#religion language and court politics!!!

[yudrein-aile]

I think the reason turning brainrot got so deep is that its setting allows for all my interests to shine through

[astrosky33]

𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐊𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐈𝐂 𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐎𝐍 𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐎𝐍 🧶

CHIRON IN THE 1ST HOUSE: Wounds involving your identity, outlook on life, appearance, physical fights, your confidence, your passions, your individuality, and/or your beauty

(Example) struggles with being your own person

CHIRON IN THE 2ND HOUSE: Wounds involving emotional security/stability, receiving, self worth, work ethic, and/or finances

(Example) struggles with self worth

CHIRON IN THE 3RD HOUSE: Wounds involving communication/speaking, your mind/thinking skills, opinions, your conscious mind, and/or siblings

(Example) speech impediment or mentally challenged in some way

CHIRON IN THE 4TH HOUSE: Wounds involving family, your mother, emotions/emotional instincts, femininity, your inner child, self-care, your roots, and/or home

(Example) family issues or mommy issues

CHIRON IN THE 5TH HOUSE: Wounds involving your childlike spirit, joy/letting yourself enjoy life, romance, fertility, children, pleasures, and/or talents

(Example) struggling to let yourself ever relax and enjoy things in life

CHIRON IN THE 6TH HOUSE: Wounds involving routines, health, fitness, animals, consistency, self improvement, hygiene, innocence, analytical nature, step siblings, service to others, and/or anxiety

(Example) lots of struggles with anxiety/panic attacks

CHIRON IN THE 7TH HOUSE: Wounds involving commitment, partnerships, relationships/marriage, concern for others, attraction, enemies, conflicts, negotiations, contracts, equality, harmony, and/or sharing

(Example) lots of wounds caused by relationships

CHIRON IN THE 8TH HOUSE: Wounds involving intimacy, sex, death, major transformations/changes, longevity, shared resources, secrets/mystery, the occult, and/or trauma in general

(Example) this is a big indication of just having a lot of trauma in general

CHIRON IN THE 9TH HOUSE: Wounds involving your grandparents, your in-laws - relatives through marriage, wisdom, law/laws, beliefs, religion, viewpoints, languages, foreign environments, travel, courts, media/television, interviews, and/or learning

(Example) religious trauma

CHIRON IN THE 10TH HOUSE: Wounds involving your father/father figure, reputation/public image, status, career, bosses, fame, goals, responsibility, sense of mission, achievements, and/or authority

(Example) daddy issues

CHIRON IN THE 11TH HOUSE: Wounds involving friends/friend groups, socialization, technology, money made from your career/material gains, gains in general, uniqueness, film, desires, manifestations, influence, social awareness, partying, step/half parents, step/half children, humanitarianism, and/or politics

(Example) struggles with social anxiety

CHIRON IN THE 12TH HOUSE: Wounds involving healing, the hidden, sleeping, dreams - the ones you have when you sleep, intuition, isolation, hidden enemies, illusions, secret bed pleasures, closure, impersonations, fears, spirituality, escapism, privacy, hypnotism, the past, restrictions, and/or lots of karma in general

(Example) lots of people out to get you for no reason

𝗠𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧

𝗦𝗨𝗕 𝗧𝗢 𝗠𝗬 𝗣𝗔𝗧𝗥𝗘𝗢𝗡

© 𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐤𝐲 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝

[tanadrin]

Imagine that a century or two from now, the eastern half of the United States is conquered by the Canadian Empire, its intelligentsia deported, its land colonized by Canadian immigrants, and its remaining people mostly gradually absorbed into a Neo-Canadian identity. The West reorganizes, developing a new political and cultural center, and comes to regard itself as the "true" United States, with the remnant culture of the East (by now much changed by Canadian rule) as representing an unchanged tradition stretching back to the time of George Washington. The holdout western half is subsequently conquered by the Reformed Mexican Empire, and while most of the population remains in situ, its elite is taken to Mexico City. There, for three or four generations, they do their best to maintain their distinct American identity, focusing on the American "civil religion," the distinctive political ideals and cultural features that mark them out as Americans, and come up with a new way of interpreting their history that allows America to be a perennial idea, something not directly physically tied to the territory of the United States, which no longer exists. They compose a body of historical works based on Washington Irving's rather fabulistic approach to early American history, the half-remembered popular versions of the stories of Columbus and the Pilgrims, the First Thanksgiving, even the Revolutionary War. They don't have access to the original texts anymore--let's say this is all taking place in a post-Collapse North America where long-range travel and communication is difficult and a lot of history has been lost--but they do their best. They append to these books, or include in their text, of history a copy of the Constitution, big chunks of the United States Code, and Robert's Rules of Order.

Subsequently, the Empire of Gran Columbia invades, conquers southern and central Mexico, and its Emperor lets the captive Americans go home. They return north, mostly to California, find that the version of American history and civics that is remembered there isn't the same as the version they have (not that the Californian one is correct--the Mexican Empire has suppressed English-language education and high culture in its Aztlani provinces), and set about reforming and reorganizing the Western States (as they're now called) to be more in line with the forms they brought back from the exile. In the meantime, other bits of important literature start being kept in libraries next to copies of the received histories: some bits of early American literature, like Hawthorne, the Song of Hiawatha, some highly abridged Herman Melville, Thomas Paine--heck, even some John Locke, and quotes or fragments from Shakespeare. Some traditionalists now argue the capital of the United States has always been located in San Francisco, and that Washington, D.C. only because the capital later, under the influence of Eastern heretics.

In the following centuries, the Western States retain their independence for a time, but eventually become a secondary battleground for a lot of other empires--the Mexicans, the Canadians, the Pan-Pacific Federation, and so forth. American culture remains distinctive, insulted in part by its unique traditions, though now everybody speaks Future Spanish, and only learns English to read the old texts. In this period additional material, including later compositions, continues to accrete, forming a distinct body of sacred American scripture, although it does not exist in a single canonical form. Attempts to reconcile distinct sources, like more literal and historically-grounded accounts versus the simplified narratives of figures like Irving, produce hybrid texts that sometimes are full of internal conflicts.

Oh, and through all this, some institutions of American government like the Supreme Court still function, although their rulings only apply to Americans, and there isn't much in the way of a federal bureaucracy.

Finally the Great and Sublime Brazilian Potentate conquers most of the Americas, sets up an American client state that roughly coincides with the heartland of the old Western States (California, Oregon, most of Washington and Nevada), and allows the Americans to elect their own President (subject, of course, to Brazilian approval). During this period, an apocalyptic street preacher from Los Angeles claims to have inherited the authority and power of George Washington, and is executed by the Brazilians; his later followers point to the prophecies of Emperor Norton, and out-of-context bits of a Quebecois translation of Moby-Dick and some Mark Twain stories to say no, really, he was George Washington. Inexplicably, a version of this religion becomes the dominant faith of the Brazilian Empire before it collapses. But long before then the American state in California fails, crushed when it tries to revolt against Brazilian rule; the remnant Easterners likewise dwindle down to only a few hundred souls living in a village in Alexandria, Virginia. Centuries from now, as the descendants of the descendants of the Brazilians colonize Mars, they will point to the sacred Americanist scriptures, the Neo-Americanist narratives of their prophet's life, and the letters written by the early leaders of Neo-Americanism, and say, "all of this was written by the spirit of George Washington, and is free from contradictions." Meanwhile the remnant Americanists, who have been writing about Americanism and how it applies to their everyday lives in the centuries since, and whose commentary has formed around the copies of the last editions of the U.S. Supreme Court Reporter (SCOTUS managed to outlast the final American state by a hundred years or so) plus the thoughts of the remaining Americanist community in Mexico, continue to regard their traditions as the unbroken and unaltered practice of American culture, politics, and ideals as they existed since the Revolutionary War.

This is, as far as I can tell, approximately how the Bible was composed.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

David Bauder at AP:

The Associated Press sued three Trump administration officials Friday over access to presidential events, citing freedom of speech in asking a federal judge to stop the blocking of its journalists. “We’ll see them in court,” the White House press secretary said in response. The lawsuit was filed Friday afternoon in U.S. District Court in Washington, D.C., 10 days after the White House began restricting access to the news agency. It was assigned to U.S. District Judge Trevor McFadden, a Trump nominee. The AP says its case is about an unconstitutional effort by the White House to control speech — in this case not changing its style from the Gulf of Mexico to the “Gulf of America,” as President Donald Trump did last month with an executive order.

“The press and all people in the United States have the right to choose their own words and not be retaliated against by the government,” the AP said in its lawsuit, which names White House chief of staff Susan Wiles, deputy chief of staff Taylor Budowich and press secretary Karoline Leavitt. “This targeted attack on the AP’s editorial independence and ability to gather and report the news strikes at the very core of the First Amendment,” the news agency said. “This court should remedy it immediately.” The Constitution’s First Amendment guarantees freedom of the press, speech and religion and bars the government from obstructing any of them. Leavitt said that she learned about the lawsuit Friday while driving from the White House to an appearance at the Conservative Political Action Conference. “I wanted to get the White House counsel on the phone before taking this stage to see what I can and cannot say but, look, we feel we are in the right in this position,” she said. “We’re going to ensure that truth and accuracy is present at that White House every single day.”

Trump directly cited AP’s editorial decision

In stopping the AP from attending press events at the White House and Mar-a-Lago, or flying on Air Force One in the agency’s customary spot, the Trump team directly cited the AP’s decision not to fully follow the president’s renaming. “We’re going to keep them out until such time as they agree that it’s the Gulf of America,” Trump said Tuesday. This week, about 40 news organizations signed onto a letter organized by the White House Correspondents Association, urging the White House to reverse its policy against the AP. They included outlets like Fox News Channel and Newsmax, where many of the on-air commentators are Trump supporters. “We can understand President Trump’s frustration because the media has often been unfair to him, but Newsmax still supports AP’s right, as a private organization, to use the language it wants to use in its reporting,” Newsmax said in a statement. “We fear a future administration may not like something Newsmax writes and seek to ban us.” While AP journalists have still been allowed on White House grounds, they have been kept out of the “pool” of journalists that cover events in smaller spaces and report back to its readers and other reporters. The AP has been part of White House pools for more than a century. The lawsuit said the AP had made “several unsuccessful efforts” to persuade the administration that its conduct was unlawful. Julie Pace, AP’s senior vice president and executive editor, traveled to Florida this week to meet with Wiles.

On Friday, the Associated Press (AP) filed a lawsuit in AP v. Budowich against three Trump Misadministration II officials (Susie Wiles, Karoline Leavitt, and Taylor Budowich) over the blocking of its journalists from newsgathering duties covering the White House over its refusal to bend to Tyrant 47’s “Gulf of America” executive order.

[useless-catalanfacts]

Did you know that the first map of the Himalayas was made in the 1500s by the Catalan monk Antoni de Montserrat, and it was so accurate that it was used by European expeditions until the 1800s?

Here's the story of a priest that was called by a Mughal emperor for interfaith intercultural dialogue and who ended up being -among other things- a royal teacher, a writer, a geographer, a fake Armenian merchant, and a prisoner.

Antoni de Montserrat was born in 1536 in Vic (Catalonia). He studied in Barcelona (Catalonia) and Coimbra (Portugal) to become a priest and joined the Jesuits. In 1574, he was sent on a mission to Goa (back then a Portuguese colony, now part of India).

The Mughal emperor Akbar was an open-minded man. He was Muslim but wanted to learn about the other religions, so he called representatives of different religions to his court in Fatehpur Sikri. In 1579, he called the Jesuits to explain Christianity, and the Jesuits sent Antoni de Montserrat. Everyone in the court -Muslims, Christians, Buddhists, Hindus- knew that the point was not to convert others, but to reach a better understanding through debate.

The Mughal emperor Akbar holding an assembly with religious men. The two men dressed in black are Jesuits. Miniature painting by Nar Singh, 1605. Chester Beautty Library.

The emperor Akbar valued Antoni de Montserrat as a great wise man and chose him to become the tutor of his second son Murâd. Antoni learned Persian (the language of the Mughal court) and accepted. He remained close to the emperor and accompanied him in the military campaign when the emperor's step-brother started an uprising in Bengala. Crossing much of Northern India, Kashmir, Pakistan, Afghanistan, and Tibet on elephant gave him the perspective to draw the map.

