#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

[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.

[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

[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

Previous Chapter → Next Chapter | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

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

[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.”

[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

[mademoiselle-red]

Chen Shou’s subtle Shu-Han nationalism while writing the Records of the Three Kingdoms under the employment (and censorship) of the Jin Dynasty is really touching 😭😭😭

People give Luo Guanzhong and his historical fiction a lot of due credit for influencing the cultural popularity of Shu-Han, but who influenced Luo Guanzhong?

First, there’s the deification of Guan Yu in Chinese folk religion, who remains to this day one of the most popular Taoist deities. By the time Luo Guanzhong was born, Guan Yu was already a very popular a god of fortune in the Chinese pantheon. What does money have to do with Guan Yu the general? Not much. But somehow people decided he will make you wealthy if you pray to him, so he’s got a lot of fans.

And then there is the religious worship of Zhuge Liang that not only survived but thrived beyond the Shu Kingdom. The semi-fantastical depiction of Liang Liang in the novel starts to make sense when you realize that “Zhuge Liang” is sort of an honorary member of the Chinese pantheon. He isn’t the god of anything, but he can be prayed to for good luck and protection.

And finally, the most authoritative voice on the history of the three kingdoms was and is still Chen Shou, the writer of the Records of the Three Kingdoms, the only official history of the period. He was a Shu-Han man, born and raised. His teacher and mentor Qiao Zhou had worked directly under Zhuge Liang, and Chen Shou was employed in Liu Shan’s court until he was transferred to the Wei Kingdom and then Jin Dynasty after Liu Shan surrendered. In the Records of the Three Kingdoms, the Wei Kingdom is depicted as the “rightful” dynasty and given the most detailed historical records and descriptions because the Jin Dynasty officially derives their political legitimacy from “receiving” the royal position from the Wei Kingdom (which “received” theirs from the Han). However, whenever possible, Chen Shou chose to use language that implied the legitimacy of the Shu-Han, depicted the country (and especially Zhuge Liang) in a generally favorable light, and saved some key documents from the country following the large loss (and perhaps systematic destruction) of historical records following Liu Shan’s surrender. And by doing so, he ensured that his native country would be remembered fondly for all posterity.

[lord-kermit-of-riverrun]

Lord Kermit Tully: Bio Post

Basics

Full name: Kermit Tully

Nickname(s): Kyle

Moniker(s):

Age: two and twenty

Date of birth: 17th day of the ninth moon of 107

Pronouns and identity details: he/him, either straight and open to experimentation or bisexual w/ female preference, haven't decided.

Allegiance(s): Riverlands, House Tully

Spoken Language(s): The Common Tongue, little bit of High Valyrian.

Religion: the Faith of the Seven

Physical Traits

Eyes: blue

Features: handsome, youthful

Hair: red

Build: lean

Height: 5'11

Distinguishing Characteristics: has at least five scars on the palm of his left hand, is prone to spinning tall stories about their origins but they're actually from various instances of unwise blade-handling over the years.

Personality Traits

“Positive” Traits: he's charming, intelligent and affable. Very approachable, very sociable.

“Negative” Traits: cunning, ambitious to an almost alarming degree, a philanderer, can become paranoid and distant at the slightest provocation.

Moral Alignment: Chaotic Neutral

Interests: mathematics, politics

Hobbies: songwriting, lute-playing, swimming, sparring.

Goals: to further the standing of House Tully and it's members, to get himself, Oscar and Abigail good marriages, to make Elmo Tully proud.

Anxieties: prone to overthinking and convincing himself that everyone hates him and will betray him. He gets incredibly anxious while waiting for Elmo to notice his latest misdemeanor, has a tendency to lie awake at night wondering if his siblings really love him, since he's self-aware enough to admit that he's not good at showing affection and that no matter how close they are there is still significant distance between them.

Social Weapon(s): his charm, his ability to easily make friends, a good eye for spotting hierarchys and his skill at making motivational speeches/pep talks (he would definitely be the company PR guy in modern Westeros)

Connections:

Father: his relationship with Lord Elmo Tully is... complicated at best. Simultaneously, he is both Elmo's golden child and biggest headache. Elmo boasts about his perfect heir to anyone who'll listen, making Kermit sound like his pride and joy. However, he doesn't really interact or spend time with Kermit 1-1, leaving most of his education to maesters and Kermit's grandfather, Lord Grover, when he was still alive. At a young age, Kermit learned that acting out got him his father's attention, and internalised this, thinking "If my father's paying attention to me, it's good attention, right?" This has progressed from tantrums and a refusal to cooperate to staying out until the early hours in taverns and brothels, and so much more.

