A faint knot of anxiety had wormed its way into Anton’s stomach, and lingered there resolutely. Here he was, on the world stage, ready to be presented to royals and nobles from all around the world.
And he’d agreed to ‘distract’ them, somehow, to let Blue arrive in peace. His mind scrambled for some way to make it happen without embarrassing himself, which was likely not going to happen – the best distractions are the embarrassing ones, after all. He tugged the pressed and starched collar of his dress shirt – pure white, under a darkest blue suit finely tailored to him and embellished with the tiniest of gold embroideries. He and Val looked a pair together, as had originally been intended – to dress them as matchily as siblings or – as dates.
The corners of his mouth twisted up, half in a grimace and half in a wry smile, but he could not continue his train of thought as he was announced to the assembly. Plastering a smile on his face, he strode quite briskly down the receiving line, holding his chin high and trying to resist the urge to hop up onto his tiptoes surrounded by all of these tall people. His shoes were specially designed with inserts to lift his heels an inch or so off the floor, but even so he was comparatively dwarfed.
“Congratulations on your engagement, Ms. Lynton.” He said quietly to Lea, not looking at her directly.
Fuck. That wasn’t distracting enough. That was remarkably uninteresting, in fact.
He swept into a bow, an unnecessarily elaborate one that was (once) the Athenian tradition… in approximately the fourth century, but it was fine. The press would spin it to be his appreciation and respect for cultural roots. And it would theoretically draw the eye of most.
If it didn’t, his certainly brusque – Standoffish and mysterious, he corrected himself – mannerisms absolutely would. He rose from his bow quickly and turned on his heel, to enter the ballroom proper. He snagged a glass of champagne, with a curt word to the servant bearing the tray, and took up a vantage point in a corner of the room, seeking out a group to join in with; ideally the loudest and flashiest of young royals.
Dom had a few minutes to reflect on the stupidity of having worn their armor. Under the lights of the ballroom it was quite quickly getting warm on the inside – and it had been sized for them in an altogether different condition, and was already weighing painfully on the points of their shoulders and collarbones. There would be bruises there in the morning, for certain.
Really, it was just altogether too heavy. They hadn’t worn it in nearly three years, not since their graduation – their father and grandfather had prohibited it and even threatened to have the suit melted down if they ever made themselves visible in it.
They shook their head, reaching for a passing tray of something that looked like a fruit punch that they prayed was nonalcoholic – they almost never drank, even at home where it was the norm, and certainly would never at social events in foreign countries. Taking a sip from the cup, they willed their fingers to stop trembling and the waves of dizziness to recede.
100. The number burned into their head as they sipped the punch. no, mark it as 150, better to overestimate. The black spots that had been dancing before their gaze flared and then faded, the ringing in their ears that they hadn’t consciously recognized subsiding too as the sugary drink immediately flooded their system.
They took a shaking breath, blinking their eyes rapidly to ground themself. A man in a chiton and flowing cloak was approaching, though for several moments it seemed he was more interested in the treats laid out nearby. Elias Kokinos- Dom would have recognized him anywhere. A man they had always idolized, one they weren’t sure even knew of their existence.
The floor seemed to go out from under them as the tall man looked them over and made a comment about their armor. Several times they blinked, trying to find words without appearing the idiot. At least the query of sparring was a relatively easy one to answer.
“I do, though I fear I am out of practice.” A thin, rueful grin crossed their features. “Most people at home do not wish to duel with ‘the girl’, unfortunately.” They gave the man a long look, sizing him up as an opponent - certainly a formidable one, towering over them, built solidly and well-muscled. Their only hope in a duel would be that his bulk made him slower, though such a thing was certainly not guaranteed.
The palace staff had been nice enough in getting them settled. If they had objected to the …eclectic luggage that the Lusitanians brought, their comments had been kept to themselves. Originally the plan had been made for the two to have separate rooms, just across the hall from each other, but within just a few minutes all of Liviana’s belongings had ended up in Dom’s room. They shared a room and a bed not even half this size back in Lusitania, after all, and both knew it would be better if they had at least one thing to stay consistent while they were here.