In the end, Antoni went back to Goa in 1582. There, he wrote a book explaining what he had seen in the Mughal Empire, the cultural differences he had experienced, the political organization of these territories, and describing emperor Akbar's court. This book is called Mongolicae Legationis Commentarius, and its descriptions of the lands he has travelled include the earliest description of Tibetans known in Europe since Marco Polo and the first ever map of the Himalayas.

Antoni de Montserrat's map of the Himalayas and their surroundings, including large parts of what nowadays is India, Tibet, Pakistan, and Afghanistan. Library of St. Paul's Cathedral, Kolkata (India).

This book explains cultural elements of the different cultures under the Mughal Empire and also the conversations Antoni had with the emperor about certain habits. For example, Antoni writes about how the Brahmans (upper caste Hindu priests) force widows to be burned alive in the same funeral pyre as their dead husbands, often (when the women resist) drugging them or through violence. Antoni tries to get emperor Akbar to stop this terrible tradition, but doesn't succeed. On the other hand, Antoni also tells the emperor Akbar that they should burn the "men who dress as women" who live in the emperor's court, to which the emperor bursts laughing out loud and doesn't give any consideration to. Despite their different cultural backgrounds, Antoni and Akbar were friends.

Antoni's time in the Mughal Empire ended in 1588, when the king Philip II of Castilla and I of Portugal orders Antoni and a young Spanish priest named Pedro Páez to go to Ethiopia to convince the Coptic Christian Ethiopians to get closer to the Catholic Christian Church. Then, Antoni and Pedro dressed up as an Armenian merchants to border the Ottoman Empire through Iraq, Syria, and Egypt, trying to avoid the pirates of the Indian Ocean. However, before reaching Ethiopia, they took a ship to skirt modern-day Oman, but the captain turned them in as soon as they reached land in Yemen. Then, Antoni and Pedro were taken on a camel caravan to the Sultan of Hadhramaut (Yemen), who imprisoned them until 1595 and then sentenced to galleys in the Red Sea, and later imprisoned them again. Luckily for them, king Philip paid their rescue and they were freed in 1596. With his body weakened by the galleys and the mistreatments of prison, Antoni retired to a convent in Salsette (modern-day Mumbai, India), where he died in 1600 right after having finished his map.

The Spanish priest who travelled with him, Pedro Páez, also wrote his own diary explaining what they lived. With his descriptions, we know that in Yemen Antoni and Pedro were given what he describes as a kind of herbal tea called "cahua, water boiled with a fruit named bun and which is drank very hot, instead of wine": that is a drink that was still unknown in Europe at the time, which we now call coffee.

Maybe you have heard the name Pedro Páez before, too. After accompanying Antoni to Goa, he went to Ethiopia again, successfully this time. In Ethiopia, he became the first European to reach the source of the Blue Nile.

Information sources: David Montserrat Nonó (La Mira), Sociedad Geográfica Española. If you want to read Antoni de Montserrat's book, it has been translated from Latin to Catalan and to Spanish by Josep Lluís Alay.

[theetherealbloom]

AS GOOD A REASON - CH. 2 | OBERYN MARTELL

Chapter Two: Let The Dance With The Devil Begin

Summary: You, who has made it her life's work to get retribution on those who mistreated and harassed you when you were a child. The scars on your body are a physical reminder of the suffering you endured at the hands of abusers, and they also provide the fuel for your years-long quest for retribution.

Paring: Oberyn Martell x Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ MDNI DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, MINORS GO AWAY, GoT is full of serious and harmful topics, mentions of SA, Rape (not the reader), Murder, Violence, Gore, War, Poison, Scars, Burns, Scratching, Su!c!de, AU, Age–Gap Romance, Angst, FLUFF, Eventual SMUT, Swearing, PTSD, Depression, Anxiety, Crying, Suggestive content, Flirting, Blood, War, Religion References, Nudity, Domestic Abuse, Incest, Prostitution, Weapons, Fire, Horror, Character Deaths, Rewrite Alternate Universe, Sex, Alcohol, Revenge

Word Count: 7k

A/N: Omfg. I took so long to write this I know T^T Thank you for being patient with me! I just decided to have a mini break bcs I was jet lagged from travelling and had to focus on my health for a little bit. 

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: The Albatross by Taylor Swift

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RED KEEP, WESTEROS - 300 AC

You spent two decades carefully avoiding forming deep bonds, all the while meticulously plotting your revenge. You studied their weaknesses, habits, and relationships, patiently biding your time until you could strike from close range.

You had noticed the lingering glances between Cersei Lannister and Jaime Lannister, their whispered conversations turning into passionate encounters. So when Cersei bore a child, rumored to be the result of her incestuous relationship, and as you witnessed Joffrey Baratheon growing into a likeness of his parents, you recorded every detail in your leather-bound notebook. It contained all the information about those responsible for the death of Elia Martell, ensuring no detail escaped your scrutiny.

Serena, a girl you befriended in the bustling stables, is a steadfast ally in your quest for vengeance. Together, you both meticulously gather intelligence, weaving through the whispers of the kitchen staff and the secrets shared in the shadowy corners of brothels. With her keen eyes and your shared determination, you stalk those who have wronged you, laying the groundwork for your calculated retribution.

In the heart of the Seven Kingdoms, the struggle for power rages on. Joffrey Baratheon, seated upon the Iron Throne, wields authority backed by the formidable House Lannister. However, his claim faces challenge from his uncle Renly, who, bolstered by the might of House Tyrell, presses his own bid for kingship. In this turmoil, Tyrion Lannister arrives in King's Landing, aiming to assert control, only to find himself at odds with his conniving sister, Cersei, now entrenched as Queen Regent.

As autumn blankets the realm and whispers of an impending winter linger, Westeros braces for the bitter cold ahead. Yet, instead of preparing for the harsh season, the land remains conflicted. Renly Baratheon's sudden demise alters the tides of allegiance, leaving the political landscape in flux. Meanwhile, Joffrey, with the backing of House Tyrell, emerges victorious in a decisive clash against his uncle Stannis, solidifying his hold on power.

The fates of many hang precariously in the balance. In the labyrinthine corridors of King's Landing, both Tyrion Lannister and Sansa Stark navigate treacherous waters, their survival dependent on their ability to navigate the perilous currents of court intrigue.

You had served Sansa since the day she was first betrothed to King Joffrey. Back then, she had been full of dreams—visions of knighthood, love, and a golden crown. But those dreams quickly soured, turning into nightmares as the Lannisters’ hold over her tightened. What was once a promising union became a gilded cage. They kept her in the Red Keep, a prisoner beneath layers of silk and politeness. 

Sansa clung to her “lady-like” pursuits to distract from the harshness of her reality—sewing, embroidery, poetry, and music. Her stitches were always delicate, her voice soft, yet behind her graceful demeanor, you saw the cracks. You were there when Septa Mordane led her through the Red Keep’s throne room for a lesson in history. It was meant to be a glimpse into the glory of the Targaryens and the rulers of old, but instead, Sansa’s gaze lingered on the dark stain where her grandfather and uncle had been butchered by the Mad King. Her face paled, and she pressed her lips into a thin line, haunted by the ghosts of her own blood.

One evening, as she sat embroidering by the window, she confided in you. “Do you think I’ll be able to give Joffrey sons?” Her voice wavered. “What if… What if I’m only able to give him daughters, like Jeyne Poole’s mother?”

You tried to find reassuring words, though even Septa Mordane's attempts had done little to ease her fears. “You’re young, my lady. You will bear many children in time.”

Her blue eyes, wide with fear, met yours, but she said nothing more.

The Hand’s tournament arrived, and Sansa, despite everything, seemed to sparkle for a brief moment amidst the finery of the lords and knights. You stood in the shadows, watching her as she watched them. Ser Gregor Clegane, The Mountain, was a towering presence, and you felt a chill run down your spine as he unseated Ser Hugh of the Vale, killing him in the dust of the joust. Littlefinger whispered dark stories to Sansa of the Hound’s past, tales of burned flesh and brutal lessons. You saw the way Sansa’s hands trembled as she absorbed the horrors hidden beneath the chivalry.

Yet, there were moments of fleeting happiness. Ser Loras Tyrell, the famed Knight of the Flowers, gave her a single rose before his tilt with Ser Gregor. She blushed under his attention, but you noticed how Loras’s gaze lingered not on her, but on Renly Baratheon, who stood just behind. That small act of kindness, hollow as it was, brought a rare smile to Sansa’s lips, even as the court applauded Sandor Clegane’s intervention to stop his brother’s rampage.

But that brief joy was drowned by the darkness that soon followed. When King Robert Baratheon died after a hunting “accident,” everything unraveled. Eddard Stark, honorable as always, tried to reveal the truth about Joffrey’s parentage, but it was too late. You weren’t surprised when Littlefinger betrayed him. You had seen the cunning in his eyes long before, the way he played everyone like pieces on a cyvasse board. 

Chaos erupted. Eddard’s men, loyal to the last, were slaughtered by Lannister guardsmen led by Sandor Clegane. You remembered Mordane’s voice trembling as she urged Sansa to lock herself in their chambers. But there was no hiding from the Lannisters. They took her.

You watched from a distance as Sansa was humiliated before the court, her innocence crushed beneath the weight of Cersei’s cold cruelty. She stood there, trembling, and you saw the beginning of a transformation. The girl who once dreamed of knights and love was slowly breaking, her innocence being stripped away by every sneer, every command, every cold laugh in the throne room.

You wished you could offer her comfort, but in King’s Landing, comfort was as fleeting as mercy.

The great Sept was filled with the hum of whispers, the heavy weight of tension hanging in the air as Eddard Stark stood before the court. His face, weathered by years of honor and battle, now looked hollow, beaten by betrayal. You stood in the shadows, where servants always stood, your eyes flicking between the high lords and the northern Warden. As the silence fell, Eddard knelt, acknowledging his so-called “crimes” and pledging loyalty to King Joffrey.

For a moment, it seemed the court might breathe again. Sansa stood nearby, her hands trembling. Hope flickered in her eyes—briefly. But Joffrey, perched on the Iron Throne like some twisted boy-king out of a nightmare, leaned forward with a smile sharp as a blade. His words fell like a thunderclap. “Bring me his head.”

Sansa's scream cut through the hall, raw and broken. She lunged forward, hysterical, her voice lost in a storm of pleading, but the gold cloaks restrained her, forcing her back. Her cries—“Please, mercy, mercy!”—rang in your ears, making your stomach turn. 

Ser Ilyn Payne stepped forward, cold and unfeeling as he drew Ice, the greatsword of House Stark. You could see the light catch the edge of the steel, and the last thing Sansa saw before she fainted was her father’s final, resigned glance.

You moved through the chaos as a shadow. Your duty to Sansa came first, so as the blood pooled on the Sept’s floor, you carried her from the carnage, her limp body heavy with grief. The days that followed were hollow. She barely spoke, her eyes vacant as you tended to her, making sure she ate, dressing her in the Lannisters' silks even as her soul remained buried in sorrow.

It was one of those somber evenings when she finally spoke, her voice so faint you almost missed it. “Do you… serve the Lannisters?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

You paused, setting down the tray of untouched food, meeting her tired gaze. “Yes, my lady,” you answered softly.

Sansa’s eyes flickered with something—confusion, maybe anger. “Have they always been this cruel?” she asked, her words trembling with an innocent horror.

You weighed your response carefully, then nodded. “From what I’ve heard, unfortunately, yes.”

Her lips parted as she considered your answer, but it was her next question that cut deeper. “Then why do you serve them?”

You lowered your eyes, your hands folding over the fabric of her gown, the lie of your position hanging heavy on your shoulders. “It’s something I wager on,” you murmured, your voice steady despite the unease in your chest.

Sansa, always perceptive, frowned. “Is that the only kind of wager you make?”

For a moment, you froze. Then you let a faint smile tug at the corner of your lips, the words “Unbowed, unbent, unbroken” echoing in your heart, though unspoken. “There was one time I bet my entire life on something,” you confessed quietly.

She looked at you then, truly looked, her tear-streaked face searching yours. “Did you win?”

Your smile faltered, but you met her gaze with a spark of determination. “I’m planning to,” you said, with a quiet promise hanging between the two of you.

