before the schism between the Catholic and Orthodox Churches? so perhaps they wouldn't really think of themselves as "orthodox," or perhaps they later started to think of themselves this way.) The Orthodox Christian thing also ties into Tatia Petrova, whose descendants I headcanon as Orthodox. (I'm also fond of the idea that the Originals were Jewish, or the idea that Esther was Jewish.) There are a lot of mystic arts buried in religious arcana, so I don't see there being a conflict between Esther's witchcraft and simultaneously practicing a religion. I think in a medieval context, framing the world in terms of religion would have been just so inevitable, so tied in to every other element of life. It's actually fascinating to consider what hold overs of this thinking medieval vampires would have. (And I think of the Originals as deeply medieval in outlook, in ways in which they are largely unaware)

At any rate, the Originals are by far the most monstrous of the vampires, and the ones that have slipped the furthest from their humanity. I wonder in what ways they developed such horrific tastes as a means of spitting in the eye of their faith? If some of their differences could pertain to who held on to faith (Finn) vs. who felt most abandoned by it (Klaus)? Food for thought!

[talesfromgringolandia]

Underwing Challenge Day 6 - What does your portfolio look like? Talk about as many other WIPs as you’d like here.

So how far back do I want to go? I’ve had a lot of WIPs. Not as much as some people I’ve seen in this challenge. A lot of them I’m not actually working on anymore, but I’d like to get back to one day.

Besides Bo and Shen, these are the WIP’s that are still, well, in progress.

Elissa:

The next most recent WIP I worked on is called Elissa, because the main character is named Elissa.(I am very creative). Elissa began as a project with a friend of mine, based on a dream she had. The title character is an android who has been raised believing she’s human. The story begins when she discovers she is an android. She has been raised by two people: her adoptive mother is Claudia, a devout Catholic who has been following the rules of the lab by not teaching Elissa any of her faith. She regrets that now, and begins trying to introduce Elissa to the faith. The other is Jacob, a staunch atheist who doesn’t believe Elissa is honestly human. He hasn’t really been raising Elissa, not like Claudia has, but he’s been very involved as a scientist. Elissa has to deal with the existential implications of her nature, and that's before she learns about the apocalypse which occurred a hundred years ago.

The Technarchs Rule:

This one still doesn’t have a name, because there’s no one story so far, just a universe I find super interesting. It actually began as the history of the anarchic period of the world of Boot Camp Renus, but as things developed, I found myself more interested in a post-apocalyptic world instead. I also found myself forgetting my fictional planets more and more, and focusing much more on Mars.

The solar system has been colonized for a while. Martian Iron, the product of smelting the red soil, is one of the most powerful metals of the solar system, and is vital for modern spaceship hulls. It's also incredibly common, being the literal dirt on Mars.

Eventually, there is tension over who gets to use the dirt, as Earth-based companies continue to mine it without permission from Mars. This blows over into an actual war for independence between Mars and Earth, with all other colonies picking sides.

During the war, each side races to create the perfect AI, which could predict the location of a ship and its strategy in seconds. Mars wins this race by performing unethical experiments on children, creating the first Computer-Child. This boy soon rises through the ranks of the army, and once he has the authority, orders the nuking of the Earth's surface. This was a line that previously, neither side had dared to cross. After rendering Earth uninhabitable, the computer-child assumes control of Mars as Technarch, cybernetically enhancing himself until he is functionally immortal. The rest of the solar system falls into chaos and anarchy. This is the setting.

The Technarch creates a cult following around himself, and out of his followers, selects several (probably 12) to be his Olympians, cyborgs who had been enhanced to the point of being nearly unstoppable.

Other characters include assassin bots Kenta and Deko, and a bounty hunter named Van Dorn.

A Christmas Story / A Letter from Pelznickel:

Does it count as a WIP if it's finished? This is the only project I’ve ever finished, and it got second place in a writing competition. It's my idea of the origin story of Santa Claus. I can’t decide between the two titles. Pelznickel is actually a character in folklore believed to be a proto-Santa Claus, which is why I used that name. I tried to only use names in actual Santa lore, and it worked really well, I think.

Under the cut, I’ll include the WIP’s that hold a deep place in my heart, but I haven’t worked on in years, for various reasons.

Yellowstone:

One of my first projects ever. It's about a post-apocalypse but with superheroes. When a radioactive meteor lands in Yellowstone National Park and starts infecting people with a fatal disease, the government builds a radioactive-proof wall around the park and the surrounding areas, leaving the people trapped inside to fend for themselves. A small percentage of people are immune to the disease, and the children of these survivors are discovered to have strange powers. A generation later, people have left the cities and settled around farms and villages for food. Damon and his sister Emma are no different, living on the ranch of Jarod Levin, an immune survivor of the radiation. When a newcomer named Jonas Reed arrives trying to make the first map of the area, everything changes for them. By everything changes, I mean a raiding party appears, burns the ranch down, and kills everybody but Damon, Emma, their friend Ian, Jonas, and another girl named Melissa. I then realized I had no plot after that, and have not written for it since. But this was my first foray into worldbuilding with seven chapters of introduction to the world, as well as dynamics between the characters before the place burns down. They are definitely some of my favorite characters I have ever created, probably more than even the characters in Bo and Shen.

Boot Camp Renus:

My first foray into Science Fiction. After centuries of anarchy, the three colonized solar systems have finally been united under the Interstellar Democracy, or ISD. Deko Fost, a Martian teenager, is struggling with guilt after the death of his sister 2 years ago. In an attempt to redeem himself, he decides to join the Star Force, and is sent to the planet Renus, a small, dense world dedicated to the military boot camp. There, he meets Earthling Norenaya Amankai, daughter of missing war hero Roka Amankai; and Hagane Kenta, an Atlantean man who has no restrictions on what he will do to succeed. Minor characters are two twins who are intentionally carbon copies of the Weasley twins, just different hair color. The themes focus on Deko’s Catholic faith, and on his recovery. Norenaya, or Naya, is not mentally prepared for boot camp, and has to find strength to make it through. Kenta learns to respect Deko for succeeding even despite being sabotaged.

I wrote to the point they got to the bootcamp, and then had no idea what happened next.

My favorite part of this was the worldbuilding. I made three really cool planets. Atlantis has an atmosphere of water, and the Atlanteans live miles beneath the surface in specially constructed buildings. Atlanteans have stupid pale skin, and was also originally settled by the Japanese. Vrill is a massive planet with a strong gravitational pull, and is populated by massive dinosaur creatures that are big enough to build a city on, which people do. The only time people built a city on the ground didn’t end well. Vrillan settlers, over generations, have become short and strong. Kol is a planet that spews gas and dust constantly, and is full of valuables for mining. As such, it has a reputation as a planet of oppressors who exploit the population to maximize their riches. The people have been around the natural pollution for generations, to the point that their skin pigment is now a dusty gray.

The astute among you will realize I use the same names in Boot Camp Renus as in the Technarch Rule. This doesn’t mean anything, I was just lazy when coming up with names for my Martian androids.

[justfandomwritings]

United In Fear (Part One - Soulmate!Robb)

Pairing: Robb Stark x Reader; Soulmates AU (because Game of Thrones just didn’t have enough fantasy drama for me)

Word count: 7.6k

Warnings: Angsty fluff, someone get’s punched but it’s not super dramatic

Summary: The names were the greatest mystery in Westeros. Each kingdom had their own telling of the story. None of the kingdoms could agree on where they were from or how they came to be. Each thought a different god, their own interpretation of religion, was responsible, but all seemed to agree on one thing: they were a gift.