Mother: his relationship with Lady Jenny is better, but not perfect. He's always known he can go to her if he wants someone to listen to his problems or comfort him, but she does make excuses for Lord Elmo, citing how busy he is with his duties as Lord Paramount and the head of a castle like Riverrun.

Siblings: with Oscar, it's inside jokes and loaded questions, dancing around the real problems between them (such as Oscar refusing to see Kermit's flaws and Kermit refusing to acknowledge Oscar's anger issues). With Abigail, while he does love her, sometimes just love is not enough and as such it's a repeat of what Elmo does to him. He ignores her until she acts out to get his attention, gets angry at her for whatever she's done, then goes back to ignoring her. As the ASOIAF peeps on tumblr love to say, the cycles are cycling.

Family Status: the eldest child and son of Lord Elmo and Lady Jenny Tully, heir of Riverrun, future Lord Paramount of the Riverlands.

Partner(s): none currently

Children: possible bastard children, but that's a big 'possible'

Court Ties: @oscartullyofriverrun (brother), possibly a friendship with Benjen Mormont in the future(???)

This will be reworked, but right now it is going up because it has been my tell-tale heart for the last few days lol

[auraeted]

˚                ❛                emilia  clarke     ,     cis woman     &     she / her     ,     thirty - two     —      the  king  had  summoned LYSAERA  TARGARYEN  of   HOUSE  TARGARYEN, CROWN PRINCESS  of   THE SEVEN KINGDOMS  to  be  judged  upon  their DOMINEERING  and   BEGUILING  nature,  under  his  justice  as  the  ruler  of  the  seven  kingdoms  and  protector  of  the  realm.  while  they  are  notably RESOLUTE  and DISCIPLINED,  many  at  court  are  at  odds  when  it  comes  to  their  true  nature  and  place  in  king’s  landing,  especially  as  they  remind  them  of  GOLDEN THREADS WOVEN INTO DESTINY ; SHE'LL BEND THE WORLD TO HER WILL, AMBITION FORGED IN DRAGONFIRE  —  PROUD YET UNTOUCHABLE.  in  another  universe,  far  beyond  the  realms  of  the  red  keep,  they  would  have  been  comparable  to   KATHERINE PIERCE ( the vampire diaries ),   and   JOANNA LANNISTER ( asoiaf ),  of  whom  they  share  an  almost  uncanny  resemblance  to.  as  their  true  loyalty  lies  to  HOUSE TARGARYEN + HERSELF,  when  told  of  robert’s  first  rebellion,  it  was  unsurprising  how  they  were  AGAINST  the  insurgence  against  the  crown.  with  the  tides  rapidly  shifting  throughout  the  realm,  there  is  no  telling  what  fates  have  in  store  for  them,  as  when  you  play  the  game  of  thrones,  you  live,  or  you  die.

   𝑰⠀ ᐧ   ⠀THE   ESSENTIALS     . 

given   name.    lysaera   targaryen.   age.  thirty   -   four.   gender   identity.    cis   woman.   pronouns.    she   /   her.   orientation.    bisexual,   demiromantic.   house.    the   noble   house   targaryen    moniker(s).    the   silver flame, the dragon's heart. official   titles.    crown   princess   of   the   seven   kingdoms.    birthplace.    dragonstone    ;    the   ancestral   seat   of   house   targaryen.    training.    valyrian   traditions   .   courtly   manners   .   political   strategy.    spoken   languages.    common   tongue   (  westerosi   )   .   high   valyrian. religion.    the   gods of old valyria.

𝑰𝑰⠀ ᐧ   ⠀APPEARANCE  .  

faceclaim.    emilia   clarke.   height.    five   feet,   four   inches.   eyes.    violet,   almond-shaped.   hair   &   style.    silver-blonde,   worn   in   intricate   braids   adorned   with   dragon   motifs.   attire.    elegant   gowns   of   black   and   red,   often   featuring   dragon   scales   or   dragon-themed   embroidery. 

𝑰𝑰𝑰⠀   ᐧ   ⠀PSYCHE   . 

mbti.    entj   (commander)   is   a   personality   type   with   the   extraverted,   intuitive,   thinking,   and   judging   traits.   they   are   strategic   leaders,   motivated   to   organize   change.   they   are   quick   to   see   inefficiency   and   conceptualize   new   solutions,   enjoying   developing   long-term   plans   to   accomplish   their   vision.    moral   alignment.    chaotic   neutral.   deadly   sin.  pride.   heavenly   virtue.  justice. 