KING’S LANDING, RED KEEP — 300 AC

The stone walls of the Red Keep felt colder that night, the flickering torchlight casting long shadows on the ancient stones. In a small, dimly lit chamber tucked away from the grand halls, you worked in silence, the weight of your plan pressing down like the calm before a storm. Every movement was deliberate, each thought sharper than the edge of a Valyrian blade. The game was already in motion, and you were setting the pieces in place.

You had long been underestimated—a mere servant, a shadow in the background of the powerful Lannisters, Tyrells, and Martells. Yet, you had seen the truth: the most dangerous players were often those who remained unseen. You were one of them, a silent force, blending into the background while carefully planting the seeds of destruction. The poison, subtle and undetectable, was your weapon.

A soft knock interrupted your focus. The door creaked open, and there stood Petyr Baelish—Littlefinger himself. His thin lips curved into a smile, but there was no warmth in it, only calculation.

“Ah, a quiet place for quiet minds,” he murmured, his voice smooth as silk, eyes darting around the chamber before settling on you.

You raised your head slowly, meeting his gaze with a calm that belied the storm brewing inside you. Littlefinger wasn’t a man easily intimidated, but neither were you. Two wolves circling, each looking for the other’s weakness.

“You seem to find yourself in many quiet places, Lord Baelish,” you replied, voice soft but pointed. “What brings you here?”

He moved closer, his steps light, like a predator stalking prey. “Just ensuring the right wheels keep turning, ensuring the chaos that follows serves the right cause.” His gaze lingered on your hands, noting the fine movements as you handled a small vial, the liquid within almost imperceptibly shifting.

You allowed a small, knowing smile. “Chaos... Chaos can be useful. But only if it’s controlled.”

His eyebrow raised, amusement flashing in his eyes. “Controlled chaos? Now, that’s an art.”

You carefully set the vial down, your voice lowering to a conspiratorial tone. “What if the chaos that’s already simmering were to boil over? What if, after Joffrey’s wedding, his reign came to an... unexpected end?”

Baelish didn’t blink, though you could see the subtle change in his posture, the slight narrowing of his eyes. You hadn’t suggested anything outright—it was the art of planting the idea, the delicate balance of nudging him without him realizing he’d been led.

He took a slow breath, his mind already racing. “And who, I wonder, would have the audacity to arrange such an unexpected end?”

You smiled, but didn’t answer directly, your silence speaking volumes. Instead, you moved the conversation forward, allowing the implication to sink in.

“The realm is already full of hungry wolves, my lord,” you said, your voice steady, your hands working deftly as you began to clear away your tools. “All it takes is a nudge in the right direction, and they’ll tear each other apart. No one will stop to notice who did the nudging.”

Littlefinger tilted his head, studying you for a moment longer. “Perhaps,” he mused, his tone as noncommittal as ever, “but wolves are tricky. You can never be sure which way they’ll turn.”

“That’s true,” you conceded, meeting his eyes directly. “But I’ve always been good at reading the pack.”

The silence that followed was heavy, each of you measuring the other, testing the boundaries. He wouldn’t act on your words immediately. Littlefinger was too careful, too meticulous for that. But you could see the spark in his eyes—the idea was there, planted, waiting to take root.

With a nod, he turned to leave, but paused at the doorway. “You have a dangerous mind,” he remarked, half admiration, half warning. “Be careful. The pack bites back.”

You gave him a knowing look. “Only if they see the one holding the leash.”

Days passed, and as you moved through the grand halls of the Red Keep, you watched everything begin to fall into place. Like a silent puppeteer, you pulled the strings without ever needing to step into the light.

Varys had been busy, moving pieces on the board that even you hadn’t expected. Ros had whispered in his ear, and soon after, Lady Olenna Tyrell had been brought into the fold. The whispers of a marriage between Sansa Stark and Loras Tyrell spread through the castle like wildfire. You had always known Varys to be a man of schemes, but even you marveled at how quickly he moved.

In the gardens, you overheard the conversations as they unfolded—subtle, quiet, but filled with power. Lady Olenna, with her sharp wit and keen mind, was already orchestrating her plans, likely envisioning a future without Joffrey’s cruel reign.

You stood in the shadows as Littlefinger passed by, his expression unreadable. He had heard your suggestion, and though you were not directly involved, you knew the idea had taken root. He would set things in motion, ensuring the chaos that followed would serve him—and you would remain unseen, untouched by the blood that would soon spill.

RED KEEP, WESTEROS – 301 AC

The War of the Five Kings dragged on, but within the Red Keep, the battles were far subtler, fought with whispers and veiled threats. Your life as a servant under King Joffrey's reign had grown increasingly unbearable. Between the relentless demands of court life and the constant fear of his cruelty, you found little time to care for yourself.

Your headache throbbed—a reminder that you hadn’t eaten since dawn, and the long days had begun to blur into endless nights. It wasn’t uncommon for you to push through these spells, but this time felt different. The world around you grew heavier, your limbs sluggish, and the gardens seemed far away.

Basket in hand, filled with fruit from the kitchens, you trudged through the Red Keep's gardens. The bright afternoon light stabbed at your eyes, worsening the pounding in your head. You tried to focus on your task, but each step felt more labored, and a cold sweat broke out on your skin.

As you rounded a corner near the overgrown hedges, your vision blurred. The world tilted. The cobbled path beneath your feet shifted into an unforgiving blur of stone and soil, and with a muffled thud, everything went black.

In that hazy in-between of consciousness, a voice pulls you back—familiar, though distant. “He would have liked you,” Princess Elia’s voice echoes in your mind.

“Whom do you speak of, my lady?” you had once asked her, back when the Red Keep still buzzed with life and not dread.

“My brother. Oberyn. He’s trouble, but even so, I love him dearly.”

For a brief moment, you can almost feel her presence, and the weight of the past rushes over you like a cold wave. You blink, pulling yourself out of the memory just as a different voice fills your ears. A deeper one, full of curiosity and something unreadable.

You woke slowly, your senses coming back in fragments: the scent of crushed grass, the cool air against your skin, and the distant murmur of voices. Your eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the filtered sunlight through the leaves overhead.

"Careful. Don’t rush."

The voice was deep, tinged with amusement. A hand—warm and strong—rested on your shoulder, gently holding you down. You blinked, focusing on the face above you, unfamiliar yet striking. Dark, sharp eyes, framed by lustrous and black with only a few silver streaks recede from his brow into a widow's peak. The emblem of a red sun pierced by a golden spear embroidered on his tunic caught your eye.

Oberyn Martell. The Red Viper of Dorne.

“Are you injured?” His voice held a soft curiosity as if you were some puzzle he intended to unravel.

You shook your head, still disoriented. "No, I... I must have fainted."

He raised an eyebrow, glancing at the basket of spilled fruit beside you. “It seems you’ve been overworking yourself. King Joffrey’s court, I assume? They’re not known for their kindness.”

A rush of embarrassment warmed your cheeks. You scrambled to sit up, but Oberyn’s hand remained firm.

“Take your time,” he said, his tone softening. “Even a servant deserves a moment to breathe.”

You weren’t used to kindness, especially not from someone of his stature. His reputation as a fierce and dangerous man preceded him, yet there was something else—an air of compassion, albeit hidden beneath his sharp edges.

“I’m... grateful,” you murmured, unsure of how to respond. “But I should get back to my duties. They won’t—”

Oberyn interrupted with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Let them wait. The Lannisters have their claws in many, but even a viper can strike when the time is right.”

There was a pause, a subtle shift in the air between you and Oberyn Martell. His gaze lingered a little longer than necessary, and though his words were casual, they held an undercurrent you couldn’t quite place. It was as though he saw something deeper in you, something more than just a servant tending to her duties. Fate, or perhaps something far more dangerous, had drawn his attention to you.

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he stood upright, his dark eyes gleaming with a playful intensity. "You Dornish are known for our... passions," he said, his voice a low, deliberate purr. "But it seems fate has a way of placing beauty in my path, whether I ask for it or not."

You blink, unsure of how to respond, heat rising uncomfortably to your face. He stepped closer, his presence both magnetic and overwhelming. His fingers brushed lightly against your wrist, lingering there a moment longer than propriety would allow. "Tell me," Oberyn continued, his tone playful yet edged with something deeper, "does a woman like you often find herself fainting at the feet of princes? Or is this a rare occasion?"

Your breath hitched, panic flaring inside you, though you did your best to suppress it. Affection—let alone attention—was something you were unaccustomed to. His flirtation was like a wildfire, threatening to burn through the careful walls you'd built around yourself.

"I... I don’t..." you stammered, trying to pull your thoughts together, your mind racing. You weren’t used to being noticed, not like this, not by someone like him.

Oberyn tilted his head, his smirk widening as if he could sense the flurry of emotions raging within you. "Don't be shy," he murmured, voice lowering as his eyes roamed over you with quiet curiosity. "I can see there's much more to you than meets the eye." 

The words felt like a tease, a challenge wrapped in silk, and your heart pounded in your chest, caught between the instinct to flee or stand frozen in place. Oberyn Martell's gaze seemed to strip away every defense you had carefully built over the years, as though he could see straight through the mask of servitude you wore.

You forced yourself to take a deep breath, steadying your trembling nerves. This was not the time to panic, not in front of the Red Viper of Dorne. He was too sharp, too dangerous, and your heart fluttered at the way his presence seemed to unsettle the very air around you.

Without answering the prince’s flirtatious remark, you bent down to hurriedly gather the fallen fruit, your fingers clumsy as you fumbled with the basket. But even as you moved, you felt his eyes on you, watching every motion with an almost predatory amusement.

A soft chuckle escaped his lips as he crouched beside you, his hand brushing yours as he handed you one of the scattered apples. "You're in quite the hurry," he murmured, the smirk never leaving his face. His touch lingered, deliberately slow as he placed the fruit in your basket.

You rose quickly, trying to distance yourself, but Oberyn stood just as swiftly. Before you could retreat, he grasped your wrist, pulling it gently toward him. His movements were fluid, effortless, as if this were a dance he had long perfected. He raised your hand to his lips, his dark eyes locked on yours, and pressed a kiss to your knuckles—his lips soft, warm against your skin.

Your breath caught, panic fluttering in your chest like a trapped bird. Heat crept up your neck, your heart racing as you tried to pull yourself together, but his touch seemed to set your mind spinning.

Just then, Oberyn’s eyes shifted, narrowing as he caught sight of something—your scars, peeking out from beneath your long sleeves. His brow furrowed ever so slightly, curiosity flashing across his features. He tilted his head, about to speak.

But you jerked your hand away, the sudden movement sharp, almost frantic. "I should go," you blurted, the words tumbling out hastily. You gathered your things, your pulse still thrumming wildly as you turned on your heel, desperate to escape his piercing gaze.

As you hurried away, you could feel Oberyn's eyes lingering on your retreating form, his expression unreadable. Even in your rush, you couldn’t shake the feeling that the prince wasn’t done with you yet.

KING'S LANDING, WESTEROS – 301 AC

The sun hung high over King’s Landing, its golden light casting a deceptive warmth over the cool sea breeze that drifted in from Blackwater Bay. You stood with Marei at the edge of the courtyard, the bustle of the palace below and the hum of the city distant beneath the tranquil air. The garden was alive with color, a stark contrast to the heavy gloom that clung to those gathered at the banquet table.

Shae moved with a quiet urgency, filling a plate with food from the banquet spread. She placed it in front of Sansa, who sat still, pale and lifeless, her face void of any spark. Her slender hands rested on her lap, unmoving. It was as if she had already become a shadow, despite still breathing.

“You need to eat something,” Shae urged softly, her voice carrying both concern and exasperation.

Sansa did not stir. 

“Pigeon pie,” Shae offered, her tone gentler now, but Sansa’s pale lips barely moved as she whispered, “No, thank you.”

A sigh escaped Shae, but she quickly turned back to the table, scanning for something else. With a quick motion, she removed Sansa's untouched plate and placed a new offering in front of her. “Lemon cakes?” Shae asked, a glimmer of hope in her voice. Everyone knew Sansa's love for lemon cakes.

Sansa’s voice, barely a whisper, responded again. “No, thank you.”

Shae’s expression faltered. “You love lemon cakes.”

But Sansa remained unmoved, as if the world around her had lost all meaning. Shae’s shoulders slumped in frustration, her eyes flicking toward you and Marei before glancing at the entrance of the courtyard.