Notes: so the thing is right... I didn’t really mean to write this. It just sort of came out. Long story short. It’s an idea I had. If people like it, I’ll finish it. It will probably take 3-4 Parts to complete the story arc I have in mind. Each part about this long.

It wasn’t her banner or her looks that tipped Robb Stark off that she was (Y/n) Lannister. It was her being. The way she dismounted her horse while all of Winterfell still knelt before Robert Baratheon, as though everyone, even the King, was beneath her. The way she took her brother’s helping hand as if Lannister blood was the only thing worthy of touching her skin. The way her chin never dipped, always keeping her head up and her gaze held high. The way her feet glided over the ground with quick, sure steps that spoke of how little she wished to touch Northern soil. The way she never met the gaze of anyone, save her siblings, Robb’s father, and the King. (Y/n) Lannister could not have hidden her identity even if she tried, and she most certainly did not try.

She kept beside her brother as the King motioned for them to rise and greeted Robb’s father. Her eyes took the time to wander over the keep, and she kept her expression unreadably passive wherever they went. She made no acknowledgment that anything important was happening around her until her sister exited the carriage. (Y/n) released her brother’s arm and stepped forward to stand at the queen’s right hand.

“My queen,” Ned Stark said as he bent to kiss Cersei’s offered hand.

“My queen,” Catelyn echoed with a curtsy.

Cersei greeted both with a weary, but polite nod. “My sister,” Cersei stepped aside, positioning herself in front of Robb, and held out her hand for introductions, “(Y/n) Lannister, Lady of the Rock.”

(Y/n) offered no hand, so Ned simply bowed before her. “My lady.”

She curtsied with the air of someone who would have preferred not to move at all. “A pleasure, Lord Stark.”

“The pleasure is ours, Lady Lannister,” Catelyn greeted, repeating her curtsy.

(Y/n) returned Catelyn’s pleasantries only to be interrupted by the King. “Take me to your crypt. I want to pay my respects.”

(Y/n) and Cersei averted their gaze to Robert with matching expressions of distaste. “We’ve been riding for a month, my love. Surely the dead can wait.” Cersei’s tone was dismissive, but her expression as Robert called for Ned to step around her was nothing short of wounded.

Robb watched the sneer on (Y/n)’s face as she eyed Robert Baratheon’s retreating back. He wondered, to himself, if it was agitation at being spoken over, agitation on her sister’s behalf, or simply agitation with the state of the King. Robb wasn’t sure he would blame her with any of the three. He couldn’t recall his father ever speaking over a noblewoman of any standing, and Ned was certainly never so dismissive to Robb’s mother.

And the King. Well, the King was not at all what Robb expected from his father’s stories. He knew the man had aged some since his father had last seen him, but Robb thought he’d have aged with more dignity. He didn’t expect a belly fat with food, breath stale with wine, or a horse’s dismount that require a servant to bring the King a stool. Robert Baratheon was what Robb Stark expected of a wealthy village drunkard, not his supposedly heroic, noble namesake.

The Lannisters, for all the harsh words his father had to say about them, did not at all disappoint. The family measured up entirely to even their most fantastical tales. The Queen had aged some since the songs had named her the Light of the West, but she had aged with grace. Her beauty had changed, but Robb could say with some certainty that it hadn’t faded.

Jaime Lannister was ever the Golden Lion. A ballad of his bravery during the Greyjoy Rebellion had once been sung at a feast in Winterfell, and Ned Stark had grudgingly admitted the words to be true. The Queen’s twin was a formidable man who’s self confidence was only matched by the skill he used to justify it. All the poets had something to say or sing about Jaime Lannister. Some painted him a hero, some a villain. But all painted him the perfect image of a knight, and the man before Robb now proved them all to be right.

(Y/n) was not the subject of songs, but whispers. Tywin’s youngest child was no older than Robb himself, the product of a second marriage Tywin did not wish to make. She was rumored to be her father reincarnate. With her mother dead in the birthing bed and her siblings in King’s Landing, (Y/n) had been raised by Tywin and Tywin alone, entirely in his own image. Watching her stand in the grounds of Winterfell, Robb would say that Tywin’s quest had been a complete success. She was only a young woman, yet her presence demanded respect, and everyone gave it.

“Where’s the Imp?” Arya asked her older sister, with no attempts at hiding her words.

The words drew (Y/n)’s gaze, and for the first time, Robb watched his youngest sister cower back, afraid.

The Queen turned her head to her sister. “The little beast wandered off again.”

“I’ll find him,” (Y/n) didn’t bother to look at her sister as she addressed her. Her eyes stayed on Arya for a moment longer before she whipped around, marching back to her horse.

“My lady,” Catelyn took a step out of line after the youngest Lannister. “Perhaps, we can offer some assistance.”

Jaime Lannister responded with a chuckle as he offered (Y/n) a hand back on her horse. “Only in finding your nearest brothels.”

Catelyn Stark was thoroughly scandalized as Lady (Y/n) rode away, Ser Jaime following at her heels.

Robb sighed to himself and turned away. She hadn’t been introduced to him. He still couldn’t be sure.

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The names were the greatest mystery in Westeros. Each kingdom had their own telling of the story. None of the kingdoms could agree on where they were from or how they came to be. Each thought a different god, their own interpretation of religion, was responsible, but all seemed to agree on one thing: they were a gift.

In the North, they maintained the names were a mystery of the Old Gods, a force that no man could influence or pretend to understand. The descendants of the First Men claimed the names long predated the Faith of the Seven and dated all the way back to the Children of the Forest. No proof could be found of this, but given the Andals hostile takeover of the other kingdoms, much of the First Men’s culture and history had been lost. It fell to the Starks alone to remember, and they did their job well. The North remembered.

The Reach claimed they came from the Father. They argued that if the names were given by the gods, surely they came from the Father who was Above All. They weaved a tale of a man, loyal to no god but the Seven, who came to Westeros with the invasion of the Andals. He preached and pleaded with the First Men to convert to the one true religion, and everywhere he went they rebuked him. Everywhere but Oldtown. Everyone but House Hightower. As a gift, for the conversion of Damon Hightower to the Faith of the Seven, the Father gave the names to the Reach, and thus as the faith spread so did the names across all of Westeros.

The Stormlands claimed that, in fact, the Smith, mender of broken things, was responsible for the gift. Men, whether they were Andals or First Men or Rhoynar, were harsh, imperfect creatures, and nowhere was that more true than the Stormlands. The Smith had long made it his responsibility to put their world right, and that began with fixing the men themselves. He began with Hugor of the Hill, the first King of the Andals. The Smith touched Hugor’s arm to give him the name of his wife, so she might heal the scars the world left on him and his sons might find maidens of their own to do the same.

The Warrior was, in fact, the source of the The Vale’s legends. It made sense in that The Vale was the first place invaded by the Andals. They claimed the reason the names existed in Westeros but not Essos was because the Andals had never conquered the eastern continent. Where the Andals seized land in honor of the Warrior, the Seven would bless the soldiers out of gratitude for their service. Of course, this blessing started with the Vale.