𝑰𝑽⠀   ᐧ   ⠀SKILLS   &   ABILITIES   .

weapon   of   choice.     her   dragon,   rhaegal       ;    she   commands   him   with   a   unique   bond   made   possible   with   valyrian   blood.   combat   skills.    lysaera   is   proficient   with   a   dagger    ;    preferring   stealth   and   surprise   to   direct   confrontation.   diplomacy   skills.    highly   skilled   in   reading   people   and   situations       ;       she   leverages   emotional   intelligence   and   strategic   thinking   to   influence   outcomes   in   her   favor.    strategic   skills.    excels   at   contingency   planning    ;    always   having   multiple   backup   plans   and   never   leaving   anything   to   chance.   strengths.  cunning   .   ambition   .   intelligence   .   confidence.   weaknesses.  ruthless   .   arrogant   .   distrustful   .   vengeful.

𝑰𝑽⠀   ᐧ   ⠀RELATIONSHIPS   . 

immediate   family.    rhaegar   targaryen    (   father   )   .   cersei   lannister    (   mother   )   .   daemon   targaryen    (   twin   brother   ).    marital   status.    unwed.   others.    tba.    pets.    rhaegal   ;   green   &.   bronze-scaled   dragon.

𝑽⠀   ᐧ   ⠀ BACKSTORY   . 

born   to   cersei   lannister   and   rhaegar   targaryen,   lysaera   was   named   crown   princess   of   the   seven   kingdoms   the   moment   that   she   would   draw   in   her   first   breath,   alongside   her   twin   brother   daemon.   their   parents   instilled   in   them   the   importance   of   their   bloodline   and   the   supremacy   of   house   targaryen   from   the   very   beginning   of   their   lives.   rhaegar,   although   kind   and   loving,   was   somewhat   of   a   distant   figure   to   her.   he   had   been   more   preoccupied   with   the   realm's   affairs  ——  often   speaking   of   ancient   prophecies   regarding   their   house.   her   mother,   however,   doted   on   lysaera   and   taught   her   the   value   in   wielding   her   beauty   and   wit   like   weapons,   instead   of   relying   on   others   to   save   her   ——   it   was   a   lesson   that   lysaera   took   to   heart.    as   she   grew,   her   beauty   became   as   striking   as   the   dawn,   just   as   her   mother   had   anticipated   ;   silver   hair   and   violet   eyes   marking   her   as   a   true   targaryen.   her   confidence   was   unshakable,   as   well   as   the   undeniable   charm   about   her.   lysaera   had   mastered   the   art   of   seduction   ——   using   it   to   successfully   manipulate   those   around   her   to   get   exactly   what   she   wanted   ;   a   calculating   mind   behind   her   poised   exterior.   she   viewed   relationships,   in   every   aspect,   as   purely   transactional   and   once   they   served   their   purpose   to   her,   they   would   be   discarded   with   ease.    her   twin   brother   shared   her   ambitious   spirit,   and   together   they   navigated   the   all   too   treacherous   waters   of   court   politics.   the   bond   between   them   was   strong   ——   the   two   complementing   one   another   perfectly.   daemon   with   his   undeniable   charms   and   charisma,   and   lysaera's   cunning   and   determination  ;  traits   only   rivaled   by   their   sense   of   entitlement,   formed   from   growing   up   to   believe   that   they   were   made   to   bend   the   seven   kingdoms   to   their   own   wills.   every   whim   catered   to,   their   desires   fulfilled   without   question   or   hesitation. with   the   whispers   of   potential   repeat   of   a   rebellion   growing   louder,   and   the   realm   in   turmoil,   lysaera's   relentlessness   when   it   came   to   upholding   her   family's   legacy   remained   entirely   unwavering.   the   years   of   conflict   had   made   her   fully   aware   of   the   importance   of   their   continued   rule.   she   understood   the   stakes   of   the   game   of   thrones   ——   with   her   sharp   mind   as   well   as   the   strength   of   her   dragons,   she   was   prepared   to   secure   the   dominance   of   house   targaryen   by   any   means   necessary   ——   with   fire   and   blood.

[dirovil]

meow meow meow meow meow moe wmeowem o mom e ee me momewoeowm em mmem m meowm eowmoe mwemo wome mowemomw emem me m em emm m mmememm m mm mmd memee e e ew eoweowmewoemwem woemm eow

The Roman Empire was the era of Roman civilisation lasting from 27 BC to 476 AD. Rome ruled the Mediterranean and much of Europe, Western Asia and North Africa. The Romans conquered most of this during the Republic, and it was ruled by emperors following Octavian's assumption of effective sole rule in 27 BC. The western empire collapsed in 476 AD, but the eastern empire lasted until the fall of Constantinople in 1453.