Tyrion Lannister entered the garden with deliberate steps, his short legs struggling to match the long strides of the men he was often compared to. His eyes, sharp and calculating, scanned the scene with quick efficiency. Despite his stature, you had learned well enough that Lord Tyrion Lannister was not a man to be underestimated. His mind was his sharpest weapon.

“Tyrion,” Shae called out to him with a sigh of relief. “Tell her she needs to eat.”

Tyrion approached the table, offering a small, polite smile. “My lady, you do need to eat.”

Sansa’s gaze remained fixed somewhere in the distance, her hands limp in her lap. “I don’t need to eat,” she said softly, without even looking at him.

Tyrion hesitated for a moment, glancing between Shae, you, and Marei. His expression was measured, patient. “Could I have a moment alone with my wife?” he asked gently, though his tone held the firmness of a command.

You exchanged a quick look with Marei before bowing your head and stepping away. Shae, however, lingered, her eyes flashing with concern and defiance. She crossed her arms, unwilling to yield.

“She needs to eat,” Shae said stubbornly, her eyes narrowing as she looked between Tyrion and Sansa. 

Tyrion met her gaze, his expression imploring, but Shae’s frustration was palpable. With one last glance at Sansa, Shae reluctantly turned and left the garden.

Tyrion took a seat across from Sansa, his eyes softening as he reached out to take her hand. His grip was gentle, but firm enough to draw her from her daze. “I can’t let you starve, Sansa,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with quiet compassion.

Sansa didn’t react. She stared past him, her blue eyes hollow, as if the world had dulled to nothing but gray. Shae, now at the far end of the garden, cast a furious glance back toward Tyrion, her anger simmering just beneath the surface.

A FEW DAYS LATER

KITCHEN KEEP, KING'S LANDING — DAY

The kitchen was a chaotic blend of sounds and smells, with servants rushing around, preparing the feast for the garden party. You focused on your tasks, slicing fruits and arranging them neatly, hoping the repetitive motions would calm the unease bubbling in your chest. The Lannisters' garden parties always came with tension—too many eyes, too many secrets.

Serena, ever observant, moved beside you with a conspiratorial smile. Her presence had always been a quiet comfort, an unspoken pact between two women wronged by the same family. She nudged your side playfully, her voice just loud enough for you to hear over the clattering pans and murmurs of other servants.

“Guess what I overheard in the gardens earlier,” she whispered, her eyes sparkling with the excitement of fresh gossip.

You glanced up, your curiosity piqued. “What is it now?”

She leaned in closer, her voice dropping even lower. “Tyrion and Lord Varys were having one of their secret little chats. Something about Shae.” She gave a sly smile before recounting the conversation she’d overheard, her voice adopting a mocking impression of Tyrion's measured tone.

“Lord Varys. Breakfasting with the king?”

Your hands paused over the fruit, recognizing the weight of that simple greeting. Serena continued, now mimicking Varys’ smooth, ever-cautious reply.

“I’m afraid foreigners aren’t welcome at such exclusive affairs,” she quoted, barely concealing a smirk.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the slight smile that tugged at your lips. Tyrion and Varys—always circling each other, testing the limits of loyalty and power. Serena’s impression was spot on, and the dry chuckle she added to Varys’ line brought the exchange to life.

“Oh, to be foreign,” she muttered in Tyrion’s voice before glancing around the bustling kitchen with exaggerated suspicion, mimicking Varys’ quiet amusement.

“Ahem,” she finished with a soft laugh.

The kitchen clamor drowned out any chance of someone overhearing, but you kept your gaze fixed on your hands, focusing on the fruit before you. "What did they say after that?" you asked in a low voice, not wanting to appear too interested but knowing that information like this was often a lifeline in King's Landing.

Serena's smile dimmed slightly as she continued, her tone more serious now. “They were talking about Shae. Varys warned Tyrion that she’s been noticed. That Sansa’s maid saw them together, and it’s only a matter of time before Cersei—and worse, Tywin—find out.”

Your breath hitched slightly. That was dangerous—too dangerous for a place like this.

You glanced up at Serena, who nodded grimly. “Varys told Tyrion his father has promised to hang the next whore he’s found with.”

Your stomach twisted, though you managed to keep your expression neutral. Information like this could be a weapon if used correctly. But it also carried its own risks, especially for someone like you, who lived in the shadows of these powerful people. You simply nodded and whispered, "Thank you."

KING’S LANDING GARDEN, DAY — 301 AC

The gardens of the Red Keep, beautiful though they were, could not ease the tension that clung to the air. The lush greenery and sea breeze seemed wasted on the gathering before you, where cruelty simmered beneath the surface. You moved silently among the servants, pouring wine, offering trays of food, your head low as your sharp eyes observed everything. No one here was truly safe—not even those who smiled and pretended otherwise.

You had learned long ago to watch, to listen, to see things others missed. And here, among the so-called lords and ladies, your simmering hatred boiled just beneath the surface. Revenge had a way of lurking in quiet moments like these, waiting for the perfect opportunity.

At the head of the table sat King Joffrey, his golden crown glinting in the sun like a mockery of all that was just. Around him, the key players of the realm gathered: Queen Cersei, her eyes sharp and watchful; Lord Tywin, stoic and commanding as always; Prince Tommen, innocent and ignorant of the malice around him; and Grand Maester Pycelle, old and leering.

But your attention flickered to Sansa Stark. Pale, withdrawn, her once-vibrant spirit all but crushed under the weight of her suffering. She sat beside her husband, Tyrion Lannister, who, despite his small stature, radiated an awareness far sharper than anyone gave him credit for. The tension between them was palpable, an unspoken grief they both carried.

Your heart tightened as you watched, knowing Sansa's pain was not unlike your own. Like her, you had learned to survive in silence, though your silence was of a different kind. The Lannisters had taken too much from you. They were going to pay for it one day, one way or another.

Across the table, Lord Mace Tyrell puffed out his chest, carrying a gleaming goblet, his voice filled with a pride that bordered on foolishness.

“From House Tyrell and the people of the Reach, Your Grace, it is my honor to present you with this wedding cup.”

He placed the goblet before Joffrey, who barely looked at it, his lips curling into a mocking smile.

“A handsome goblet, my lord. Or shall I call you Father?”

You noted how Mace Tyrell’s face flushed with both pride and unease. He bowed deeply. “I would be honored, Your Grace.”

As Mace withdrew, Shae moved gracefully through the crowd, setting a tray before Sansa. You saw how her eyes flickered toward the young girl, but there was no response from Sansa, no recognition of the kindness that once might have been there.

Then, the sharp voice of Queen Cersei pierced the moment, her words venomous.

“She’s the whore I told you about. The dark-haired one.”

Your blood boiled as you saw Shae stiffen. The insult cut through the air like a blade, but Shae, ever composed, turned to leave without a word. You noticed how Tywin’s cold eyes followed her, narrowing as she walked away.

“Have her brought to the Tower of the Hand before the wedding,” Tywin ordered, his voice devoid of any emotion, yet as sharp as a death sentence.

Tyrion’s face darkened. You could see the concern etched into his features, his helplessness as he tried to control a situation slipping further out of his grasp. Your heart raced, knowing the precarious game being played here—and how dangerous it was for all involved.

Shae’s departure was barely noticed as Podrick stepped forward, carrying a large tome. He placed it carefully before Joffrey, and Tyrion followed, a strained smile on his face as he addressed the king.

“A book,” Joffrey said, his voice dripping with disdain.

Tyrion clasped his hands together, speaking with calm civility. “The Lives of Four Kings. Grand Maester Kaeth’s history of the reigns of Daeron the Young Dragon, Baelor the Blessed, Aegon the Unworthy, and Daeron the Good. A book every king should read.”

For a brief moment, Joffrey hesitated. His sharp tongue seemed to fail him as the weight of the gift hovered in the air. But Tywin’s piercing gaze prodded him, and the boy-king forced a mocking smile.

“Now that the war is won, we should all find time for wisdom,” Joffrey said, his voice laced with scorn. “Thank you, Uncle.”

Tyrion bowed, but the tension between them crackled like a hidden storm.

Before anyone could breathe, The Mountain lumbered forward, carrying a sword swathed in black cloth. He laid it before Joffrey with all the reverence of a knight presenting a sacred relic. Tywin rose, his voice steeped in gravitas as he spoke.

“One of only two Valyrian steel swords in the capital, Your Grace, freshly forged in your honor.”

Joffrey’s eyes gleamed with an almost childlike excitement as he tore the sword from its sheath, its blade gleaming ominously in the sunlight. You felt a ripple of unease roll through the gathered nobles as the blade sliced through the air.

“Careful, Your Grace,” Pycelle croaked from his seat. “Nothing cuts like Valyrian steel.”

But Joffrey’s wicked grin only widened. “So they say.”

In a sudden, violent movement, Joffrey swung the sword down, cleaving the book Tyrion had gifted him clean in half. The sound of tearing parchment and splintering leather echoed through the garden. A gasp rippled through the crowd, but Joffrey was delighted with himself.

“Such a great sword should have a name,” Joffrey declared, his eyes burning with cruel glee. “What shall I call her?”

The crowd murmured suggestions, none of which seemed to please the boy-king. But then, his lips curled into a malicious grin.

“Widow’s Wail. I like that. Every time I use it, it’ll be like cutting off Ned Stark’s head all over again.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine. You saw Sansa freeze beside him, her face drained of color, her entire body rigid with the memory of her father’s execution. Across the garden, Shae watched, her eyes narrowing with unspoken fury.

You kept your head down, but the seething rage inside you boiled hotter. One day, they would all pay for this. The Lannisters, their cruelty, their arrogance—it would all come crashing down. And you would make sure of it.

KING’S LANDING GARDEN, LATE AFTERNOON — 301 AC

The preparations for the royal wedding between Joffrey and Margaery were endless, consuming the days and nights of everyone within the Red Keep. But while others concerned themselves with the surface duties, your mind was preoccupied with a far more dangerous task.

The thought of the Strangler stones hidden within Sansa's necklace gnawed at you. The pieces were already in motion, each step methodically planned. Your hands moved through the flowers you were tasked with arranging, but your thoughts were elsewhere, carefully calculating the next move in your plot to bring down King Joffrey without implicating yourself. 

As you worked alone in the gardens, the late afternoon sun blazed overhead. The sweat clung to your skin, and the heat forced you to roll your sleeves up just enough to reveal the faint, jagged lines of scars that adorned your forearms. The burn scars, remnants of your brutal encounter with Ser Gregor Clegane, were still a reminder of what you endured—and survived. The pain was still fresh, but it fueled your resolve. Spite, after all, was a powerful motivator.

You barely noticed the approaching footsteps until a shadow fell across your path. Looking up, you were met with the sharp, knowing gaze of Oberyn Martell. His smirk was playful, as it often was, but there was something deeper there—an intensity that sent a ripple of unease through you. 

"You work too hard," he said smoothly, his voice like silk. "It’s a crime to see such beauty covered in dirt."

You straightened, brushing your hands on your apron, trying to keep the panic from showing. "I have my duties, my lord," you replied, keeping your tone even. The way Oberyn looked at you—intense, almost predatory—made your heart race, though you tried to remain composed.

He crouched beside you, plucking a flower from the arrangement and twirling it between his fingers. His eyes flicked briefly to the scars on your arm, scars you quickly moved to conceal by rolling down your sleeves. But it was too late—Oberyn’s gaze lingered on them for just a moment, something unreadable flickering in his expression. 

The way he studied you wasn’t merely out of curiosity, but recognition. His next words carried a weight that hung in the air between you both. 

"There are stories... of a servant who once attended to Princess Elia." Oberyn’s tone remained casual, but you could feel the shift, the tension creeping in as he spoke. "They say she escaped the Sack of King’s Landing with her life. Barely."

Your breath hitched, but you forced yourself to remain still. You had heard those stories too. After all, you had lived them.

Oberyn leaned closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "Some say she vanished, swallowed by the chaos. Others claim she survived through sheer will, fueled by spite." His dark eyes locked onto yours, searching. "I wonder… do you know of such tales?"

The question lingered in the air, heavy with suspicion. You met his gaze, your heart pounding in your chest, but your face remained a mask of composure. "Many stories are told in King’s Landing, my lord. Few of them hold any truth."