Liv had taken to the washroom to get dressed for the ball, having dragged a chair in with her to boost herself up to the mirror. Between the orchestral music playing full-blast on her Papyrvs and her intent focus on her eyeliner, she did not hear the clattering kerfuffle occurring in the room itself as Dom got ready.
Had she heard such a thing, she might have been mildly concerned. But, she did not hear it, and so she continued to focus on her makeup, on the heavy layers of blush and lip color to try to make herself look less like a ghost. Shimmery gold eyeshadow, layers of mascara, and a delicate coral lipstick finished off her look.
Her curls were combed, spritzed generously with water and lightly oiled in a diluted rose oil, to force them to lie mostly evenly in their cascade down her back. The front strands were braided, pinned back with a pair of gold laurel leaf combs. Though the event likely called for a proper updo, Liv had neither the time nor motivation to coax her hair into such a thing. Besides, her stunningly long curls (hanging down to her thighs) might well make a more dramatic impression on their own.
As she clambered off the bathroom counter, shedding her oversized tunic to put on the gown she had chosen, she felt a wash of anxiety. The gown was midnight blue, embellished heavily with gold – all the maids back home had sworn that the blue would make her eyes all the more brilliant, but she was worried of wearing such a strong color. Still, it was either this dark blue or white – she dared not wear pink to such an event, not with Ayleanna’s love for it. It was doubtless that the Aciran princess would be wearing something flashy and pink, and Liv didn’t want to steal her thunder. Or rather, be completely shown up by her. But anyway, wasn’t it a social custom somewhere that one never wore the same color dress as the host?
The gown fit her snugly, in part thanks to the generous pads sown in at all the pertinent parts, to give her the illusion of a feminine figure. It was modest enough, the midnight chiffon covering almost all of her chest and shoulders, and the ‘sleeve’ (such as it was, from the artful draping of the material in the back) would cover most of her bare arm. With that being said, she still was wary- people back home would call it a scandal if she dared go with her hair uncovered, or with her other arm still bare.
She put the thought out of her mind, donning liberal accessories to take her mind off of it. A simple gold necklace, ever present when she went out, with a crescent moon pendant on it. Laurel leaf ear cuffs that climbed up the edges of her ears without any dangles – given that she did have a pet bird, she was often wary about anything that could be tugged off in beaks or tangled in claws.
A variety of dainty gold rings adorned her fingers, and a golden arm cuff on her bare left arm. She stepped into the shoes she’d brought (gold-toned strappy sandals, in a traditional Lusitanian style,) took one final look in the mirror, steeled herself, and opened the door, stepping out into-
…A perfectly ordered room, at first glance. Qvi took off from her perch, settling on Liv’s bare shoulder and immediately beginning preening. Ana had definitely done some work on the bird, who’s feathers were glossy and bright and extra vibrant, having been slightly enhanced by the various semi-permanent vegetable dyes that were in fashion amongst bird owners in Lusitania. A bit of gold dust had been brushed along the dark edges of Qvi’s primary feathers, rendering the bird quite dazzlingly shiny.
“Did I do okay, lady Liv?” came a timid voice. Ana, the girls’ maidservant, looked up anxiously from her embroidery work. “It was a bit of work to get her to hold still.”
“You did very well, Ana.” The voice was not Liv’s, but rather emanating from a –
… suit of armor.
…. Gods damn you, Domitia.
Liv fought to keep her expression blank as she sized up her niece. Dia wore their officer’s armor, a piece looking like it had waltzed straight out of the sixteenth century. Burnished black steel, ornately filigreed with the ever present laurel branch motif in brilliant gold. Their helm was molded in a fairly stereotypical knight’s shape, made of the same burnished dark metal, and had a close-cropped plume of tyrian purple rising from the point and extending down the back of the helm.
They looked like a badass.