In the Crownlands, the names were said to be given by the Mother. It was said that one day she looked down on a small, forgotten sept in the Crownlands and saw one of her devout, a young married woman, crying at her altar. The young woman had been married for two years and had yet to fall pregnant with her husband. He was an angry, cruel man, threatening to disavow her and name her barren if she did not give him a child within the year. The woman called out for the Mother’s mercy, for a child she could not have, and the Mother heard her cries. She wanted happiness for her good and faithful servant and knew she would not attain it with such a man. Reaching down, the Mother touched the woman’s arm, and a man’s name appeared, a name that was not her husband’s. Many years later, Baelor the Blessed would visit every sept in the Crownlands, looking for the place where the Mother gave the names, and when he sensed he had found it, he built up around that sept the Great Sept of Baelor, a sept worthy of the gift the Mother had given to man that day.

The Westerlands cited scripture. It was written in the Seven Pointed Star that Hugor of the Hill received a blessing from each of the Gods, and when it came to the Maid, she gave Hugor a maiden of his own, a wife of great beauty and innocence. The Westerlands maintained this must mean she gave the names; it was the Maiden’s way of giving the gift of love to every true believer in the Seven.

The Crone belonged to the Riverlands, in more ways than one. To the Lords and Ladies of the Riverlands, the Crone was held in the highest esteem. The names were without fault or failure. How could anyone think the wisdom of age, that only came from the old woman, was not involved? They told a lovely story of the Crone looking on the youth of the Maiden with sympathy for her ignorance. Longing to spare her from making the same mistakes the Crone had learned from in her youth, the Crone spared her the search for a man who truly loved her by pointing her in the right direction.

Dorne had the simplest explanation, and they did not bother trying to justify it with tall tales or kingdom history. They said the names were a gift from the Stranger. So that no man need face Death alone. Robb liked that explanation best.

Still, he did not believe in the Stranger. He kept faith with the Old Gods. His mother had made a point that all her children at least understood the Seven and understood that, while they were the same gods everywhere, each kingdom saw them differently. Catelyn knew that Ned would have to raise them to worship at the weirwood tree, but she didn’t want her children to feel out of place if they ever joined her in the sept or journeyed in the rest of Westeros.

Robb knew all the lore, and he remembered it well. Not so well as Sansa, who longed to go South, but better than Arya who never listened no matter how many times she was told.

He would often lie awake at night staring at the name inked into his arm, wondering to himself what she thought of this. If she, like him, believed his name on her arm to be a gift from the Old Gods, beyond the understanding of man. If she thought his name was a gift from any one of the Seven for any number of reasons. Or if she was on the other side of Westeros, simply looking for a companion to her grave.

Her name was never far from his thoughts. He wondered where she was. He wondered her station. He wondered how she felt. He wondered if she wondered about him. How could she not? They were destined for each other, destined to be together, if not in this life than the next.

When he was younger, Robb had longed for her. His nurse had met her mate, a butcher from one of the smaller towns outside of Winterfell; and he longed for the love he saw in her eyes. He longed for frivolous things: someone to suffer through his lessons with, someone to ride the Wolfswood beside, someone to take some of the weight of Winterfell off his shoulders.

As he got older, he learned better than to dream of such things.

Not everyone met their match, and the odds were not in Robb’s favor. Most of Westeros lived and died without knowing whose name had mared their skin for life. There were too many people, spread out over too great a distance, over Seven Kingdoms and the Vale, and all anyone ever had to search for was their first name, their given name on their arm. Those who did find the one were usually those who were able to devote their lives to the scowering the Seven Kingdoms in their search.

Heir to Winterfell, Robb did not have the time to search for his mate. She would have to wait. He would see her in the next life. Robb would never be able to marry the girl whose name was on his arm. Even if he found her, he could not have her. There were millions of women in Westeros, and his mate would not be among the nobility.

It was an incredibly rare occurrence for nobility to be destined for each other, but it had been known to happen on occasion. Yet only once, in the millions of Westerosi, in the thousands of mates that found one another, in the hundreds of nobility that went searching, in the dozens of nobility that found their mate, and the few who found their mate to be someone of equal standing. Only once in history had two nobles found each other’s names and actually managed to be married. Two Lannisters, of all the undeserving families in the Kingdoms. As if anyone could have denied Tywin Lannister anything.

Tywin’s love for his wife, Joanna, was as legendary as his victories in battle. The Lannisters sang the Rains of Castamere at their tournaments, and the Lion and the Lady at their feasts. Every man, woman, and child in Westeros knew the words to both.

Tywin loved Joanna deeply, unconditionally, and once they touched, no one could keep him from taking her as his own. They shared a bond deeper than their lives and deeper than her death.

No one knew a greater love than Tywin, and no one knew a greater loss.

Aerys Targaryen could have gotten away with all his burnings, all his cruelties, all his madness; bare one. Bare the day of the Tourney at Harrenhal when he declared the end of Tywin’s mourning, when he stole Tywin’s son and declared before all the Seven Kingdoms the Hand of the King would remarry.

The stories said that was the day the Targaryens lost the war: long before it even started. Of course, Rhaegar snubbed his wife, Elia, in front of Prince Oberyn. Yes, he kidnapped Lyanna Stark from under Robert Baratheon’s nose. Sure, Aerys did give away the woman Ned Stark was pursuing. But more than all of that, it was the day the Targaryens crossed Tywin Lannister, and there was one certainty about Tywin Lannister. Those who crossed him only got to do so once.

Any other man in the Seven would have been thrilled, relieved even, to marry Ashara Dayne. Tywin Lannister simply looked on the girl and walked away.

It was common knowledge that Tywin only ever touched his second wife twice: once to hold her hand to complete the wedding ceremony and once during the bedding. The maids who came to collect the sheets the next morning swore they heard Tywin cry, but that could have just been a rumor. Neither maid was seen or heard from in any noble house in Westeros again to confirm or deny.

It was likely for the best that Ashara died giving birth to her only child. It spared her a lifetime of living in the shadow of a ghost. It spared her the pain of watching her daughter, (Y/n), twisted into the spitting image of her father.

Robb had heard her name once, (Y/n) Lannister, and asked his mother hopefully if that was the (Y/n) on his arm. He didn’t know her, but he hoped it was her, hoped it was someone he might actually be able to marry one day.

Catelyn had been aghast. She swore no son of hers could ever be bound to a Lannister.

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“My lady,” A knock came on the chamber door. “The feast is prepared, and the guests are assembling downstairs.”

(Y/n) threw the door open and leaned against the thick wood frame as she crossed her arms over her chest with a mischievous smirk. “My lady? Since when did you use such formalities?”

Jaime stood on the other side of the door, looking as golden and perfect in his armor as always. His lips were pulled wide in a smirk matching  his little sister;s, the one he’d spent years teaching her on their father’s occasional trips with her to King’s Landing. “Well, when you are in the presence of the acting Lady of the Rock, one must always keep one’s guard up.” He extended his arm to her, “Shall I escort you?”

“I suppose that wouldn’t be entirely disagreeable,” She mused, lifting her golden skirts with one hand and accepting her brother’s help with the other. “Tell me, do you think Tyrion will grace us with his presence this evening?”

Jaime snorted as he pulled the door to (Y/n)’s room shut and led her down the hall. “Doubtful, though I could be persuaded to hunt him down if you or Cersei wished.”

“Cersei never wishes,” (Y/n) rolled her eyes.

She and Cersei had a mutual understanding that was heavily dependent on both sisters keeping their distance. Of her siblings, (Y/n) was closest to Tyrion, but she wasn’t about to get in a fight with Cersei over forcing his attendance at a meager Northern feast.

“But you always do.” Jaime said it like he was reminding her of something profound rather than her own opinion.