Oberyn’s lips curled into a faint smile, but his eyes remained sharp, watching you carefully. "Perhaps," he murmured. "But then again, some tales are more dangerous than others." He stood up, still twirling the flower between his fingers, casting one last glance at your concealed scars. "Sometimes, survival speaks louder than words."

Before you could respond, the sound of footsteps interrupted the moment. Ellaria Sand approached, her eyes already on you. There was a possessiveness in her gaze, though softened by intrigue.

“So this is the woman who has caught my prince’s eye,” Ellaria remarked, her voice a low purr as she moved closer, her hand brushing lightly against Oberyn’s shoulder.

You bowed your head, hiding the inner storm brewing within you. "My lady," you greeted, though the tension in the air was unmistakable.

Ellaria’s gaze flicked to Oberyn, then back to you. “She is different,” she said, her tone intrigued, but there was an edge of caution in her words. “I wonder what it is you see in her, my love?”

Oberyn chuckled softly, his attention still on you. “There’s something about her,” he said, his voice smooth, yet laced with deeper meaning. “Something familiar.”

Ellaria looped her arm through his, drawing him closer to her side. “Familiar or not, I trust you know where your loyalties lie.”

Oberyn’s smile deepened, but his gaze didn’t waver from you. "Always," he replied to Ellaria, but his words were aimed at you, and the unspoken suspicion between you both lingered in the air, unsaid but undeniable.

As the two of them moved off together, your heart pounded in your chest. Oberyn's words, the way he had looked at you—he was starting to piece it together. He suspected who you truly were, but for now, he remained silent, watching. You returned to your task, but the weight of his suspicion clung to you. 

Everything had only just begun, and you were already in far deeper than you had anticipated. But like the scars on your skin, the memories of your past had shaped you into what you were now. And just like that day long ago, you would survive.

TAGLIST:

@christinamadsen

[hrizantemy]

if you were to completely redesign the Illyrian, how would you do it, what would their culture be and what would they look like??

The real Illyrians were an Indo-European group who lived in the western Balkans, in what is now Albania, Montenegro, Kosovo, Bosnia, and parts of Croatia and Serbia. Their culture was tribal, warrior-based, highly spiritual, and deeply connected to land and kinship.

1. Name & Language Roots

First: reclaim the name “Illyrian.” Instead of being a shallow placeholder for “aggressive bat-wing men,” the name should reflect a proud, tribal confederation of clans—descended from ancient highland warriors. Their language would include roots from Albanian and Proto-Illyrian dialects, with oral poetry, songs of mourning, and epics sung around mountain fires.

2. Social Structure: Tribal Confederacies

Real Illyrians lived in tribal federations, each with its own chieftains and warrior aristocracy. I would bring this into canon: the Illyrians aren’t just “camps”—they’re sovereign tribes with loose allegiance to the Night Court, and their loyalty is bought, not owed. Each tribe has a Council of Elders and Chieftains, with some practicing elective rulership where war-leaders are chosen through ritual trial, not bloodline.

Matriarchal clans exist too—older than any patriarchal power, passed through the line of sky priestesses, who once clipped the wings of men as divine penance. The current system of oppression? A perversion of ancient tradition twisted by power-hungry warlords and Rhysand’s court, who exploit internal conflict to keep them divided and dependent.

3. Religion and Spiritual Practice

Historically, Illyrians worshipped nature spirits, serpent deities, and mountain gods. In this fantasy adaptation, Illyrians would revere the Sky-Father and the Stone-Mother—two ancient beings who gave them wings and stone to live between worlds.

Wings are sacred. Wing-clipping is not just mutilation—it’s sacrilege, and the resurgence of this practice under modern Night Court control is a political weapon to suppress rebellious bloodlines. Warrior-priestesses once guarded shrines on the highest peaks where only those who could fly were permitted to worship.

Death rites involve sky-funerals: the dead are burned on high plateaus so their spirits can ride the wind to the afterlife. The wingless are buried in tombs in the valleys—a mark of shame in some clans, a mercy in others.

4. Economy, Craft, and Innovation

Instead of being portrayed as “poor savages,” the redesigned Illyrians would be fierce highlanders with a rich barter-based economy. They trade obsidian, leather, mountain herbs, and metal alloys unique to their region. They have smiths who forge armor and alchemists.

Flight gear is advanced: aerodynamic cloaks, harnesses imbued with wind glyphs, and helmets carved to honor ancestral beasts. Wings are treated with reverence—oiled with sacred resins, decorated with clan paint before battle, bound in mourning when a loved one dies.

5. Gender & Power Dynamics

Gender in real Illyrian society wasn’t well-documented, but fantasy allows us to expand. In my version:

• Warrior women are common, especially in the tribes that still worship the Stone-Mother. In some clans, only women can lead raids; in others, daughters inherit land and wings.

• Wing-clipping is not universal. It’s a divisive cultural trauma, used by colonial forces (like Rhysand’s Night Court) to weaken female power within rebellious clans.

• Marriage customs involve bonding rituals and trials of endurance. Love matches are common, but political unions are sacred treaties.

6. Aesthetic and Visual Identity

Visually, these Illyrians would draw from traditional Balkan dress, war paint, and ritual tattoos:

• Heavy layered wool cloaks, silver-studded leather, and hand-stitched embroidery.

• Feather motifs, not batlike, dominate their wings and clothing—suggesting eagle or falcon heritage.

• Skin adorned with ancestral ink, marking clan history, flight achievements, and personal victories.

• Their wings are shaped more like a bird of prey—sleek, powerful, elegant—and more distinct from other fae for anatomical and symbolic reasons.

7. Language, Stories & Music

Real Illyrians were known for oral tradition—so these new Illyrians would sing their lineage, tell stories of queens and serpents, and compose elegies for daughters passed through generations.

Their music is haunting, polyphonic, and full of harmonies sung at mountaintop festivals during solstices or blood moons. Instruments would include stringed zithers, bone flutes, and drums carved from trees.

8. Relationship to the Night Court

Here’s where it gets juicy.

The Night Court uses the Illyrians as disposable soldiers, but in this version, the Illyrians are not passive. They remember their history, their gods, and the betrayals of past High Lords. There are Illyrian liberation movements, traitor lords secretly allied, and young war-chiefs dreaming of independence.

TL;DR:

The redesigned Illyrians are inspired by real-world Balkan highland warriors—fierce, proud, complex, deeply spiritual, and politically fractured. They are not a monolith of misogyny, but a tapestry of survival, resistance, and memory.

[leyenra8]

Can You Handle The Truth And Face The Facts?

What Does “Separation Of Church And State” Mean?

Almost everyone has heard of the Doctrine of the “Separation Of Church And State”. Most Americans believe that it is in the United States Constitution.

But there is no such phrase in the Constitution. And there never was – for a simple reason – The Founding Fathers never intended for church, and state to be completely separate.

They saw religion – specifically, religions based on the Bible – as indispensable to the moral foundation of the nation they were creating.

So where does that phrase come from? It comes from one brief letter that Thomas Jefferson wrote to the Danbury Baptist Association in 1802.

At the end of a very long sentence in which Jefferson affirms his conviction that religious belief should be a private matter, and that the government should not interfere with such matters, he uses the phrase – “Building A Wall Of Separation Between Church And State”. And that is where the phrase lived, undisturbed – lost in Jefferson’s voluminous correspondence – for almost 150 years.

First, let us discuss what the Constitution actually does say about religion, and its role in public life.

The answer is found in the First Amendment to the Constitution – “Congress Shall Make No Law Respecting An Establishment Of Religion, Or Prohibiting The Free Exercise Thereof”. It’s plain what those words mean.

The federal government could not establish a national religion, the common practice in Europe.

The United States was going to be different. Americans would be free to follow the religion of their choice.

When James Madison first proposed what eventually became the First Amendment, his original wording was that “No Religion Shall Be Established” by Congress.

But that language was later modified after it was pointed out that this might be taken to mean that the government, including the state governments, had no interest in religion at all. The Founders did not want this.

As George Washington said in his Farewell Address – "Religion And Morality Are Indispensable Supports Of Our Political Prosperity".

Washington’s view remained the nation’s view throughout the 19th century, and into the twentieth.

But that changed in 1947. In that year, in the case of Everson v. Board of Education, the Supreme Court ruled in a 5-4 decision that under the First Amendment, neither a state nor the federal government could “Pass Laws Which Aid One Religion, Aid All Religions, Or Prefer One Religion Over Another”.

For the first time in American history, the First Amendment was not only about the prohibition of establishing a national religion; it was also about not giving any encouragement to any religion.

The modern “Strict Separation” view was born. And where did the five justices look for support for their argument?

Not the Constitution – because there was nothing in the Constitution to help them, but to that one phrase Thomas Jefferson wrote back in 1802.

How ironic that the author of the Declaration of Independence, which recognizes the proposition that human beings have inalienable rights from their “Creator”, and not from government, was now being used to separate religion from the public square.

For Jefferson, and the other Founders, religion was central to the entire American project.

The Declaration of Independence, and the Constitution are just two of countless examples where the government acknowledges its debt to God.

As the famously liberal Supreme Court Justice William O. Douglas wrote in the case of Zorach v. Clausen just five years after the Everson decision, “We Are A Religious People, Whose Institutions Presuppose A Supreme Being”.

Agenda: Grinding America Down

The Fact-Based documentary detailing a COMMUNIST AGENDA for the last 70 years to corrupt American Institutions – from Education to Hollywood to Media – and sabotage America, and its values from within.

The main strategy is to Divide and Conquer – to turn Americans against each other.

After watching the documentary, at least you know why the DEMOCRATS Are COMMUNISTS.

The only way to DEFEAT the DEMOCRATS is to Call Them What They Are – DEMOCRATS Are COMMUNISTS.

Once the American people find out the Truth – DEMOCRATS Are COMMUNISTS, it could DESTROY the party forever.

Sharing Is Caring

Please Keep Reblogging

[batboyblog]

kilmar had dream better life because he didnt want joined crimnal gang which escape to usa with his brother and met his love of his love and become legal immigrant

yeah, thats the story in many immigrant stories

but before I wax poetic, and I get its helpful that Kilmar Abrego Garcia is a fundamentally good guy for political reasons it makes him sympathetic and relatable.

I just want to say, It's deeply fucked up that we not only deported people with no process no hearing we just grabbed random people off the streets, in at least one case an ICE officer said "he's the wrong one" "take him any ways" said the other officer. Now in a normal situation, you'd have some kind of hearing to tell a Judge or someone "hey I'm not that guy" nope, off you go. Thats fucked up, but its as nothing when you realized they weren't just deported without any process to double check who they were, they were deported to prison, to prison. These are not people who were tried and convicted and serving prison terms in American prison, nope, they weren't charged with a crime, they weren't even arrested for a crime, they weren't even accused of a crime. And yet, and yet they are now in prison, for... life? no set term, no access to lawyers, courts, the outside world

This isn't just antithetical to America, this is antithetical to Magna Carta and the nearly 1000 years of the Common law

everyone who lives in America, everyone, is descended from someone who came to this land from somewhere else, with a dream of a better life for themselves and their family, and for the last 200 years those people have been united not by language, culture, race, or religion, but a shared set of ideas, a civic religion, The Constitution and the American dream.

The people in the White House don't believe in that. And without it, we aren't a country, we're a collection of Germans, Irish, Jewish, black, Asian, hispanic etc we are united by a shared belief in our system, without it nothing unites us, none of us are "American" without it, we can't be a blood and soil nationalist country because all our blood is somewhere else and all our soil is somewhere else. And those of us who are blood and soil in America its because other Americans spilled their blood into the soil.

[anundyingfidelity]

SHOULD HAVE KNOWN — Brother Day/Cleon XII

Summary: Brother Day seduces the queen of a powerful realm with the objective of taking everything away from her in the middle of Hari Seldon's outburst, but forbidden feelings flourish and a secret relationship with Empire is a sharp threat to the genetic dinasty. Demerzel knows the Cleons are not allowed to see past pleasure, but that never stoped you or Brother Day from seeing each other. Now, he's not the only Brother Day that's awake. Or so you thought.

Pairing: Past Brother Day/Cleon XII x female reader, Dark!Brother Day/Cleon XII x female reader.

Word count: 2.7k.