By 100 BC, the city of Rome had expanded its rule to most of the Mediterranean and beyond. However, it was severely destabilised by civil wars and political conflicts, which culminated in the victory of Octavian over Mark Antony and Cleopatra at the Battle of Actium in 31 BC, and the subsequent conquest of the Ptolemaic Kingdom in Egypt. In 27 BC, the Roman Senate granted Octavian overarching military power (imperium) and the new title of Augustus, marking his accession as the first Roman emperor. The vast Roman territories were organized into senatorial provinces, governed by proconsuls who were appointed by lot annually, and imperial provinces, which belonged to the emperor but were governed by legates.[19]

The first two centuries of the Empire saw a period of unprecedented stability and prosperity known as the Pax Romana (lit. 'Roman Peace'). Rome reached its greatest territorial extent under Trajan (r. 98–117 AD), but a period of increasing trouble and decline began under Commodus (r. 180–192). In the 3rd century, the Empire underwent a 49-year crisis that threatened its existence due to civil war, plagues and barbarian invasions. The Gallic and Palmyrene empires broke away from the state and a series of short-lived emperors led the Empire, which was later reunified under Aurelian (r. 270–275). The civil wars ended with the victory of Diocletian (r. 284–305), who set up two different imperial courts in the Greek East and Latin West. Constantine the Great (r. 306–337), the first Christian emperor, moved the imperial seat from Rome to Byzantium in 330, and renamed it Constantinople. The Migration Period, involving large invasions by Germanic peoples and by the Huns of Attila, led to the decline of the Western Roman Empire. With the fall of Ravenna to the Germanic Herulians and the deposition of Romulus Augustus in 476 by Odoacer, the Western Empire finally collapsed. The Eastern Roman Empire survived for another millennium with Constantinople as its sole capital, until the city's fall in 1453.[f]

Due to the Empire's extent and endurance, its institutions and culture had a lasting influence on the development of language, religion, art, architecture, literature, philosophy, law, and forms of government across its territories. Latin evolved into the Romance languages while Medieval Greek became the language of the East. The Empire's adoption of Christianity resulted in the formation of medieval Christendom. Roman and Greek art had a profound impact on the Italian Renaissance. Rome's architectural tradition served as the basis for Romanesque, Renaissance and Neoclassical architecture, influencing Islamic architecture. The rediscovery of classical science and technology (which formed the basis for Islamic science) in medieval Europe contributed to the Scientific Renaissance and Scientific Revolution. Many modern legal systems, such as the Napoleonic Code, descend from Roman law. Rome's republican institutions have influenced the Italian city-state republics of the medieval period, the early United States, and modern democratic republics.

[marchentold]

if i promise each day with no regrets, we’ll be together can you promise me a love that’s infinite, foreveer?

alejandro speitzer, homosexual, trans male + he/him/his → isn’t that gwynedd llewellyn?? i hear that they're queen guinevere pendragon from the sword in the stone / arthurian legend. i hear they’re 29. they seem to be amicable & tenacious, but also jaded & impatient. their aesthetics include family loyalty, old books and history, mirrors, silk, fresh flowers, & oil paintings.

➤ 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐋

full name gwynedd arene llewellyn nickname(s) gwyn age twenty-nine date of birth march fifteenth gender identity and pronouns transgender male, he/him/his sexual orientation homoromantic homosexual personality type versatile position preference bottom, rare versatile religion spiritual language(s) welsh (native), english (proficient)

➤ 𝐏𝐇𝐘𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐋

faceclaim alejandro speitzer body type mesomorph height five feet nine inches (5'9" or 1.7m) weight one hundred and fifty pounds (150 lbs or 68 kg) eye colour hazel hair colour black dominant hand right-dominant ambidextrous scars several faded burn scars (hands) tattoo(s) none piercing(s) none

➤ 𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘

mother unknown father leodegrance sibling(s) gwenhwyfach (sister) pet(s) seren (horse)

➤ 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐎𝐔𝐒

myers-briggs type esfj - the consul / the provider enneatype 3w2 - the achiever moral alignment lawful neutral element water sin envy virtue charity

➤ 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃

before the establishment of avalon, and the rightful king assuming the throne, gwynedd was a nobody. born to nothing parents and a mother who died in childbirth, gwynedd was born into an apathetic world with a father who could think of little else than his meal ticket out of the slums. gwynedd's sister, having already aged out of her usefulness, was free to live her life as she pleased, so long as she still tended to the family in absence of her mother. gwynedd, on the other hand, would receive a different lot in life. gwynedd's father worked mercilessly to fashion gwynedd into what he believed the royal court needed, and to that end, the family would be bolstered out of poverty and afforded the lavish luxuries as would befit a noble. his intentions, despite gwynedd's young age, were to present him to the court of uther pendragon, but that would never come to fruition when a coup plagued the kingdom. nevertheless, leondegrance was tireless, bound and determined to secure his place in the annals of history as a success, and he would use gwynedd to do it, be it through the crown's usurpers or the true king that would inevitably come. fortunately for gwynedd, his father's glory would never come, as the citizens of camelot would find themselves transported to a new world, and with it, a new kingdom established. in the disarray, gwynedd saw his chance and introduced himself at court as a noble, though none had ever heard his name before, but few could disagree, as the kingdom was only beginning to pick up the pieces and fashion them into the avalon of present day. though considered nobility, and performing a key function as courtier, gwynedd has more of an aptitude for keeping to himself, but little escapes his gaze. his people-watching serving him well as he's capable of making political strides with few seeing him coming. now, he's taken to chronicling the history of avalon in its current state, taking note of the wondrous things happening around them and ensuring no stone is unturned in the name of history.