Jaime let go of her hand and descended the narrow, winding steps to the ground floor, staying one step ahead of her so he might catch her if she slipped. He knew it was an unnecessary precaution. (Y/n) never slipped, in actions or in words. It still made him feel better to know he could catch her if he needed.

“Because I love our brother dearly, Jaime, as do you.”

“Cersei loves him in her own way.” Jaime tried to placate.

(Y/n) only scoffed. “You always were a terrible liar.”

With a chuckle, he took her hand and helped her off the final step back onto the solid stone of one of Winterfell’s many long, dark halls. “You and I both know that’s not true. I can get away with lying to anyone I’m not related to. It’s only you three and father who ever really caught me in a lie.”

“Yes, but I believe I deserve greater credit than the others. They have far more experience; I missed all of your childhood antics. All I have are Tyrion’s stories and father’s criticisms to keep me company at the Rock.”

Jaime nodded in agreement. “The Rock can be quite lonely. Cersei and I only had each other for a long while.”

(Y/n) looked around for a quick moment before she dragged her brother back by his arm. Her eyes searched the stone in both directions to ensure no one was watching before she pulled him into a narrow walk off the main passage.

“Jaime,” her tone was a quiet, harsh warning.

Not for the first time since they’d started the journey North, Jaime heard his father in her voice. It always amazed him. He wondered if she knew she was doing, or if it came to her naturally.

“Do not do this here.” (Y/n) pressed.

“Do not do what, sister?”  

Her head cocked to the side, eyes judging his every word. It was the way Tywin looked at advisors who spoke out of turn. “You know what. You and Cersei hide nothing from me. I remain silent out of respect for you, but don’t mistake my silence as approval of your behavior.”

The muscles in Jaime’s jaw tightened. A tell that he was about to lie. “I don’t know what you’re…”

She cut him off before he could finish. “Do not play games with me, Jaime. I am not Tyrion, too drunk to care; and I am not father who does not see what he does not want to see. I see you Jaime.”

“Sister, what exactly is the point of this conversation?” He wouldn’t bother denying it again. If the first denial didn’t put (Y/n) off, it meant she would not be dissuaded.

“My point?” She went on her toes and looked over his shoulder. Her voice was quiet enough not to bounce off the stone, and the walls shielded them from most prying eyes. Yet that did nothing to quiet her concern. “My point is that I will not have you risking this family, Jaime.”

“You think so little of me, sister?”

“Yes.” It was a blunt answer. An honest answer. “Jaime, unlike our siblings, I do not think you foolish, but I do think you arrogant. You know the consequences of being caught. You’re just far too confident that you won’t be.”

Jaime sighed and ran a hand through his hair. (Y/n) was impossible to argue with. Part of it was her mind. Jaime always joked she had inherited the portion meant for him. A greater part was their father. (Y/n) had a way of saying the things he knew Tywin would, but with a touch more caring that made him actually want to listen.

(Y/n) took the pause as opportunity. “Listen to me, Jaime. I know what you’re thinking, brother. You think, even if caught, there will be no consequences for your actions, because there never have been before. You know what the consequences should be, but you don’t think they apply to you. If you got caught in Casterly Rock, the servants would die with your secret, whether they kept it till old age or were hung from the gallows by father. If you got caught in King’s Landing, there would be whispers. Yet, no one would be foolhardy enough to question you of them, or Maester Pycelle would poison them by dinner.”

She growled, dragging his face down to her level by the collar of his breastplate. (Y/n) needed him to listen to her. “This is not Casterly Rock, Jaime, nor is it King’s Landing. This is the North. You are in the enemy’s camp, and your name will not protect you.”

Jaime measured his sister’s words carefully. “If it would make you happy, sister, then nothing will happen while we are under Ned Stark’s roof.”

“I would be utterly relieved, if I actually believed you.” Her tone was short, but Jaime could tell she was hopeful.

“All will be above reproach,” he offered her his arm again. “You have my word.”

(Y/n) accepted with a wary expression but allowed him to pull her back into the hall and west towards the feast. She could hear it now. There was raucous laughter and loud music filling the air.

“Lady Lannister,” Three more long hallways, and Jaime presented his sister to the Lady of Winterfell, Catelyn Stark.

“Lady Stark,” (Y/n) curtsied with an elegant twist of her hand. “Judging by the sounds, this will be quite the feast.”

“Indeed,” Catelyn’s smile was warm but not at all inviting. There was a distance to the woman as she stood awkwardly in front of her.

(Y/n) bit back a smirk. Catelyn Stark was smart. Distrusting a Lannister was usually the right idea. “It’s not every day the King makes the long journey north. I’m sure they are excited to be part of such a grand occasion.”

“Made grander by your presence, dear sister.” Jaime had gone to retrieve Cersei.

“My queen, I doubt you need me to accomplish such a task.” (Y/n) gave Cersei a friendly smile. “You are, after all, the Queen of Westeros. What could I possibly add?”

The formality of the conversation between the siblings visibly disconcerted Catelyn. She couldn’t tell what was heartfelt and what was show. Catelyn was caught in a conversation with three Lannister, unable to speak but unable to leave.

“Too gracious of you, sister.” Cersei deferred away. “Jaime retrieved me from my conversation with our host because I hoped to ask you a favor.”

(Y/n) shot her gaze after Ned Stark at the other end of the hall. She would ask about the discussion later; they both knew that. “Do share, my queen. If it is within my power, I will happily oblige.”

Cersei touched a gentle hand to Catelyn’s shoulder, dragging her, unwanted, back into the fold. “Robb Stark, your dear boy,” the Queen smiled to Catelyn, “is the male heir of greatest standing and is duty bound to escort my sweet Myrcella to the feast this evening.”

“That he is,” Catelyn wasn’t sure the explanation was meant for her. It would be far greater offense to ignore than to interrupt.

“It,” the Queen paused as though looking for the right word, but (Y/n) knew whatever was to come Cersei had practiced down to the last pause, “unsettles me.” She seemed to finally choose the word. “He’s an honorable man. I’m certain of that. Still, he’s a man nonetheless, and Myrcella is so young. As a mother of daughters, I am sure you can understand my hesitation.”

Catelyn didn’t, but she acquised. “Of course, my queen. What would you propose?”

“If my sister and your son will agree,” Cersei turned to (Y/n), as if she had a choice in the matter, “I would ask that Myrcella walk with your lovely boy Bran, while Robb escorts (Y/n).”

(Y/n) nodded, “Of course, my queen. If it would ease your mind.”

Catelyn stepped back from Cersei, removing the Lannister’s hand from her shoulder. “I will speak with my son for you, my queen,” She curtsied as she backed away towards the other end of the entryway, where her sons congregated with their father, Robert, and the Baratheon boys.

“Well that went well,” Jaime snorted as he watched Catelyn’s hasty retreat.

“She’s scared,” Cersei rolled her eyes after the older woman.

“She hides it well, though,” (Y/n) offered a subtle agreement. “Do you actually wish me and Myrcella to switch? Or were you just looking to unnerve her?”

When her face turned back to the safety of her siblings, Cersei’s lip curled into a sneer. “I have no intention of that Northmen touching my Myrcella. Robert already means to give my Joff to that wench, Sansa, but at least he’ll be able to stay with me. I won’t have Robert abandoning my sweet girl all alone up here in this waste. That man and this so-called castle aren’t worthy of her.”