Warnings: dark smut, some choking, some possessiveness, angst, language, threats of memory loss, betrayal, Demerzel being a heartless bitch, this is situated in the beginning of S1. And just for some context, the Cleon XII that did fall in love with the reader is replaced with a new Cleon XII, hence they are the same name of Cleon in the pairing, I'm sorry if it's confusing lol but just wanted to clarify.

If you'd like to be added, the taglist is here!

notes: this was a request part of my 400 followers drabbles made by @curiouswildi but i decided to make a long one shot because brother day deserves it. long time since my last foundation fic lol. sorry for the looong wait, hope you like this!

☕ if you like my writing, support me with a ko-fi !

GEN MASTERLIST!

You remembered his kisses. The way he would talk to you. The soft side of the emperor he saved for you and only you to see; for you to know he cared about you with small but kind actions. To know he loved you with each and every one of them as he took you around the palace.

Love was a strong word as much as a strong sentiment, and certainly was not on your plans once you finally landed on Trantor to meet Brother Day and reinforce your political alliance. After centuries of your lineage not having any contact further than trade with the Empire, it seemed wise to accept the emperor's invitation to come along.

Brother Day, of all of the three Cleon’s, was interested the most in your planet. Rich in culture, religion, natural resources such as potable water, rare plants and medicines, and a small population suitable to subsist in a green forest, he seemed fascinated by how you managed your government with such strength and boldness. When it arrived, his invitation looked perfect to maintain a business relationship and develop the trade between both planets.

Everything looked good for your arrival, more than that to be fair. As the queen, you were to participate in different programs and meetings assigned to your schedule while in Trantor, letting you and Brother Day know each other more and more as those events went by. And as months passed, the political alliance you had was becoming something else and more personal.

It wasn’t just because you wanted the best for your people, but because you fell in love with Brother Day. Deeply, you knew it was prohibited and that you were playing with fire once the physical pleasure started to become something more than just that. Scared and anxious, you confessed your feelings to Empire. Surprisingly, he confessed to be in love too.

The hidden encounters didn’t stop, but you were more cautious than ever. Demerzel had been noticing your shared looks and your body language. Being the all observant assistant to the Cleons, she was so, very aware that what you were doing together was more than just fucking, which was already wrong. You had no wiped or erased memories since you were no whore from the court, meaning you remembered every encounter together. And deep down, you never expected this kind of plan coming from her.

Pacing on the cell Demerzel had brought you in, forcefully under your night sleep, you lost count in the hours you had spent down there. What if Cleon was dead? Did she already have a plan to replace him? Would she kill you soon? Endless and unanswered questions filled your head, wondering if it had been wrong to declare your feelings to the Emperor like that. Your demeanor switched when Cleon came down the stairs, followed by Demerzel. There was a stern and harsh look on his face as he approached you, and you did your best to keep calm, walking to the invisible wall and the lights that separated both of you.

“Cleon, what is this—”

“Don’t speak,” he cut you off.

“Brother Day already committed treason to the Empire. You must not be together anymore,” the blonde added with an expressionless face.

You gasped and your gaze was directed towards her, demanding answers. “What? Demerzel, what did you do to him?”

“Only the necessary to keep the Dinasty alive. You are a threat to Trantor, and should know better than to see past myself,” she replied.

Looking back at him with a hurted look, you clenched your jaw. “Cleon, you promised!” you shouted, making the voice an echo in the prison down the palace.

“Can you leave us for a moment?” he said calmly to Demerzel, not even bothering to look at her, as his eyes remained on you.

She gave a nod and a small reverence and left, her steps on the stairs fading away.

“I demand to know what is happening, Cleon,” you sternly said once Demerzel was gone.

“I do not owe you anything but to say this is not going as planned,” he answered with a serious look on his face that was kind of hard to decipher. “What we had was wrong and I must take the lead to complete the main objective.”

“I’m sorry?”

His robotic demeanor started to scare you, and you doubted that the Cleon you got to know was the same one that was standing right in front of you, with just an invisible wall separating both.

“Your planet is mine now,” Cleon announced. “It belongs to Trantor and the Empire.”

You let out a loud gasp, suppressing an unamused laughter under your breath at the sudden news. “No, no. That cannot be— That’s not possible!”

“I’m afraid it is. My tropes are already taking care of it right now, while you’re here.”

The look in his eyes didn’t soften, and you were just expecting his words to be a kind of harsh and rude joke. But you knew they were not. He was being damn serious about it. There was a pain in your chest as he broke your heart with his statement. You knew he didn’t love you anymore, but also the question was there, floating in your head. Was he capable of doing so the whole time you spent together? The empty promises of destroying the genetic dynasty, having children on his own, and uniting your kingdoms by loving marriage were gone.

“You lied to me,” you muttered, locking your eyes with his own. A mix of anger and sorrow began building up inside as a tight knot on your throat started to grow up.

“No, you lied to yourself,” Cleon plainly answered. “You should’ve known better, my queen.”

The way he dragged your title with his mocking voice caused you to clench your fists together by your sides. “What did Demerzel do to you?” you demanded. “Did she just get rid of your memories? Did she clone you? This is not human, Cleon, I think you remember us talking about that.”

“Oh, I do remember,” he replied and a greedy smirk formed on his lips. “But the previous me was so… sentimental. I am awaiting a crisis and I need all the resources that I can get for Trantor. Your planet fits perfectly for those plans, but we would’ve gotten nothing with that thing you call love. I cannot let anyone interfere, not even myself.”

“So that’s why she just dumped you for a new doll?”

Your words seemed to trigger something inside him. His fist bumped on the invisible force field keeping you locked, and you jumped slightly, taking two steps back at his sudden reaction.

“Careful with what you say,” Cleon threatened in a dim whisper, his lips were put on a tight line now as the smile faded quickly away from his face.

In a swift motion, Cleon opened the barrier with his fingerprint on the side of the cell. His tall figure approached you gracefully, looking down at you with something you interpreted as hatred and longing, but you were not sure. You remained on the same spot while he studied you carefully with his narrowed, hazel eyes.

“Do not try to scare me away,” you began as you held his gaze once it was back on your face. “I am not one of your subjects.”

“Maybe not, but you are more than that to me,” Cleon whispered, angling himself so his lips would brush one of your ears softly. “Right?”

You froze in place, feeling the palm of his hand brushing your cheek when you tried to look away. He held your jaw, his gesture forcing you to lock his gaze with yours and you admitted to yourself he was right. You had fallen deeply for him, believing every word that he would recite to you. The gentleness that was now long gone had you wrapped around his finger, and now, this was the price. You should have seen it coming. Cleon, as much as he professed his love and the desire of feeling human again and conceiving a true empire by your side, had created a dynasty system that endured for centuries and back up plans for situations like these should’ve been there even before your arrival. He was so stupidly selfish. And the worst part was that your heart somewhere still loved him.

When Cleon leaned down to kiss you, you only hoped your people would fight with claws and teeth for their freedom.

There was a cruelty you sensed coming from him once he attacked your lips. However, it didn’t stop you from responding to the gesture. The physical touch was the beginning of everything; even if you knew now it was utterly wrong, you reciprocated his desire. Probably, the last time you were able to touch him and feel him again, you thought as he forced you to walk backwards, until you felt the cold wall pressing against your back.

A breathy moan escaped your lips as his long fingers pulled down the straps of your dress and his mouth nipped at the skin of your neck. He left wet kisses down your collarbone, until he kissed over your bare breasts, the dress falling off from you easily until it hit the floor and he took you in between his arms as if you weighed nothing. Cleon looked over at you, your legs wrapped around his waist, just giving yourself to him one last time before what was coming after.

“See?” he began, using his thumb to play with your swollen lips and enjoying the way you fought to catch your breath. You were getting wet already and somehow, you hated yourself for being so weak for him. “You’re always more than a pretty subject to me.”

“Are you going to kill me?”

He arched a perfect brow at your question. “I might have different plans for you.”

“Just do what you have to do already, Cleon,” you berated, both of your hands cupping his cheeks and pulling him towards you closely before kissing him again. “Do it.”

“Well, then I shall take what belongs to me,” he mumbled.

And so he did. He pushed your panties aside immediately as you went to grip his groin, earning a low growl from him, still tasting your lips in the process. You quickly undid his blue shirt in a swift motion while breaking the hot kiss you were sharing, and you finally felt his chest pressing against yours. Cleon accommodated your body firmly between his own and the hard wall, grinding his hips to feel some friction. He gasped once you slipped your hand inside his pants and worked on his hardening cock with soft, but firm strokes.

Enjoying the feeling of your warm palm and fingers, he moaned against your neck, biting and licking on your sweet spot. His fingers went to work on your wet slit, rubbing and teasing your entrance with his index and middle fingers. You let yourself relish in the moment, thinking this would be the last time you could feel his body pressed against yours so intimately, remembering the softness of his skin and the roughness of his touch. How he would embrace you sweetly if you asked, but you could have it rough if you pleaded good enough for his excitement. Cleon would comply with your deepest wishes with such passion, as much as he promised before to stay by your side and create a better empire together. But those were not possible things by now, and the only thing that really mattered was his kisses and his firm body against yours.

“Please, just do it,” you begged with a breathy moan, feeling one long finger sinking inside your cunt.

He slowly set a pace while marking your neck with his teeth, stretching you open for him. His cock already aching to fill you up completely and rip you apart just like he knew how to make you squirm under him. The pace of his fingers now made a obscene noise as he fucked you with them, and you clinged to his huge frame, digging your nails on his bare shoulders and bucking your hips. And just as you were about to reach that sweet climax, he stopped, pulling his digits out and accommodating you around his legs. You whimpered softly when you felt his cock pressing against you, aligning with your wet heat.

“This is your last wish,” Cleon breathed out. “And since I’m merciful, I can make it true.”

With a particular hard trust, he slid inside you. A rather loud moan filled the empty room once he started to fuck you harshly; his hands groping at your hips to keep you in place as he used you to get what he longed the most: sweet release, just before you’d be sent away for the next phase of the sinister plans prepared ahead of you. You clenched repeatedly around his shaft, and the sound of skin hitting against each other made echo under the dim light of the prison.

As seconds went by, you tried to fight the urge to cry out his name. You would not give him the satisfaction of hearing his name being moaned beautifully with your voice. And you could barely think straight as he kept fucking you, taking in the grip on your hips that would leave bruises and marks on your skin, the gasps and deep breaths he used to take, his face focused on the sight below where he entered inside you for his own pleasure, reaching the deepest places that made you roll your head back when his hand wrapped around your neck, cutting off air for a moment…

Despite everything, you loved him. And the ache of Cleon not being yours anymore kept growing and growing, as much as the pleasure did. For a moment, you didn’t want this to be over. You didn’t want to know what type of destiny they had prepared for you. Instead, you could just die there and then, after he’d be done with it. At least you’d die happily in his arms, feeling the warmth of his skin against your own, completely filled by his cock and marked by his teeth on your collarbone. That was all you could think. He was everything you had in mind.

The careless pounding sent you to bliss, triggering a long, yearning orgasm from you with a breathy, broken moan. Your walls clenched tightly around him and he growled, holding you close, his grip stronger than before. The frenzied pace of his hips slowed down eventually, as he came too, filling you up with his hot seed. You remained together, clinging to his broad figure and feeling his hot breath against the skin of your neck. Cleon held you in his arms, softening inside you. You turned to take his face between your hands, forcing him to look at you directly. There was an expression in his eyes you couldn’t deduce.

Maybe it was just the aftermath of what you just did. Maybe it was really a sadness coming from him, knowing he wouldn’t see you ever again. Maybe he did love you, even if this was just another clone.

“We need to go,” Cleon spoke softly, pulling out of you and setting your shaky legs on the floor once again. You took your dress and put it back on as he fixed his clothes as well.

“Where?” you asked, with a hint of hope.

But his eyes darkened anew, and you realized there was just a fantasy haunting your brain of Cleon suddenly stepping back on his plan and keeping his promises for you.

“Demerzel will take you,” he said, now coldly. He looked at you as if you were some kind of inferior being. “There is no way in the galaxy we should be together.”

This made you clench your jaw. “You’re a fucking selfish irony of a human,” you spat through your teeth.

He took his hand and cupped your neck with it, cutting you from breathing for a moment and he leaned to watch your face contour in slight pain and shock.

“Now, be careful with your words, queen,” he whispered against your lips, teasing a kiss that never came. “As your memories will be erased, I don’t think you could remember every single detail of you being here. Even less, about your precious realm… Or your life.”