[astrosky33]

HOUSE MEANINGS IN ASTROLOGY

[READ] People often question why there’s so many meanings for each planet/house and the reason is so that you can learn more than just one thing about yourself through each placement. Otherwise astrology would be very vague and boring. These are all meanings that I’ve learned from my astrology classes at Kepler College

1ST HOUSE: identity/self, outward personality traits, outlook on life/approach to life, appearance, physical body, beauty, confidence, beginnings, how you initiate/ambition, your mannerisms, your outward behavior, physical fights, your presence, individuality, and passion

2ND HOUSE: money/finances (how we spend it, store it, and manage it), work, short term jobs, your work ethic, material possessions, self worth, values, emotional security, stability, financial security, how you meet financial obligations, your singing voice, giving/receiving, and resources (both material and non material)

3RD HOUSE: communication, your speaking voice/the way you talk, your mind, the way you think/your thinking skills, your perceptions, your opinions, your conscious mind, neighbors, siblings, interests, gossip, ideas/information, mathematics, literature, transportation (only ground not flying/air), local media, social media, cell phones, phone calls, visits, social activity, publishing, early education (before college), short trips, and short journeys

4TH HOUSE: homes/houses, family/family roots, your parents (particularly the mother/motherly figure), your inner child, emotions, foundations, your childhood, heredity, tradition, self-care, places of residence, real estate, properties, femininity, and conditions in early life

5TH HOUSE: children, childlike spirit, talent, creativity, drama, risk-taking, spotlight, romance (shows short term relationships, flings, hookups, and if long term relationships then only puppy love), hobbies, pleasures, objects of affection, vacations, games, speculation, fertility, concerts, festivals, and joy

6TH HOUSE: daily routine/day to day life/daily tasks, your health/fitness/the work you do on your body, your duties, self improvement, consistency, step-siblings, your hygiene, innocence, systems, service to others, co-workers, analytical nature, diets, animals, and your pets

7TH HOUSE: long term relationships, marriage, concern for others, attraction/attractiveness, charm, conflicts, partnerships, business partners, contracts, love affairs, open enemies, close associates, lower courts, negotiations, peers, agents, equality, harmony, and sharing

8TH HOUSE: major transformation, sex, death, longevity, changes, joint/shared finances, investments, stock market, your partners resources, taxes, inheritance, reproduction, seduction, intimacy (in general not only sexual), rebirth, merging, taboos, resurrection, loans, assets, secrets, mystery, businesses, spiritual transformation, magic (especially black magic), psychology, surgery/operations, trauma, periods, and the occult

9TH HOUSE: wisdom, law/laws, beliefs, religion, philosophy, higher education (college/university), viewpoints, languages, foreign environments, in-laws (your relatives through marriage), ethics, long journeys, travel, ideologies, higher courts, media, television, interviews, cross-cultural relations, grandparents, and learning

10TH HOUSE: your legacy, your career, your public image, your status, your reputation, fame, long-term goals, worldly attainment, sense of mission, responsibilities, recognition, authority, father/fatherly figure, experts, bosses, achievements, and professional aspirations

11TH HOUSE: friends, friend groups, gains, money made from career, desires, step/half parents, step/half children, uniqueness, inventions, technology, film, social awareness, influence, manifestations, hopes and wishes for the future, ideals, humanitarianism, associates (not just close ones), groups (in general), politics, social networking, where you make your debut into society, companions, allies, science, socialization/social interaction, clubs, organizations, and parties

12TH HOUSE: healing, the hidden, karma, karmic debts, old age, sleep, mental health, solitude/isolation, dreams (the ones you have when you sleep), hidden enemies, hidden causes, illusions, secret bed pleasures, spirituality, fears, losses, endings, escapism, impersonations, closure, need for withdrawal/privacy, afterlife, limiting beliefs, subsconcious memory, subconscious mind, hypnotism, self-undoing, hidden desires, the past, delay, and restrictions

MASTERLIST

MORE BEGINNER ASTROLOGY

PLANET MEANINGS

© 𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐤𝐲 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝

[nymfal]

if i promise each day with no regrets, we’ll be together can you promise me a love that’s infinite, forever?

alejandro speitzer, homosexual, trans male + he/him/his → isn’t that gwynedd llewellyn?? i hear that they're queen guinevere pendragon from the sword in the stone / arthurian legend. i hear they’re 29. they seem to be amicable & tenacious, but also jaded & impatient. their aesthetics include family loyalty, old books and history, mirrors, silk, fresh flowers, & oil paintings.