“Voices down, sister,” (Y/n) warned with little concern actually seeping through to her tone. “I’ll walk with the Stark. No one will leave Myrcella in the cold.”

“Woman!” Robert’s voice boomed.

(Y/n) caught only a glimpse of Cersei as she turned. The twins truly did share everything. Cersei’s jaw clenched before she lied, as well. “Yes, my love?” It wasn’t a terribly good lie either.

“It’s time to feast. Walk with Ned.”

(Y/n) watched her sister’s hung head approach Ned Stark. If she was a fool, as Robert Baratheon most assuredly was, she would think Cersei humbled, but (Y/n) was no fool.

“My lady.”

(Y/n)’s hair whipped at her cheek, turning her head far too quickly for her to hide that she was anything but surprised by the voice. She hadn’t heard Robb Stark approach, nor had she expected to hear his voice. It wasn’t often that anyone caught her by surprise.

“Yes, my lord.”

“I was told by my mother that I am to escort you.” Robb offered her his hand with a bow. “Unless, of course, you would prefer the company of Rickon.” His smile was teasing but genuine. It was a refreshing change of pace.

“Do not tempt me,” She smiled politely in return. “He is a charmingly adorable child.”

Her hand reached out to accept his, only for his whole body to jerk back the second their fingers brushed.

She couldn’t deny she felt it to.

(Y/n) had long forgotten about the writing on her arm. It was an irritation she had to conceal behind her sleeves, nothing more.

Peasants had a habit of naming their children after their liege lords and other powerful men in Westeros. After Robert became King, Robb proved to be an incredibly common name throughout the Seven Kingdoms.

Not that that would have stopped her. If she truly wanted, she could have offered a gold dragon as reward for every ‘Robb’ in Westeros that came to the Rock to touch her hand. She could have sent the Mountain through the lands to find every man with (Y/n) still written on his arm. She could have snuck away in the dead of night with some knights who preferred her to her father and traveled the Seven Kingdoms in her search. She could have walked the twenty paces from her chambers to the sept and prayed to any of the Seven to put Robb in her path.

Instead, she did nothing. Because, in truth, she had never considered searching for him. (Y/n) didn’t want to meet Robb.

Whatever god was responsible for the names was clearly not listening to her wants.

A burning sensation raced across her arm where she knew Robb’s name to be. She knew what was happening. She’d seen the scars on her father’s skin.

At the first touch, the ink in the skin burned away. It left a mark like the brand of an iron. The scars left behind once it healed would form a mate’s family name.

In a few day’s time, Robb’s arm would read ‘Lannister’, and (Y/n) would forever be signed with the name ‘Stark’.

She always knew finding her mate would be a very bad thing, but this was worse than she’d imagined.

(Y/n)’s aloof mask remained in place, completely ignoring the pain in her arm and Robb’s reaction. “Shall we, Lord Stark?”

Robb was frozen for several long moments in utter confusion. This was obviously not what he’d expected. Taking her hand, utterly baffled by her response, Robb led (Y/n) into the feast as though nothing had transpired.

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A knock to her door woke (Y/n) early the next morning.

“Jaime, if that’s you again, I swear I’ll tell father about accidentally dumping his prized chest in the ocean.” (Y/n) groaned loud enough for whoever was on the other side to hear.

“Now, now, sister,” Jaime didn’t wait for any further invitation and slipped her door only just wide enough to step inside before he slammed it shut. “I’m here by orders of our King.”

(Y/n) rolled out from beneath the furs. “Oh, what could that oaf ever want with me?” She quickly slipped behind her changing screen to put on the dress her maid had left hung over the top of the divider.

“The King asked for you, but I don’t think it was by his own design.”

“Of course it wasn’t. Why would he ever wish to talk to any woman who could think?” (Y/n) quelled her laugh to a soft chuckle. “Help me with these laces,” she came to stand braced against her bed.

Jaime groaned but approached without hesitation, “Sister, you have handmaidens for this. Do you not? Has father so deprived you in my absence?”

(Y/n) commented snidely over her shoulder. “You’re telling me you’ve not helped our sister in more precarious positions than this?”

Jaime gripped the laces and jerked them tight around her body, knocking the wind out of her. “That,” He began to lace her corset back the rest of the way up, “was cheap, even from you.”

She hummed in agreement. “Perhaps it was, but we’re all allowed our days. Yours come once a moon. Tyrion’s come on any day you refuse to let him drink. Cersei’s on any day she has to pretend to enjoy Robert’s company.” (Y/n) twisted to face Jaime with a grin, “Father’s on any day the sun dares to rise.”

Jaime chuckled at that. “And what, dear sister,” he asks as he opens her door, “has you so downtrodden?”

She simply shook her head. “Not for your ears, Jaime. At least, not till I figure out what to say.”

Jaime frowned. “You know, I’m not half as smart as you or Tyrion, but I’m a far better listener. You can always come to me, even if you don’t know what to say.”

“Of course, Jaime.” (Y/n) doubted many things, but she never doubted that.

Their walk to Robert’s chambers passed in comfortable silence. (Y/n) had far too much to contemplate to maintain a conversation, and Jaime knew his sister well enough not to disturb her.

His knock on Robert’s door seemed to be the only thing to wake her from her own mind.

“Enter,” came the King’s voice from inside.

Jaime opened the door for his sister and froze when he saw the contents of the room. The King sat at the desk in the corner with Ned Stark leaned against the wall nearby. Catelyn Stark occupied the chair in the corner, and her eldest son stood at her side.

“My King, the Lady (Y/n) Lannister.” Jaime announced his sister as she stepped through after him.

As usual, (Y/n)’s expression gave nothing away. It was as if she was entirely unsurprised by this gathering. “My King, my lords, my lady,” (Y/n) dipped in acknowledgment of those in the room.

“Leave us, Kingslayer.” Robert spat to Jaime, ignoring (Y/n) as though she hadn’t spoke.

Jaime hesitated. For the first time in a long time, he considered disobeying his king. Jaime didn’t know where this was going, but he didn’t want to leave his sister to face them alone.

“Thank you, Ser Jaime,” (Y/n) only said the words as reason to turn to her brother. Her eyes flicked towards the door, a warning for Jaime to leave.

“Your Grace,” Jaime bowed and took the exit. It was Boros Blount’s turn to stand guard at the King’s door, but a glare at the man and a wave of Jaime’s wrist were all it took to send the knight off down the hall. Jaime trusted his sister in these situations, but he did not trust the rest of the room.

“How may I be of service?” (Y/n) asked as the door clanged shut behind her.

Without getting up, Robert managed to turn his chair with a loud scrape against the floor. “You know damn well how. Show us your arm, girl.”

Every eye in the room was on her, and she could read them all. Robert’s impatient agitation; Robb’s deep confusion; Ned’s sanctimonious disappointment; Catelyn’s misplaced rage. She was a lioness alone, and she was surrounded by the wolf pack.

“I see you’ve spoken to your son,” Her eyes rested on Catelyn’s as she jerked her sleeve, unceremoniously, up her arm. “He was not wrong,” (Y/n) showed the room the fresh burn on her arm that was already healing to form the word ‘Stark’.

“Damnit Ned.” That seemed to be a common saying of the King’s when he was in the presence of Starks.

“Well,” Catelyn huffed, turning on her husband and Robert, “What do we plan to do about this?”

(Y/n) honestly wondered how the woman managed to get a word out. If (Y/n) crossed her arms so tightly over her chest, she would hardly be able to breath, let alone form a coherent thought.