“Do it. I told you, I do not care.”

He smirked when Demerzel’s familiar steps were heard, coming down the underground prison. It was time.

“I bet you would not.”

[fio-renze]

Appearance —

Gender: Female

Race: Sin’dorei

Height: 5′8″

Eye Color: Arcane blue

Hair Color:  Starlight white

Build: Sporty and lithe

Skin Tone: Warm sand with freckling on her shoulders

Piercings/Tattoos: Single in each lobe and three helix piercings in each ear. Her left arm has a thicket of ranunculus blooms, pomegranates in various states of fruiting, branches, leaves and a snake winding through it all from her forearm up to her shoulder

Scars: She has a thin, inch long scar on the inside of her forearm near the crook of her elbow from some kind of blade

Common Accessories:  Enchanted gold stacking rings, little emerald earrings, aesthetically stacked necklaces, perfume that smells pleasantly like honeysuckle, gardenia and grapefruit

Likeness:  Hayley Atwell

Personal Information —

Profession: Mercenary, and owner of Flowerhouse in the "off-season" a company that produces floral arrangements for events

Languages: Thalassian, Common

Residence: A tree that's slowly being grown into a house within a tree on what's left of the Sunmote family lands in Eversong Woods

Birthplace: Quel’thalas

Birthday: November 11

Religion:  None

Patron Deity:  None

Fears: Dying alone, her migraines

Relationships —

Relationship Status:  Widowed, currently single

Spouse: Halandir Tel'vaiel (deceased)

Children:  Sylmae Tel'vaiel (deceased) and Finn Tel'vaiel (deceased)

Parents:  Finniall Sunmote (deceased) and Cosima Sunmote (deceased)

Siblings:  Pyraelia Sunmote

Other Relatives: Keranna Zerine, second cousin

Pets: Rue, a magic cat

Sex & Romance —

Sexual Orientation: Bisexual

Preferred Emotional Role: submissive | dominant | switch

Preferred Sexual Role: submissive | dominant| switch

Libido: Moderate

Turn ons: Skill, wit, charm, intelligence and people who are a little bit dangerous

Turn offs: Whining, poor hygiene, cruelty and playing dumb

Love Language:  Gifts and physical touch

Relationship Tendencies: She's likes being doted on by her partner and going out and about with her partner because it's fun to show off, but also appreciates having her own life, independence and time alone

Favorites —

Favorite food:  Macarons, baklava and meze

Favorite drink:  Wine

Favorite scents:  Sea air, citrus, petrichor and the faint florals when you first step into a garden

Favorite person: @pyraelia

RP Hooks —

Fallen Nobility - Fiorenze was born into the Sunmote family, a line that has patents of nobility stretching back to Zin'azshari. She married into the Tel'vaiel family, a few ranks up from her own, and spent most of her life in the Court of Silvermoon navigating high elven politics. She recently abdicated the Tel'vaiel titles to @sheizara, Halandir's bastard half-sister, and maintains the Sunmote titles as a formality — what is left of those lands is not enough to hold any weight in the Regency.

Druid - she's one of the rare Sin'dorei with nature magic, her affinity with flowers is clear and the arrangements she puts together through her business Flowerhouse tend to live weeks longer than the competition

HOW TO CONTACT:

OoC feel free to contact me here on tumblr.

IC I can be found in-game under the name Sunmote on Wyrmrest Accord. If you see me, please feel free to say hello!

[mariacallous]

Louisiana public schools are now required to display the Ten Commandments in all classrooms, after Republican Gov. Jeff Landry signed the requirement into law Wednesday.

House Bill 71, approved by state lawmakers last month, mandates that a poster-size display of the Ten Commandments with “large, easily readable font” be in every classroom at schools that receive state funding, from kindergarten through the university level.

The legislation specifies the exact language that must be printed on the classroom displays and outlines that the text of the Ten Commandments must be the central focus of the poster or framed document.

Before signing the bill, Landry called it “one of (his) favorites.”

“If you want to respect the rule of law, you gotta start from the original law given which was Moses. … He got his commandments from God,” Landry said.

Opponents of the bill have argued that a state requiring a religious text in all classrooms would violate the establishment clause of the US Constitution, which says that Congress can “make no law respecting an establishment of religion.”

Civil liberties groups swiftly vowed to challenge the law – which makes Louisiana the first in the nation to require the Ten Commandments be displayed in every classroom that receives state funding – in court.

The American Civil Liberties Union, the American Civil Liberties Union of Louisiana, Americans United for Separation of Church and State and the Freedom from Religion Foundation said that the law violates longstanding Supreme Court precedent and the First Amendment and would result in “unconstitutional religious coercion of students.”

“The First Amendment promises that we all get to decide for ourselves what religious beliefs, if any, to hold and practice, without pressure from the government. Politicians have no business imposing their preferred religious doctrine on students and families in public schools,” the groups said in a joint statement.

Supporters of the law, in defending the measure, have leaned on the 2022 US Supreme Court decision in Kennedy v. Bremerton School District, which gave a high school football coach his job back after he was disciplined over a controversy involving prayer on the field. The Supreme Court ruled that the coach’s prayers amounted to private speech, protected by the First Amendment, and could not be restricted by the school district.

The decision lowered the bar between church and state in an opinion that legal experts predicted would allow more religious expression in public spaces. At the time, the court clarified that a government entity does not necessarily violate the establishment clause by permitting religious expression in public.

Louisiana state Rep. Dodie Horton, the Republican author of the bill, said at the bill signing that “it’s like hope is in the air everywhere.” Horton has dismissed concerns from Democratic opponents of the measure, saying the Ten Commandments are rooted in legal history and her bill would place a “moral code” in the classroom

[lady-raidia]

The Kingdom of Lysara

Additional information to my ongoing (and newly started) fanfiction: The Dove and the masked king! ❤

🌄 The Kingdom of Lysara

❄️ Location & Geography

Region: Bordering the northeastern frontier of the Kingdom of Jerusalem—tucked between the eastern edge of the Crusader States and the beginning of Mesopotamian trade routes. Think of it as a lush valley nestled between dry, rocky mountains and fertile lowlands.

Climate: A mix of Mediterranean and highland—warm, golden summers, but winters can bring snow to the higher elevations like the capital city. Cool breezes roll off the mountains year-round. Ideal for rare herbs, mountain olives, and cool-weather vineyards.

Capital City: Velaneth, built on a series of terraces around a crystalline lake. White-stone towers, blue tile rooftops, and vertical gardens spilling down the palace walls. Visually distinct from Jerusalem's sand-colored architecture.

🗿Culture & Society

Customs: Still focused on duty, honor, and balance. Women are taught both diplomacy and the basics of combat. Noble children are educated in multiple languages and the history of empires, including Rome and Byzantium.

Military: Still renowned for precision and psychological warfare. The Ashen Guard remains feared and elite, with Elyan (the second prince) as their current commander.

Marriage Practices: Noble marriages are political, not personal. Love is rare, and arranged alliances are sacred contracts. Your character would be expected to accept such a match, but her heart might be more rebellious than her upbringing allows.

🕊 Religion 

The Old Faith – The Veiled Flame: Still practiced by the majority of the older and noble class. Worship centers around fire, inner strength, and silence. Rituals involve veils, candles, and symbolic purification by flame.

Christian Influence: In recent decades, Christian missionaries and pilgrims traveling through Lysara have inspired a slow religious shift, particularly in the southern valleys and among younger generations. Churches have begun appearing in larger towns, and debates over faith are common at court.

Amicia is caught between both—raised with reverence for the Veiled Flame, but increasingly drawn to the gentleness and forgiveness in Christianity. She's read parts of the Gospels, speaks Latin fluently, and sometimes sneaks into Christian chapels while traveling.

🤴Government

Structure: A monarchy ruled by the Council of Flame—an advisory body made of generals, high-priests, and scholars. While the monarch makes final decisions, their strength lies in how well they balance the council’s often conflicting voices.

Current Ruler: The aging King Alaric III, father of three. His health is failing, which means he wants to conclude his business before his son Maeron takes over. This includes marrying Amicia off to King Baldwin VI. of Jerusalem to strengthen Lysara before his passing.

⭐️Lysara’s Symbolism & Style

Sigil: A silver phoenix rising from a dark mountain, wings outstretched, surrounded by a ring of fire.

Colors: Deep indigo, silver, and crimson.

Clothing: Elegant and layered—high collars, embroidery that tells lineage stories, and lightweight armor beneath ceremonial robes. Veils or half-masks are worn in formal settings by both genders 

👑 Royal Family & Government

King Alaric III: A seasoned ruler in his late 50s, known for his military mind and pragmatic diplomacy. Loyal to tradition but aware of shifting tides in the region.

His Children:

Prince Maeron (eldest son): Heir to the throne, groomed for leadership, deeply committed to Lysaran tradition.

Prince Elyan (second son): A military commander and head of the Ashen Guard, the kingdom's elite fighters. When he was a child he was often very sick, something that follows him into adulthood. Amicia always stayed by his side and he is also her favourite brother.

Princess Amicia: Youngest of the royal siblings. Raised to serve her family through marriage or alliance. She's sharp, observant, and carries herself with quiet strength, even if she's not in line for the throne.

[ofdutyx]

lee jae wook,  twenty-nine,  cis man,  he/him.    announcing  the  arrival  of  OLYVAR  of  house  HOUSE  PAEGE,  the  LORD  of  HARRENHAL.  whispers  among  the  court  name  them  to  be  both  CONTEMPLATIVE  and  ANXIOUS  in  disposition,  and  those  closest  to  them  speak  to  their  interests  in  hunting.  if  we  bards  could  compose  a  song  for  them,  it  might  tell  stories  of  the weight of dread sitting heavily upon shoulders when thinking of the future ; the rich smell of old books on a dusty shelf ; fog lingering on the horizon ; a thunderstorm at the end of a beautiful day ; a sturdy wall slowly crumbling over time. 

# basic information. official  name:  olyvar paege.  nicknames:  oly.  noble  title:  lord of harrenhal.  date  of  birth:  april 5th.  age:  twenty nine.  birthplace:  harrenhal, riverlands.  home:  harrenhal, riverlands.  nationality:  rivermen.  gender:  cis man.  pronouns:  he/him.  orientation:  bisexual.  monikers:  the silent storm.  languages:  common ; a few words of valyrian.  accent:  speaks in soft, low tones. little emotion in his words.

# physical information. faceclaim:  lee jae wook.  ethnicity:  andal.  hair:  black.  eyes:  dark brown.  height:  6'2.  build:  athletic, moderately muscled.  scent:  woodsy.  dominant  hand:  right.  allergies:  none.  scars:  a few minor ones from childhood scuffles and hunting accidents.  distinguishing  features:  his often emotionless face.  clothing  style:  muted, earthy colors. he doesn't care for flashy pieces, instead option for things that are easy to wear, functional, and simple.

# personality. label:   the stoic.   mbti:   istj.   enneagram:   the reformer.   element:   earth.   star   sign:   capricorn.   temperament:   extremely mild.   character   inspirations:   tbd.   deadly   sin:   envy.   heavenly   virtue:   diligence.   godly   parent:   anubis.

# drives. hobbies:  hunting, fishing, reading, stress cleaning. attempting to marry his siblings ( and himself ) off to someone wealthy.  religion:  faith of the seven.  alliance:  his family.  personal goals:  find a way to get his family out of their severe debt, no matter the cost.  would they choose family or power?  family.

# familial ties.

parent one:  ruling lord samwell paege.  relationship:  tbd.  parent two:  ruling lady catelyn paege nee blackwood. relationship:  tbd.  older sibling:  lord/lady/liege utp paege. relationship:  tbd. twin: lord/lady/liege utp paege. relationship: tbd. younger sibling:  myrcella paege. relationship:  tbd. 

# narrative.

tbd. but a VERY quick summary: stressed out, anxious fella who is trying his hardest to secure himself and his siblings strong ( aka wealthy ) marriages to ensure house paege doesn't lose everything they have. he has little time for fun when he's too busy scheming how to save the family funds. ( or lack there of ).