➤ 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐋

full name gwynedd arene llewellyn nickname(s) gwyn age twenty-nine date of birth march fifteenth gender identity and pronouns transgender male, he/him/his sexual orientation homoromantic homosexual personality type versatile position preference bottom, rare versatile religion spiritual language(s) welsh (native), english (proficient)

➤ 𝐏𝐇𝐘𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐋

faceclaim alejandro speitzer body type mesomorph height five feet nine inches (5'9" or 1.7m) weight one hundred and fifty pounds (150 lbs or 68 kg) eye colour hazel hair colour black dominant hand right-dominant ambidextrous scars several faded burn scars (hands) tattoo(s) none piercing(s) none

➤ 𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘

mother unknown father leodegrance sibling(s) gwenhwyfach (sister) pet(s) seren (horse)

➤ 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐎𝐔𝐒

myers-briggs type esfj - the consul / the provider enneatype 3w2 - the achiever moral alignment lawful neutral element water sin envy virtue charity

➤ 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃

before the establishment of avalon, and the rightful king assuming the throne, gwynedd was a nobody. born to nothing parents and a mother who died in childbirth, gwynedd was born into an apathetic world with a father who could think of little else than his meal ticket out of the slums. gwynedd's sister, having already aged out of her usefulness, was free to live her life as she pleased, so long as she still tended to the family in absence of her mother. gwynedd, on the other hand, would receive a different lot in life. gwynedd's father worked mercilessly to fashion gwynedd into what he believed the royal court needed, and to that end, the family would be bolstered out of poverty and afforded the lavish luxuries as would befit a noble. his intentions, despite gwynedd's young age, were to present him to the court of uther pendragon, but that would never come to fruition when a coup plagued the kingdom. nevertheless, leondegrance was tireless, bound and determined to secure his place in the annals of history as a success, and he would use gwynedd to do it, be it through the crown's usurpers or the true king that would inevitably come. fortunately for gwynedd, his father's glory would never come, as the citizens of camelot would find themselves transported to a new world, and with it, a new kingdom established. in the disarray, gwynedd saw his chance and introduced himself at court as a noble, though none had ever heard his name before, but few could disagree, as the kingdom was only beginning to pick up the pieces and fashion them into the avalon of present day. though considered nobility, and performing a key function as courtier, gwynedd has more of an aptitude for keeping to himself, but little escapes his gaze. his people-watching serving him well as he's capable of making political strides with few seeing him coming. now, he's taken to chronicling the history of avalon in its current state, taking note of the wondrous things happening around them and ensuring no stone is unturned in the name of history.

[halfvvater]

the king had summoned SYBELLE of HOUSE KARSTARK, the LIEGE HEIR of KARHOLD to be judged upon their INDRAWN and RESISTANT nature, under his justice as the ruler of the seven kingdoms and protector of the realm. while they are notably NURTURING and BENIGN many at court are at odds when it comes to their true nature and place in king’s landing, especially as they remind them of A ROBIN'S SONG, THE FIRST TO BREAK THE DAWN AND TO JOIN THE NIGHT CHORUS & CONSTANTLY PECKING AWAY AT ONE'S OWN SKIN TO FIND ITS WINGS TO BREAK FREE & RIPPING AWAY AT ROOTS UNTIL TALONS SEEP WITH SAP, A NEVERENDING EFFORT TO NESTLE IN. in another universe, far beyond the realms of the red keep, they would have been comparable to BRAN STARK ( asoiaf ) & ALAIS PELLETIER DU MAS ( the labyrinth ), of whom they share an almost uncanny resemblance to. as their true loyalty lies to THE NORTH, when told of robert’s first rebellion, it was unsurprising how they were IN FAVOUR OF the insurgence against the crown. with the tides rapidly shifting throughout the realm, there is no telling what fates have in store for them, as when you play the game of thrones, you live, or you die.

i.

full name: sybelle karstark title: liege heir of karhold alias(es): the soothsayer nicknames: sybbie (prefers sybelle). age: two and thirty birthdate: the twenty fourth day of the ninth month gender & pronouns: non - binary; they / them orientation: demiromantic and sexual religion: the old gods languages spoken: the common tongue, understands the old tongue better than they speak it occupation: noble, healer allegiance: house karstark, house stark, the north

ii.