Robert forced himself from his chair with a sigh. It was before midday, and there had been a feast the previous night. This was far too early for the King to be awake, much less officiating important discussion. “What can we do? It’s a sign from the gods. We can’t ignore it.”

Catelyn was utterly fuming. Her son, her Robb, joined forever to a Lannister. She would not stand for such a thing.

“Forgive me, Your Grace,” (Y/n) cut in before Catelyn could burst, “But it sounds to me as though you’re implying I wed Robb Stark.”

Robert snorted out a laugh. “Gods, and here I thought you were one of the smart ones. Turns out you’re as slow as Lancel.” Robert crossed the room and clapped his namesake on the shoulder, pulling the Stark boy into the conversation. “Of course that’s what I mean. Ned raised his sons well. Robb’s a good, strong man, and the heir to Winterfell. You’d be lucky to have him at your side.”

“I’m sure you are correct, my King, but that doesn’t change the fact that I have no intention of marrying Robb Stark.”

Silence.

(Y/n) thought, if she listened carefully, she would be able to hear the breaths of the Kingsguard stationed outside.

Of the rare occasions that nobility were found to be mates and did not marry, there had always been something keeping them apart. Never had it been because one openly refused the other. Why would anyone, noble or otherwise, refuse their perfect match put on this earth by the gods themselves?

“Forgive me,” (Y/n) spoke slowly. She was alone on shaky ground, and she desperately needed to keep the King’s anger in check, “but my hand is my father’s to give away as he sees fit. No one else’s.”

“You would stand against the wishes of your king.”

(Y/n) immediately refuted Robert’s words. “I would stand with the wishes of my family. Wherever that may lead me.”

“You will do as your king commands.” Robert’s hand slipped from Robb’s shoulder, and he took a step towards (Y/n) Lannister.

(Y/n) didn’t bat an eye. “After my father agrees,” was the most she would concede, knowing full well it would take more than a miracle from the Seven to get Tywin Lannister to send her to Winterfell.

“You think your father would refute a match to the future Warden of the North? You Lannisters think yourselves that much better than the rest of us. Don’t you?” Robert stood close enough that flecks of his spit landed on her cheek.

(Y/n) wiped them away with her sleeve and a completely blank expression. “I think nothing, my King. I think I should wait for my father’s approval before I agree to things such as this.”

“Robert, the girl is right,” Ned took a step toward his old friend, but Robert raised his hand in warning, causing the Stark to freeze.

He left his hand in the air in case anyone else dared to interrupt them. “I have had it with you Lannisters. I rule Westeros. I am your King, not Tywin Lannister.”

(Y/n)’s eyes narrowed. She had had it with the King as much as he’d had it with her. Her father didn’t hold the title King of Westeros, but he held all the power of one, more than one if that one was Robert Baratheon. She was more than capable of playing the game, of placating men like Robert. But she was every bit her father’s daughter. She did not stand insults in silence.

Robert saw (Y/n) open her mouth, but all he heard was Tywin Lannister as she said, “Any man who must say, I am the King, is no true King.”

A loud snap echoed through the room, followed by a crack.

Robert Baratheon stood, looking down on his handiwork.

(Y/n) Lannister laid sprawled out on the floor with the force of a hard punch to her jaw that no one had seen coming. For a man well past his prime, Robert Baratheon could still manage all the force in his fists that his hammer had made famous during the Rebellion. The blow had knocked the girl down before anyone could think to stop him, before Ned could pull him back, before she could raise a hand in defense, before she could take a step back to brace.

For years, Robert had dreamed of doing exactly that to Tywin Lannister. Dreamed of knocking the old man back down where he belonged. Dreamed of standing with the Lord of Casterly Rock at his feet. Dreamed of watching the arrogant man bleed the same red as his banners.

This girl, (Y/n), she wasn’t Tywin Lannister. She sounded like her father. She acted like her father. But when Robert looked down at her, he only saw a girl. He had punched a young girl for nothing more than speaking to him.

If he had punched the real Tywin Lannister, he would have lost the offending hand by now. Instead, in his fury, he’d punched the Lannister’s young daughter. He still might lose his hand. The girl was a lion, through and through. She had claws, and one of them was standing right outside.

Another was, apparently, behind him.

Robb Stark pushed the King’s shoulder in his hurry to check the girl. “(Y/n), are you hurt?” The Stark boy took both of her hands in his, helping her as gently as he could, to her feet.

“I will be fine,” (Y/n) slowly brushed down her skirts and gave a smile clearly only meant for Robb. “Thank you.”

“I should take you to the Maester.” Robb clearly meant it to be an offer, but it came out more as an order.

(Y/n)’s shoulder had caught her as she fell, keeping her head from the floor; but the crack as she hit the stone was still a sickening sound. It would echo in the room for years.

Every time Robb saw his mate, he would see the King throwing her to the floor, and remember that he didn’t stop Robert in time. Ned would never be able to speak of Robert as an honorable man again; down in the crypts, he would thank the gods Lyanna hadn’t lived to be his. Catelyn would pause every time she made to speak ill of a Lannister; she would remember Robb helping (Y/n) to her feet. She would remember (Y/n)’s response.

“Thank you, Robb, but I think I’d like my brother.” (Y/n) turned to the door and called out, loud enough to be heard on the other side, “Jaime!”

The door swung open in a second. Jaime had been waiting, ear close to the door, for any word that he could enter the room. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword, and his eyes darted around the room for what had made the earlier noise.

A bruise was already flowering on (Y/n)’s face, and her dress was pulled askew off her shoulder.

“Would you be so kind as to escort me to the Maester’s?”

Jaime marched forward and caught his sister’s chin, tilting it up and away that he might examine the mark. “Is your maester a good healer, Lord Stark?” Rage dripped from Jaime’s every word, but he did not dare to ask how his sister was hurt. He already knew the answer, and it was one he could not stand to think on for long.

“That won’t be necessary, Jaime.” (Y/n) brushed his hand away and met his gaze. “I’m quite fine. I only need to send a raven.”

“For what purpose?”

How Robert Baratheon had worked up the nerve to question the woman he’d just injured was a mystery to even his oldest friend, but (Y/n) seemed unphased.

She turned to the King, smirking through her pain, “The North truly is beautiful, and I really do think father would appreciate seeing it before winter comes.”

“You-You will do no such thing.” It wasn’t fear in Robert’s voice. Ned was sure of that, but he thought it might have been defeat.

“Oh, I assure you I will.” (Y/n) grabbed her brother’s free hand, leaving the other in a death grip on his sword. The Kingslayer followed her without complaint, walking backwards to keep his eye on the King until they reached the door. “It’s high time Tywin Lannister sees Winterfell. Or do I need to remind you what truly unites the Seven Kingdoms, Robert Baratheon? Because we both know, it’s not your throne.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Next Time On... Part Two

GoT Taglist:

@everythngiwant / @maybe-a-fangurl / 

[cecils-dragons]

Can you tell us about Medeis? I love his accent btw :3

Thank you for asking! Also sorry for the late reply, I fell asleep.

Medeis lives with other dragon who devout themselves to studying magic and magic adjacent items at Arcane Roost(located on Focal Point). He’s, I guess what you would call, a mad scientist. He doesn’t fit quite right into any other practices so I’ll put him there. His main study circulates around alchemy bottled into potions. Due to the fact that altho reckless, he is still a kind person, he hates using test subjects so just casually tests everything on himself. Damon and other’s at the Roost have had to help in him bad situations multiple times. Shockingly, he has few physical mutation because of it! He is very smart yet incredibly stupid at the same time.