# wanted  connections.

the betrothal:   romantic / political.  TEMP ON HOLD.

someone ( any gender ) who has recently accepted a betrothal from olyvar. they need to be from a family that has a good amount of fortune, as his whole reason for rushing to marry is to ensure his family restores their wealth. ideally, i would love for them to eventually have a love marriage, but it will likely start off as solely political.

a thing of the past:   former romantic partner.  

olyvar always prided himself on being a virtuous man. he did not venture into the realm of debauchery--until your muse came along. this muse was the first of many things for olyvar, though for whatever reason ( we'll discuss the deets ), the pair ended up calling off their situationship. open to any gender.

two peas in a pod:   best friend.  

anxiety tw: i'd love for olyvar to have a best friend very opposite of him. someone loud, social, and essentially everything oly is not. it would be nice if this friend was really good at handling oly's anxious moments, as he often has to handle any anxiety attacks alone out of fear of embarrassing his family. any gender and preferably from the riverlands!

just not good enough:   failed betrothal.  

olyvar and his family said no to a proposal from your muse/their house lol. your muse's house was simply not rich enough to waste a marriage on. this denial has caused a bit of bad blood between oly/the paege house and your muse/their house. any gender.

[cant-getout-ofbed]

Some of the shock doctrine shit trump, musk, and cronies have been up to recently

Gutted and working on closing dept. of education (which doesn’t even make curriculum… it provide help for kids w/disabilites and stuff)

Musk got access to everyone’s social security numbers?!??

Talkiighn about invading Canada ( our literal ally) to the point that Canada is preparing for war

Trying to pass a law that says people can be criminally charged for not making people show citizens status at voting even though you can’t even vote if you aren’t a citizen…

Threatening to invade Greenland so much that Denmark is putting more troops on Greenland

Getting and starting to send immigrants to Guantanamo Bay

Elon making nazi salute

They are trying to get rid of OSHA which “sets and enforces workplace safety and health standards” (wtf we need that 😧)

Pulled us out of World Health Organization

All the DEI shit, when all that means is people have to be qualified to work a job and people who are in minorities will be let in now with their qualifications for a job / that doesn’t mean that people are unqualified, it jsut means people aren’t being discriminated against

Trying to overturn New York Times vs Sullivan which basically means people can be sued for media they create that isn’t true even if itwasn’t created with actual malice ( intention of harm or reckless disregard)

Trying to overturn the national voter registration act of 1993 which expanded our rights in voting

Elon suggesting on twitter (x whatever 🙄) that they stop listening to the judicial branch(Sepreme court) which means trump would get authoritative power to do whatever (leading to constitutional crisis and end of checks and balances)

Trump suggesting a 3rd term( when does it end huh?) unconstitutional

All of the hatred trump keeps spewing which is letting people start to feel it’s ok to mirror that language and will definitely lead to hate crimes and/or worse

Trying to pass something condemning Bishop Budde as “a display of political activism” with a distorted message. How is that protecting freedom of speech and religion..??????

Trump setting up that faith office to stop anti-Christian bias even though: 1. he isn’t a Christian and 2. literally was condemning budde’s christian message ( what about separations of church and state?)

Also saying to bring back God and Christianity in the country ( AGAIN what about separation to church and state?!!??) which is dangerous for everyone: non religious, people who are in other religions, or any Christian denominations that don’t fit their definition of Christian

Also setting that crazy prosperity doctrine lady in charge of the faith kffice

All of Elon musks department of efficiency stuff that is “getting rid of the waste” in the government, which actually means, getting rid of the agencies that help citizens because he wants that tax money

Already starting “book burning” as in deleting public library databases

Randomly targeting people who “got job through DEI” such as that one lady who is a veteran and got kicked out of her house

Discrediting credible news sights which makes it easier to influence people

Elon suggesting in twitter that they get rid of “corruption” in European ( or just British gotta check) in their government ( WHAAT?!? Theyre gonna start a world warrrr 😨)

Trying to criminalize ( w/death penalty ) people who seek out an abortion

Opening death penalty for criminal immigrants

Literally waging war on the like 5 trans people in sports 🙄

Laken Riley Act just passed which makes it so that states can be sued for not complying with certain immigration stuff( gotta fully read that one ) but also can encourage people to accuse innocent immigrants of committing a crime and having them deported

Drill baby drill, even though we are already on record level oil drilling and the environment js suffering

On top of that , discrediting environment safety and issues like climate change

Trying to end birthright citizenship unconstitutional( but now encouraged people to start calling the constitution itself into question which is really dangerous)

Discrediting science for “facts” even though science is the facts hello?

Not properly assisting with the California fires, when he was initially told about the fires he said, “ it’ll cool down you just watch” paraphrasing

Putting sanctions on countries who don’t comply in accepting migrants

Trump suggesting that after he won the election, they wouldn’t have to vote for him anymore, which could be implying that he will try to stay as long as possible even unconstitutionally

Giving Musk “keys” to government which basically guarantees we are in an oligarchy argh

The egregious amount of book banning for schools and libraries

Discrediting the FDA ( we neeeeed thaaaaaat so random food don’t kill us 🫨 )

Been hearing rumors that the us miltiary is getting prepared for something

Just the fact that these things are mirroring fascism, the steps before genocide, and what Germany looked like before ww2

[steelfyre]

࣪ᰋ𓈒 ֶָ 𝑤𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑜𝑠𝒕𝒗  ⁝         bie thassapak hsu,  36,  cis man,  he / him.    announcing  the  arrival  of  klahan  of  house  rogare,  the  first magister of lys.  whispers  among  the  court  name  them  to  be  both  steadfast  and  machiavellian  in  disposition,  and  those  closest  to  them  speak  to  their  interests  in  cyvasse & political strategy.  if  we  bards  could  compose  a  song  for  them,  it  might  tell  stories  of  how in the game of sharp swords and loud words , the deadliest weapon on the board is the one unseen until it's too late ; fated to never be ares reborn , he sharpened his mind as if it was a blade - athena's son can spell equal destruction for it was divine wisdom that inspired the trojan horse ; the brightest sun illuminates the halls but also casts the darkest shadows ; candlelight flickering across the titles of books in an ever growing library , knowledge valued equally to the gold and secrets filling lyseni vaults.  the  seven  whisper  to  their  most  devout  queen  as  she  sleeps,  making  her  question  where  their  loyalties  truly  lie.  are  they  right  to  whisper?  for  their  thoughts  have  lingered  close  to  treasonous  of  late.

basic information.

official name: klahan rogare. nickname: none. noble title: first magister of lys , lord of lys. date of birth: january 3rd. age: thirty-six. birthplace: lys , essos. home: lys. nationality: essosi. gender: cis man. pronouns: he / him. orientation: heterosexual , heteroromantic. monikers: the sun of lys , the golden sun. languages: lyseni high valyrian , fluent. also fluent in other valyrian dialects from across essos. the common tongue , fluent. accent: like liquid gold , smooth and charming , carrying an air of quiet confidence and authority but not arrogance.

physical information.

faceclaim: bie thassapak hsu. ethnicity: valyrian. hair: black. eyes: lilac. height: six feet , two inches. build: lean with muscular arms and torso. scent: nothing distinct. dominant hand: right. allergies: none. scars: multiple on his injured left leg from unsuccessful medical interventions to restore it back to its full function. distinguishing features: his valyrian eyes and the slight limp he walks with. clothing style: doesn't stray from the essosi styles. while his attire doesn't appear extravagant, one need only to look closer to know that rogare wealth is subtly displayed in the choice of expensive fabrics and the rings that adorn his fingers.

personality.

positive: steadfast ,  decisive ,  perceptive , confident ,  astute , tactical. negative: machiavellian ,  ruthless ,  amoral , calculative , proud , deceptive. label: the machiavellian , the serpent in the grass , the puppet master. mbti: entj - the commander. enneagram: 3w4 , the expert. element: fire. star sign: capricorn. temperament: phlegmatic. moral alignment: true neutral. character inspirations: michael corleone. deadly sin: greed , pride , wrath. heavenly virtue : patience. godly parent: athena.

drives.

hobbies: cyvasse , political strategy , hawking , reading with a particular interest in history , politics , and the art of espionage. religion: not religious but is knowledgeable about r'hllor. alliance: house rogare , then the emperor of essos. personal goals: for house rogare's power and influence to grow. to claim his rightful role as head of the rogare bank. would they choose family or power?: power.

family ties.

father: lord darko rogare , deceased. relationship: tba. sister: lady shaera rogare. relationship: tba. sibling: lord/lady/liege utp rogare. relationship: tba. sibling: lady isara rogare. relationship: tba. aunt: lord/lady/liege utp rogare. relationship: tba.

history.

the prized heir of house rogare, the shining sun that promised that light would remain shining upon the family's future, was not always viewed as such. too gentle, his father once called him as if that was the worst thing a person could be. and perhaps he was. klahan preferred sitting in the rogare gardens with his head buried in a book than sword fighting or hunting. his father gifted him a hawk for one of his name days in hopes it'd inspire an interest in hawking, and eventually it was a hobby klahan grew to enjoy, but initially he was more focused on raising and training the bird as a pet. he might have been pushed to the side, especially as house rogare welcomed more children, but his mind saved him from such a fate. the first signs of his intellect was the speed at which he learned to read; then came how quickly he could memorize passages in books, reciting them word for word with ease; and finally, one time at a gathering he, going unnoticed, observed and recounted a conversation between two scheming against the rogares to his father, which enabled the threat to be stopped before any harm could be done.

his worth proven, he became his father's shadow. the son nearly shunned now treated like a prince in all but name. lessons were quickly absorbed, even passing remarks remembered with vivid clarity, and excellence not a choice but a requirement. expectations never ceased, every error was met with harsh reprimands, a reminder that failure was unforgivable. klahan rose to meet them, but unlike icarus, he'd built his wings out of a sturdy material and flew without fear of a fall. much to his father's delight, time and experience crushed the gentleness that once existed within klahan. ruthlessness found a home where it'd once been. the more involved he became with the family's business, the more morality waned too.

an desire to excel in all aspects of life was what led klahan to pick up a sword and join hunts despite a quiet disinterest. weapons of steel were too obvious, and the pain they dealt too fleeting in comparison to the damage meticulously targeted secrets could do. but drako rogare wanted a warrior too so his son played the part. until the day a god decreed the rogare could not have it all. his horse spooked on a hunt and the fall left klahan with a injured leg that would never fully heal. a warrior he would never be but his mind, forever his greatest weapon, remained untouched.

the accident didn't alter his place as the rogare's golden heir, not when klahan adapted and continued to excell. the quiet man in the corner, listening as his father commanded the room, might be overlooked by some but rather than raise his voice, he allowed the misconception to linger for it enabled him to gather more information, safeguarding the family and the business against any who dared wishing it harm.

klahan was unprepared for his father's death. one day he was there and the next he wasn't. however, no one save those who knew the man would have noticed due to how quickly he worked to establish his control, a necessity when his aunt was circling them like a shark. the control of the bank ending up in her hands was a knife twisting in klahan's flesh. but after the initial waves of anger washed over him, determination took up residence. clashes were inevitable, seemingly polite exchanged undermined by palpable tension, waiting to explode. for now it remained contained as klahan waited for ideal time to take back full control.

headcanons.

while not a common known fact outside of the rogare family, klahan has as a near genius level intellect and his memory is second to none. he isn't someone to forget a face or an offhand comment, though he will occasionally act like he has. in his eyes, there is no point boasting about one's intelligence or memory because then people will know they must try countering it when plotting their schemes. he far prefers being falsely underestimated.

very observant. rarely is he not paying attention to his surroundings, particularly listening to conversations, even when he looks like he isn't.

he still has a slight limp from his accident. it no longer causes him much pain unless he has to sit still or stand for long periods of time. because of that he does carry a cane but how much he uses it depends on how his leg is feeling. he also doesn't horseback ride or go on hunts, though he will join the hunting party at the camp.

he greatly enjoys strategy games. it lets him see how possible opponents think. his favorite game is cyvasse, of which he is considered a master at, even beating his father on occasion.

a man of many faces, klahan can either come across as realistic and remote or charming and confident, but he is careful to never show the true darkness, greed, and ruthlessness lingering in his soul.

is willing to do whatever he must to further his and his family's aims whether it be the moral choice or not. very much has a "the end justices the means". he is not bad but neither is he good.

much to his surprise, he grew to genuinely enjoy hawking and has a hawk as a pet. name tbd.

wanted connections.