… A badass from the sixteenth century, but a badass nonetheless.
“Dia, I don’t know about the helm. It’s not a masquerade.” Liv finally said, in quiet Latin. “How is Edwin to recognize you if you hide your face? Or our gracious hosts, for that matter?”
The suit of armor gave a heavy sigh, hands reaching to pry the helm from its head. Ana rushed to take it, setting it on the dresser with a heavy clunk.
Dom had done their makeup, at least. Bold black eyeliner, winged out well past the corner of their eye, with three small dots along the underside of the eye, and a thin white line along the top to really make it pop. They had heavily contoured and highlighted their face (which quite frankly didn’t need it) and painted their lips in a bold, bloody red.
Their hair had, perhaps, been pinned back – but being in the helm, for however short of a time, had tousled it. They saw that in the mirror at least, and cursed, reaching for a comb and forcing it to lie flat against their head once more.
Liv grimaced. The armor was… a bold choice.“Are you certain you do not want to change, Dia? I worry that you might… draw the eye, moreso than you are comfortable with.” She asked, softly.
Dom stared at her. “Liviana, I’ll be forced into those pretty dainty gowns for the rest of my time here. I’m here to make an impression. I graduated the academy with the right of any Lusitanian centurion; the right to wear my insignia at court. You know damn well Father won’t let me do it more than once; he doesn’t even know I brought it from the armory.”
Liv sighed, but knew there was no point in arguing with Dom once their mind was made up. Plus, if the argument continued any longer, they would have been late for the ball.
Knowing they had won the argument, Dom scooped up the leather belt on which their ceremonial rapier and dagger hung. It was tradition, of course, that Lusitanian commanders be adept at fighting with any manner of gladius, and any one of five variants of spathae, but Dom had always had a thing for the more elegant and ostentatious renaissance rapier. The rapidly darting, stabbing fighting style had been more suited to their body shape than it had been for many of their classmates. So upon their graduation they had a rapier commissioned for them, one with an especially ornate handguard, made again in the twisting laurel and ivy motif.
Liv thought to object to the swords, or perhaps to the fact that – Epona save them, Dom couldn’t even move without a faintly echoing clank! But she held her tongue. Her elder niece was not ever to be trifled with, but certainly not about matters of appearance and presentation…
They descended the stairs without incident, and stood before the gathered nobles and press. Liv fought the urge to bury her face in her hands- what a picture they must have been, a child with a sparkling bird on her shoulder, and a stubby suit of armor sans helmet.
Dom seemed unfazed, only the brilliance in their eyes and color on their high cheekbones betraying their embarrassment at how they stood out. In perfect, nearly accentless English, they greeted the hosts and swept into a surprisingly delicate, shallow bow, nudging Liv into a curtsy beside them.
With such formalities addressed, and a brief and cursory assessment of those few who were already here, they both endeavored to find themselves a quiet corner. Liv quite easily found her own, perched conveniently near one of the side doors (the better to let Qvi out to take care of her business – the bird was house trained, yes, but such a tiny creature needed let out often multiple times an hour) and near enough to the orchestra that she could nearly make out their sheet music.
Oh, how her hands itched for the cello, laid out on the bed upstairs. She knew it went against all social protocol, but at the same time… she was here, and unbetrothed. It was Dom that everyone had eyes on; surely they’d understand if Liv snuck away to join the orchestra, right?
She made a mental note to ask the concertmaster, after the ball, if they had need of another cello or violin for the next week’s festivities. She began mentally constructing those words, at times pulling her Papyrvs smartphone from her delicate gold clutch to make certain she had conjugated her words correctly. Writing in English was hard but doable, but speaking it was… not remotely so. It was partly for this reason that she had found herself this corner – her eldest brother and father had made it perfectly clear that she was not to embarrass them in any way while she was here, and not being able to converse elegantly was precisely one of those embarrassing things.