On the note of his accent, it was a reject from Trickmurk Circus 2019. I took off some spooky bits so it’s just the tarot card. There were no preorders so Medeis is the the proud owner of the only copy.

I need to get him dark sclera to match his lore...

[murdocsagaypirate]

Pazuzu

AKA My unnecessarily extensive theory about the entire plot of Gorillaz

Ok, I lied. this is actually what I’m releasing to thank you guys for 666 followers. It’s more fitting tbqh.... I’ve been thinking about this theory for like a month now, and I finally put it all together so uh... here you go~ <3

As I’ve ranted about before, Murdoc is legitimately a Laveyan Satanist. He observes the solstice, he reads legitimate occult literature such as The Book of Lies. Not to mention Damon is an actual Pagan, so everything I’m about to describe he would know and could communicate to Jamie.

Part of Satanism, Wicca, and many other modern pagan traditions hold an idea about the “horned gods”. Basically it goes that when Christianity was being established and taking over pagan Europe and Middle east they decided to homogenize and demonize many Gods from many pagan different pagan traditions. They claimed that Gods like Pan and Baphomet ARE the devil. So what all these means is that Satanist don’t worship the literal Christian Satan, they worship the Pagan’s gods that he originates from called the “Horned Gods”.

But even before these Pagan God, there were the Pagan Gods of ancient Sumeria. Almost all religions can be traced back to these ideas. Hey. Guess who was one of those ancient original Gods? You got it: Pazuzu. 

Now where at the point of all this: Murdoc never made a deal with Satan, because he doesn’t believe in Satan. It’s very very clear he is a devotee of Pazuzu... If a Christian heard what being a devotee of a deity entails they would describe it as a pact with a demon, with out a doubt. It basically goes, “I like what you represent or what you can offer, I want you to have influence in my life and in return I’m going to offer you something (usually whatever it was their culture of origin offered) and show you reverence.” One of many ways to do that is by keeping idols of them.... Which I mean. Murdoc has kept an idol of Pazuzu near by EVERY SINGLE PHASE. 

Kong Studio (Phase 1)

Kong Studio (Phase 2)

Plastic Beach:

Spirit House:

Kong Solar Studio:

Note how Pazuzu is ALWAYS depicted in an “As above, so below” pose, the same one that Baphomet is known for. And more evidence that it’s Sumerian paganism that Murdoc is specifically interested in is the occurrence of the Evil Eye talisman in his room (Shown below) the fact that this concept is present in SO MANY different cultures around ancient Sumeria, it’s may very well have it’s origins in these traditions, not to mention Pazuzu himself has association with dispelling the Evil Eye. 

Not only is Pazuzu always nearby where ever Murdoc is living, but he appears everywhere purposefully in Gorillaz publication, associating him with not only Murdoc’s occult practices, but the band as a whole. As you can see below, he’s placed front and center in music videos, “photo shoots”, merchandise, even as Murdoc’s own accessories. 

Now. As we established when many pagans refer to “The Devil” they are referring to a Christian homogenized concept of many many “horned” or “demon” Gods. I believe the FIRST demon Murdoc ever made a pact with, the one he describes as “The Devil”, was Pazuzu and this deliberate inclusion of him in music videos and merchandise is part of how he’s fulfilling that pact. 

This is part of the modern concept of “Deals with The Devil”. It’s a very popular conspiracy theory that musicians (Particularly Rock, Metal, and Pop artist) make pact’s with Satan to ensure their career is successful.... Sound familiar? Part of theory is that, in return, they essentially devout themselves (... and obviously... their soul...) and their music to “Satan” (Usually like, the whole band, and not just one person in it... The Beatles for example are a huge part of this conspiracy) and the artist puts symbols of Satan in their music and videos.... You know what... I’ll just let Murdoc himself explain it to you: 

What I’m saying is... Not a lot of Satan.... Tons of Pazuzu. Murdoc goes on to explain in this blog that he doesn’t understand this concept of the “subliminal” messages...... yeah..... clearly. Asking artist to do this grows Satan’s influence and army... you know.. for end times... “Choose Pazuzu”, get on his team... 

Another large part of the conspiracy (especially in more recent culture) is the idea that these artist and celebrities frequently allow themselves to be possessed. (For example, people say that Beyonce’s alter-ego “Sasha Fierce” is a demon) ...It may not have been a very Sumeria concept, but that doesn’t change the fact that our culture has some very ingrained ideas about the nature of Pazuzu, thanks to a little film he stars in called The Exorcist. I believe this depiction of him is considered part of Gorillaz canon. The longer Phase 5 goes on the more and more the fandom is considering that possess may play a major role in the plot.... Especially for 2D... it’s as if he’s become his own version of “Sasha Fierce”... 

Glowing white eyes are at least associated with demon possession in Gorillaz canon via Russel’s back story. They don’t mean active possession, but there was a clear connect drawn there when they explained the meaning behind his white eyes. The idea can be drawn from this that 2D’s eyes may have something to do with possess and I want to argue that has been the case since Phase 1. 

A really obvious counter to that is that we see 2D’s eyes white in situations that don’t make much sense for him to current be dealing with demon’s. I’ll admit, I honestly don’t understand why Jamie would be inconstant in his depiction of 2D’s eye color especially if it’s an essential clue to the over arching plot.. But it could be a variety of things, possibly that a demon is near by (The Boogieman was often lurking around the island in phase 3, where 2D’s eyes were white most often) or simply that someone with 2D’s possibility supernatural condition (whatever that condition may be) have there eye’s effected randomly. Who knows, maybe we will find out one day or maybe it means nothing, but I believe special attention was drawn to his eyes in RockIt (where they literally glow just like Russel’s are described to do) and Humility (where we get to see them actually shift colors for the first time), The big kicker is both of these video’s heavily imply some association between 2D and Pazuzu.

The opening sequence shows an image of Pazuzu that is then covered by vines, when the vines are pulled away, there is 2D in his place.

2D’s image is overlayed with Pazuzu’s when he sings the chorus and Pazuzu sing’s “Rock it”. As the song ends, they are both singing “Rock it” in unison. 

And here are 2D’s eye’s specifically glowing. 

Here’s what RoTO has to say about Pazuzu in this music video:

...Now for an extremely suspicious shot in Humility, again the music video where we actually see 2D’s eye’s change for the first time, drawing special attention to them. Even though it’s clear Murdoc was the one that made sure Pazuzu appeared in Gorillaz over-all image, he’s still appearing in a video Murdoc couldn’t possibly have anything to do with... This is the only shot he appears in the video, and they chose to frame 2D in front of it this way... That doodle in 2D journal sure does suggest he’s gotten involved with “The Devil”... and maybe, following Murdoc’s lead, the same Devil that’s been at the center of this the whole time. 

.... SO. In conclusion: 

If Murdoc’s deal with Pazuzu has something to do with the Boogieman, the Black Cloud, El Manana, or even Noodle’s possible death and trip to hell and whatever is going on with 2D... it means he’s not happy with Murdoc because in some way he’s gone back on their deal... 

I think all of this can tie into my theory that part of Murdoc’s first pact involved promising the souls of the eventual member of the band, that the Devil (Pazuzu) would hand pick and deliver to Murdoc... but I’ve already been over that here and here. Maybe Murdoc has been actively preventing the band’s souls being claimed this whole time (because.. you know... he loves them) and now that he’s in jail and the band is all together in one place... there’s nothing to stop Pazuzu from claiming what’s his. 