notable features: striking head of auburn curls, as inherited from their father; freckles all across their nose and cheeks. height: 5'7, 170 cm. build: tall, curvaceous. eyes: dark brown. hair: curly and voluminous. either it is worn loose, untended for and messy ( i'm talking leaves and branches ) or tied back in plaits to get it out of the way. wardrobe: tends to wear dark shades in practical colors, particularly in shades of grey and black, browns and greens; their wardrobe is hardly befitting of their station, preferably plain of embroidery and adorns.

iii.

father: lord willas umber mother: lady rhea karstark siblings: two ( all younger ). marital status: unwed, possibly betrothed. children: none pets: several. most notably, they tend to their hawks on the mews themselves. relatives: house umber of last hearth ( paternal cousins ), house bolton of the dreadfort ( paternal cousins ), house velaryon of driftmark ( maternal cousins ).

iv.

abilities: skinchanger; tba. moral alignment: tba positives: well - meaning, nurturing, attentive negatives: nosy, unforthcoming, non - committal pass times: herbal lore and the healing arts, sketching, skinchanging, observing people, exploring, napping. wields: a small hunting knife; it is never used for the aforementioned purpose and they only carry it for their parents' peace of mind. inspirations: bran & arya stark ( asoiaf ), alais du mas ( the labyrinth ), alys rivers ( hotd ), lottie matthews ( yellowjackets ), jane grey ( my lady jane ), mr. everdeen ( the hunger games ), tba.

v.

they are a lot as a child. they are wild eyes and dirty hands, muddy - stained hemlines and running, so much running. there is a lot of jesting that they behave more like a hound than the heir of the house, though that is something that is less concerning to them. from the crib, they prefer staying outdoor and chasing animals than learning politics and how to sew. she will grow out of it, their parents assure.

they don't.

the one thing that they are diligent about are tales of the old gods. there are no prayer chant, but there is something otherworldly about the godswood, the one place they seemingly find peace at. it is there they are found at one and ten, passed out against the leaves, body cold and eyes unmoving.

they wake up thirteen days later, blood warm between their thighs and bitter inside their mouth. it is the first time they bleed, and also the first time they leave their body; all fondness towards fauna had been lingering and mutual, yet it had taken this one night on their knees, praying for their father to return from the rebellion, for them to find root in another's body. at first, they enter a mockingbird. night chorus bird is abandoned for a bird of prey along the way, until the winds are so cold they can not help but to nestle amongst territory - - then, sybelle wouldn't know that they had made it to a wildling woodswitch's hut. it would take the entire fornight for them to return to their consciousness, to their own body, back in karhold, with their mother and siblings weeping by their bedside.

it's another fortnight until they recuperate from their first changing. still, curiosity beaks at them and causes them to try to return. teenage years see a change in the outdoorsy child, if only because they decide to spend their days and nights honing this new gift upon bed. the world through beasts' eyes is more enticing than anything karhold has to offer, and sybelle decides to live by that. they continuously return to the old woman's hut, picking up the old tongue, the herbs and the medicine she mixes and hands over to whomever can give her enough coin to make it through another year.

one moon, the old woman passes away. sybelle is nine and ten and the war on the south is lost, not that it seems to matter to them. the world of politics and ruling is uninteresting, though they find new life on the world surrounding them. their favorite beasts to peek into are birds for their nimble frame and the formidable wings ( they do so adore flying ), but they learn to reserve the right moment for it. instead, they occupy their days with learning herblore; the keep's maester is amazed at their "natural" knowledge, but sybelle also learns all that they can from him before setting on to the surrounding areas of the northern parts of the north, then to its middle, then to its souther areas; unlike the wildling, they do not charge for the healing service offered, requesting only bread and salt, for its protection and the roof above their head the old costum entails.

they begin to be called soothsayer, woods witch, wise woman. they can not tell the future, not truly, but years of observing the world from above gives them a privileged vision into the world that is only mildly helpful to them and maesters can not go everywhere the people need, nor are men of the citadel attuned to the way of the north.

they do not grow out of it. lady rhea and lord willas grow more concerned by the day about the future of karhold when its heir's reputation is that of a good woman, yet a seemingly unprepared leader that prefers the company of smallfolk than that of their equal. sybelle continues to themselves only with their wings and their herbs.

vi.

sybelle is unapologetically weird. they do not like to speak and exchange very few words, are more likely to stare at people than give them word, they have very selective tastes and they abhor most, if not all, political matters.

a weakness they have are children and animals. while they do not expect to bear children themselves, they hold affection for any animal and tends to bring in strays from any travelling they do; besides those dearest to them, those are the only people that truly have them loosening their tongues for.

unexpectedly they are rather soft and unwilling to turn to ferocity; such an urge has increased ten fold over the years they have began to skinchange, as they do not wish to be entirely unhuman.