Dom, meanwhile, found themself near to the refreshment table, close enough to the reception area to hear all the newcomers’ introductions, and to seek out their betrothed when he arrived. They did their best not to look suspicious, having seen the men in suits standing quietly in the corridors and being altogether too interested in the weapons strapped to their belt.
Social events had never been their strong suit. Even Edwin, the Britannian heir to whom they were supposed to be wed, had commented wryly to that effect once. The two of them had reached a sort of understanding, the weight of tradition heavy on both of them and their conduct at their few state visits to each others’ homes. Plus, Dom had seen first-hand that the Britannian military were at least as …ostentatious in presentation as their own. To be honest, they were quite eager for their husband-to-be’s arrival, simply so the two of them would compliment each other’s ostentatious and archaic aesthetics.
That said, they hadn’t had a formal meeting since the engagement had been announced. It had been a state visit where it had been arranged, but the results of the discussions didn’t come until some months later at home. It had seemed, going into the arrangement, that Liviana was the favored candidate to be his wife, an arrangement that Dom almost would have preferred. Edwin was an honorable man for certain, but nonetheless the thought of ‘wifely duties’ and all those traditions that Britannia doubtless had as Lusitania did… such thoughts turned their stomach.
They took a deep, shaking breath, clearing their mind from such unpleasantries and instead focusing on the lovely people surrounding them. Though the clamor of the receiving line had been too much to really focus through, they now clearly saw those who had come in before them. Ayleanna herself looked a confection in a glitzy and… fluffy pink gown (oh, how Liv’s face had fallen to realize that she couldn’t wear her own signature pink!) just dripping with golden accessories.
The delightful Rhiannon Cadfael looked stunning, in a gown of deep green that made her hair look like fire and eyes shine like amber. Dom could appreciate the color green, so often overlooked especially in Lusitania, but all tones of emerald were just lovely – the right balance of delicate and powerful, natural and yet intentional. And they very much suited Rhia, Dom noted, a faint color returning to their cheeks. They made a note to strike up a conversation at some point, though perhaps not in the confines of this event.
Genevieve Anders wore a demure gown of steely ocean blue; the shade suited the girl’s rather …mysterious existence, as well as her complexion. Dom had to appreciate that. Though they did not know much about the Marisian princess, from their scrutiny they could see nothing other than a perfectly pretty, proper noble.
The Burnley sisters were interesting, the younger following her elder sister at a distance, dressed in a style that Dom could easily tell was to distance herself from the dramatic look of her older sister. It was rather ironic, really- that same assessment could have been passed off on Dom and Liv’s arrival.
Dom’s sharp eyes continued across the gathered people, the majority still servingfolk and press. For a split second, their eyes locked with the dark gaze of one Aulus Crispin. He afforded them a tiny salute, but did not otherwise acknowledge or move towards them, instead continuing to converse with the palace servant he was interviewing.
“Damn it.” They muttered, quietly. Crispin was well-known for his …romantic turn of phrase, in prose turning Liv and her chronic illness and stunted growth into a ‘gentle maid blessed by forces Endovelican and prized then by Diana’s silver grace’ and Dom and their host of issues into ‘..that which gentle Proserpina’s light has blessed and cursed in alternation’. And while to some extent it was nice to have their glaring faults for once not on display, Aulus’s regular romanticization of them and likening them to ancient heroes has left Dom to …question his reporting ethics. The man could probably find a way to glamorize slavery.
…Wait…
The thought put a bitter smile on Dom’s face as they turned their gaze once more to the receiving line.
The Lusitanians get ready. Liv wears a respectable gown and worries about standing out, then realizes that Dom is wearing their fucking knight’s armor. Qvi the sparrow makes an appearance as Liv’s fashion accessory for the ball; Liv disappears into a corner to stalkerstalk the orchestra people and hide from the spotlight, Dom awkwardly finds themself a corner, tries not to suspicion the palace guards despite the fact that they have a (mostly) ceremonial sword and dagger on their belt, and internalmonologuerambles about the people they see.