Update, cause guess what... Tranz came out:

[fuckithqs]

i am not about to write 20 acceptANCES RIGHT HERE RIGHT NOW IM FUCKINS CREECHING THIS BITCH BROUGHT IN SOME REALLY GD QUALITY CHARACTERS AND I CAN’T WAIT and now I am going to write my formal apology here instead of acceptances.

Dear Amira’s Balls,

I am so deeply sorry for ever questioning your presence(1). It is now so much more clear to me you both are a FORCE to be reckoned with. While you were gone I honestly thought you weren’t going to show up, and I don’t even think Amira knew just how big you both actually are(2). But I made a promise that if you were to actually present yourselves, I’d write you a formal apology(3), so here it is. I am so deeply deeply sorry for the DISREPSKCT I showed you earlier and I hope you bless me by giving me plots with literally every single one of the motherfuckers under the read more.

Sincerely, Tea.

PS. Camila Mendes, Vanessa Morgan, Deborah Ann Woll, Dane Dehaan, Keith Powers & Dougie Poynter. I want to fucking die.

MIKEY JONES looks an awful lot like TROYE SIVAN. HE is TWENTY-THREE and while they're SELFLESS, they have a tendency to get pretty VULNERABLE. You’ve probably seen them around Kola listening to PALO SANTO by YEARS & YEARS. ( amira. twenty. she/her. gmt. )

HAZEL SOUSA looks an awful lot like CAMILA MENDES. SHE is TWENTY and while they're AMBITIOUS, they have a tendency to get pretty CARELESS. You’ve probably seen them around Kola listening to LUSH LIFE by ZARA LARSSON ( amira. twenty. she/her. gmt. )

GRAYSON CALLOWAY looks an awful lot like SEBASTIAN STAN. HE is THIRTY-FIVE and while they're CHARMING, they have a tendency to get pretty SHADY. You’ve probably seen them around Kola listening to CLOUT by TY DOLLA SIGN. ( amira. twenty. she/her. gmt. )

ZANDER KING looks an awful lot like JORDAN FISHER. HE is TWENTY-ONE and while they're ENERGETIC, they have a tendency to get pretty FIGHTY. You’ve probably seen them around Kola listening to DANCING’S NOT A CRIME by P!ATD. ( amira. twenty. she/her. gmt. )

CELENA DAVENPORT looks an awful lot like CINDY KIMBERLY. SHE is NINETEEN and while they're CREATIVE, they have a tendency to get pretty DECEPTIVE. You’ve probably seen them around Kola listening to PARTICULAR TASTE by SHAWN MENDES. ( amira. twenty. she/her. gmt. )

KYLE HALE looks an awful lot like ALEX AIONO. HE is TWENTY and while they're DETERMINED, they have a tendency to get pretty OVER SENSITIVE. You’ve probably seen them around Kola listening to THE WAY I AM by CHARLIE PUTH. ( amira. twenty. she/her. gmt. )

MALIA SAWYER looks an awful lot like DEBORAH ANN WOLL. SHE is THIRTY-THREE and while they're OPTIMISTIC, they have a tendency to get pretty FORCEFUL. You’ve probably seen them around Kola listening to GOOD AS HELL by LIZZO. ( amira. twenty. she/her. gmt. )

ELEANOR DIAZ looks an awful lot like ANA DE ARMAS. SHE Is TWENTY-SEVEN and while they're FEARLESS, they have a tendency to get pretty DEMANDING. You’ve probably seen them around Kola listening to BODAK YELLOW by CARDI B. ( amira. twenty. she/her. gmt. )

COLE VANDERBILT looks an awful lot like DANE DEEHAN. HE is TWENTY EIGHT and while they're LAIDBACK, they have a tendency to get pretty ENTITLED. You’ve probably seen them around Kola listening to MY HOUSE by FLO RIDA. ( amira. twenty. she/her. gmt. )

EVELYN PARKER looks an awful lot like ZENDAYA COLEMAN. SHE is TWENTY-ONE and while they're DEVOUT, they have a tendency to get pretty SUPERSTITIOUS. You’ve probably seen them around Kola listening to LIVIN’ LA VIDA LOCA by RICKY MARTIN. ( amira. twenty. she/her. gmt. )

LOLA GILBERT looks an awful lot like LILY MACAPINLAC. SHE is TWENTY-ONE and while they're CAREFREE, they have a tendency to get pretty CHILDISH. You’ve probably seen them around Kola listening to YOUNG VOLCANOES by FALL OUT BOY. ( amira. twenty. she/her. gmt. )

ERIC CLAIRE looks an awful lot like JACK FALAHEE. HE is TWENTY-SIX and while they're PERCEPTIVE, they have a tendency to get pretty UNTRUSTWORTHY. You’ve probably seen them around Kola listening to THE POKEMON THEME SONG by IDFK. ( amira. twenty. she/her. gmt. )

JAMAL MOORE looks an awful lot like KEITH POWERS. HE is TWENTY-FIVE and while they're WILD, they have a tendency to get pretty TOO WILD. You’ve probably seen them around Kola listening to TALK DIRTY by JASON DERULO. ( amira. twenty. she/her. gmt. )

DAMON SINCLAIR looks an awful lot like BILL SKARSGARD. HE is TWENTY-THREE and while they're PASSIONATE, they have a tendency to get pretty NERDY. You’ve probably seen them around Kola listening to THE SPIDER-MAN THEME SONG by AGAIN IDFK. ( amira. twenty. she/her. gmt. )

KARINA MEDICI looks an awful lot like ARIANA GRANDE. SHE is TWENTY-TWO and while they're SWEET, they have a tendency to get pretty TWO FACED. You’ve probably seen them around Kola listening to BITCHES BROKEN HEARTS by BILLIE EILISH. ( amira. twenty. she/her. gmt. )

HUNTER WILDE looks an awful lot like VANESSA MORGAN. THEY are/is TWENTY-FOUR and while they're COOL AF, they have a tendency to get pretty NONCHALANT. You’ve probably seen them around Kola listening to TOO DEEP by dvsn. ( amira. twenty. she/her. gmt. )

JASMINE GARCIA looks an awful lot like LAUREN JAUREGUI. SHE is TWENTY-ONE and while they're VIVACIOUS, they have a tendency to get pretty IMMORAL. You’ve probably seen them around Kola listening to LIGHTS ON by H.E.R. ( amira. twenty. she/her. gmt. )

JAY YOUNG looks an awful lot like DOUGIE POYNTER. HE is THIRTY and while they're OUTGOING, they have a tendency to get pretty VOLATILE. You’ve probably seen them around Kola listening to LOST MY MIND by ELLEY DUHE. ( amira. twenty. she/her. gmt. )

KARMA LOPEZ looks an awful lot like CIERRA RAMIREZ. SHE is TWENTY-THREE and while they're CURIOUS, they have a tendency to get pretty INCAUTIOUS. You’ve probably seen them around Kola listening to WHY WORRY by SET IT OFF. ( amira. twenty. she/her. gmt. )

AYESHA BROWN looks an awful lot like LOGAN BROWNING. THEY are TWENTY-SIX and while they're WOKE, they have a tendency to get pretty ABRASIVE. You’ve probably seen them around Kola listening to BLUE LIGHTS by JORJA SMITH. ( amira. twenty. she/her. gmt. )