few, if any, know of the gift she carries. excuses (such as laziness and overall weirdness) are easily concocted as they have learned almost entire control of the changing and their own limitations.

an important limitation is that they have not been able to enter the minds of people, nor are they particularly interested in starting to.

they are awfully pious; they believe the old gods have given them such a queer gift with a purpose, and for their goodness they must be reveered and respected. the way of the south, in turn, is to be abominated.

tries to be a vegetarian, but often slips in animal form or is demanded to partake on the meal of the day.

has the ehhh habit of spying on their loved ones to assure their well - being whilst on animal form. don't ask, they definitely won't tell.

most likely has scared away several suitors, but may have a current engagement they may or not be working for. despite their purposeful shortcomings, they understand that karhold one day will be theirs, and to best rule the keep and its lands, they need someone at their side who is capable and understanding.

alternatively, sybelle has considered abdication constantly. it would be the best route for all, but they are still intimidated to bring up word to their parents and, sometimes, they are insecure about shackling up a sibling with such a burden.

[kemetic-dreams]

Abrahamic religions (Christianity and Islam) aggressively convert others. Why doesn’t Judaism do so?

Never ask why before asking if. Historically, Jews have sometimes persecuted and forcibly converted infidels.

Adding to Oreste’s answer, there’s also the example of Himyar, a late antique kingdom in southwestern Arabia (parts of present day Saudi Arabia and Yemen). Some form of Judaism, perhaps a bit unorthodox, is known to have been gaining ground there since the 4th c., until eventually it was adopted by the ruling elite and became the state religion (5th/6th c.). That created complex dynamics between Himyar, the nearby Miaphysite Christian kingdom of Aksum and the great powers of the time: the Chalcedonian Christian Byzantine empire and the Zoroastrian Sasanian empire. It also brewed internal strife, as the Himyarites had Christians among themselves.

Reports about the persecution of Christians in Himyar begin to appear in our sources from the last quarter of the 5th c. An Ethiopic synaxarium tells the story of a Christian man named Azqir, who was condemned by a court of rabbis and martyred in his native city of Najran. In the aftermath of his death, some forty Christian clerics, monks and laymen were also put to death in the same city.

In the early 6th c., Marthad’ilan Yanuf was king in Himyar. The Aksumites exploited (and exaggerated?) the renewed reports about persecutions to wage a retributive campaign against Himyar, which was led by a Christian Himyarite. Yanuf was toppled, and a local Christian was installed as ruler. A few years later, though, a rebellion broke out under the leadership of a Jewish Himyarite named Yusuf As’ar Yath’ar, who proclaimed himself king and toppled the Aksum-backed regime.

Yusuf launched a pogrom against Christians, which he gleefully reported to an international meeting attended by Byzantines and Sasanians. His goal was to wipe out Christianity from his realm. Well known is the massacre of Najran (523). Yusuf besieged the city and gave its people a choice: convert to Judaism or die. The majority (?) chose death, while others did deny their faith. In 525, king Kaleb of Aksum personally led a campaign against Himyar. He defeated Yusuf, replaced him with another Christian, restored the churches he had destroyed or converted to synagogues and welcomed back to Christianity those who had been forcibly converted.

Of course, there are a couple of things that need to be taken into account.

Firstly, the persecution of Christians in Himyar happened, for the most part, in the midst of political complications. Yusuf and his people probably saw the local Christians as potential, or even actual, Aksumite agents. That, however, is also the case in almost every religious persecution and/or forcible conversion. Nothing happens out of the blue, disconnected from its material, historical context.

Secondly, it’s true that Jews have often been reluctant to accept even voluntary converts. Rabbi Hiyya the Great (2nd/3rd c.) reportedly said: “Do not have faith in a proselyte until twenty four generations have passed, because the inherent evil is still within him.” The same, however, can be said about early Muslims — for some time, conversion of Christians and Jews to Islam was prohibited.

Thirdly, attention is often drawn to the fact that Judaism is more than a religion — Jews are both a nation and a faith. Again, that’s hardly as unique as it seems to be. In the early modern Balkans, religion was often all that separated Romans (aka Greeks) and Turks. To convert to Islam was “to become a Turk” in a (proto)national sense of the word: you changed your community and identity, even if you kept your language or customs. Much blood has been spilled along those lines.

That doesn’t mean there is no difference between Judaism on the one hand and Christianity and Islam on the other. If anything, there are more than 4.2 billion Christians and Muslims, but only 15 million Jews. One can argue, however, that what separates those religions the most is not any inherent mentality but history itself. Between the 6th c. BC and the 20th c. AD, there hadn’t been a proper, long-standing Jewish state. Not only did that prevent forcible conversions, but it also made voluntary conversions much rarer and solidified a sense of entrenchment among the Jewish people.