*screeching in the distance* MASQUERADE! Masquerade! Cue everyone from Lusitania having a slight identity crisis bc yeah it’s history and Italian at that but also gods it’s still such a modern and immoral idea.
Oh, short character writeups, derp, I needed to do those.
Liviana: Fragile princess with confidence issues who is struggling to be accepted in (and accept) her kingdom. She’s a social media activist and musical prodigy, but professes to excel at only one thing: keeping her head down.
Domitia: a former princess who masqueraded as the crown prince for the formative aspects of their life and now finds themself traumatized and stuck in a limbo between their two identities, both personally and socially.
Anton: Everyone’s Favorite Asshole, an obscenely rich businessman with as much sense as he has dollars. He can be cruel, and is at times a victim to his inferiority complex, but deep down you will find a caring young man - caring enough to take in an errant Luxemi princess and a stray kitten.
NPC - Ana: A shy girl who’s only purpose in life has ever been to serve. She sometimes stands at odds with the tutoring provided by her “employers” Dom and Liv; she’s supposed to exist to make their life easier, not take up their time.
NPC - Aulus: A stuck-up Lusitanian nobleman who will become excessively, and poetically, loquacious at any given moment - and has found his calling as a pro-imperial Lusitanian reporter.
Also ohhhh thanks @madmonarchist sorry I’m stupid dfxjcgslhc.
Also just so you know @madmonarchist I can not see any of your posts on the empireofgoldentears tumblr, on either desktop or mobile. I'm following you and everything.
(That said, Tumblr has deactivated my account two (2) times now and I can't see like half the blogs I used to follow, for some reason. <_<)
@MorningStar1399 I’m pretty sure that Shy was just making a joke - that’s how she worded it in her sheet, as being a trait of the royals of Luxieme, that they always inherit bright blue eyes. Don’t worry, you’re doing fine. <3
Wooo! Here's my three friends. And one infodump about my new special interest oops >_< :D I'll finish Athens' sheet before too long. DISCLAIMER: Yes I know I suck at alternate history, deal w/ it.
I tried to keep it plausible-ish, and if you're in that area and need your region to have never been touched by Lusitania lemme know. I totally don't want to screw over anyone's backstories with my hyper-specificity.
Liviana Viriatus of Lusitania
"Every new beginning comes from some beginning’s end." -Seneca
💎𝓝𝓪𝓶𝓮 ――――――――――
Liviana ‘Livi’ Decima Viriatus
💎𝓣𝓲𝓽𝓵𝓮 ――――――――――
N/A – Lusitania does not use inherited titles at all, it is rather a cultural – implication, of sorts, that one’s family name be the indicator of their power. That said, in another kingdom she would be called a princess, though she’s at least twenty-sixth in line to the throne.
💎𝓐𝓰𝓮 ――――――――――
Sixteen (Born March 15, 2002)
💎𝓖𝓮𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻 ――――――――――
Female
💎𝓢𝓮𝔁𝓾𝓪𝓵𝓲𝓽𝔂 ――――――――――
Asexual
💎𝓐𝓹𝓹𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓬𝓮 ――――――――――
Though little Livi Viriatus isn’t much to look at, standing a tiny four feet and four inches and weighing maybe 80 pounds sopping wet, she’s got a lot of attitude about her. Unruly dark-chocolate curls cascade past her hips, when they’re behaving (which isn’t often) and frame a thin face set with enormous, deep blue eyes that don’t flinch away from any form of stare.
In terms of posture, Liv is painfully proper - her back as straight as a board, every muscle tense in a struggle to gain a few more millimeters of stature. Her hands are usually clasped at her waist, behind her, or else held close to her. When she walks, she is careful to make little sound, though her usual soft-soled sandals make that even easier.
Attire is something that all Lusitanians take pride in, and Livi is no exception. Her piles of hair are often braided and pinned up, tucked with all manner of pins and jewels with only a few strands left free. Her clothing is always in Lusitania’s traditional style - long, flowing gowns of chiffon and thin silk that are layered and draped for modesty. Restrictive, yes, but absolutely gorgeous. Many Lusitanian women can pull these outfits off with ethereal ease; on Liv, however, the garments threaten to drown her, at best obscuring any hint of a figure that she might have. She favors shades of baby blue and pink and white, pastel colors that don’t further overwhelm her fair skin.
💎𝓟𝓮𝓻𝓼𝓸𝓷𝓪𝓵𝓲𝓽𝔂 ――――――――――
Outwardly, Liviana is the perfect Lusitanian girl. Quiet and demure, with little opinion about much of anything. Her musical interests are kept quiet, her social ones never spoken of - the only thing she publicly excels at are weaving, spinning, and looking pretty.
Internally, however, it’s a very different story. Equal parts infuriated by her lack of education and fiercely determined to succeed, she has a fiery wit and a thirst for knowledge - but it is crippled by her upbringing, fear of stepping out of line.
Liviana is absolutely devoted to her musical endeavors - cello and piano are by far her favorite instruments. Hours are spent practicing, arguably a majority of her time, even. Second to that is her social media addiction - don’t laugh. After much consideration, and a thorough introduction by her best friend, the 13-year-old Livi decided that the Internet was by far the best way for a sickly, frail princess to be an activist on a global scale.
Loneliness is Livi’s constant companion, though - her best friend’s health is failing, and Liv’s siblings and father scarcely give her the time of day. Though she tries to be optimistic and determined, it’s very hard to stay as such - especially because her activism doesn’t seem to leave a mark. And with her internet presence, she sees all sorts of other young women speaking out in person - and so wishes she had that level of confidence and poise and grace. She just wishes she could do more for her cause - and dares to hope that her engagement is just that.
💎𝓛𝓲𝓴𝓮𝓼 + 𝓓𝓲𝓼𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮𝓼 ――――――――――
Likes: Tea with milk and honey, tiny creatures, orchestral music, libraries, polite conversation, flowing dresses, sunshine, wildflowers.
Dislikes: Coffee, rock music, radical feminists, protest marches, scary old senators, alcohol, spinning lessons.
💎𝓑𝓲𝓸𝓰𝓻𝓪𝓹𝓱𝔂 ――――――――――
Liviana is the tenth, and youngest, child of the current emperor (Imperator Julius Titus Viriatus Augustus) of Lusitania. She has seven older brothers and two older sisters. Her mother died of complications upon her birth, and thus Livi was named for her - it was only fitting that Lady Livia’s legacy be continued.
Born a sickly, premature child, it was a fight for Liv to survive from the very first moment. The realm watched the tiny princess with detached fascination - it wasn’t as though she was to inherit, or rule, and there were plenty of other healthy royal children should she expire - and sighed in tentative relief as she managed to make it to her first birthday. But the health issues did not go away. Her father, upon realizing she was never to grow out of her sickness, did his best to shuffle her out of the public eye.
When she was seven, she had her first marriage proposal. A crusty old senator's youngest son, who was nonetheless at least five times her age, dressed in finery and anointed in oils that made her breath whistle in her throat. She watched in terror, and in fascination, as her father politely refused the man, taking to heart his confidence in her - "A Viriatus is suitable for only an heir."
As she grew older, however, she realized how - to put it politely - screwed the entire system was. Proposal after proposal offered for her hand, by men as old as her father, who saw her as nothing more than an object to hang on their arm and a fortune to subsume. She watched her next-eldest sister, Valeria, married off at the age of fourteen to an obscenely-rich Athenian investor - and having borne three children by eighteen. Such was not a life Livi wanted, but any statements of this were fielded away as being naive child's wonderings. All things are done for the Empire, silly Livi; for what else do you even exist?
Thankfully, as her body resolutely refused to turn into a woman's, the marriage proposals dried up.
With them, so did her father's hope in her.
She was taught to spin thread from the time she was six and taught the art of loomwork from the time she was ten. Such was what women did, both married and unmarried ones; a young woman's place was on a cushion in a quiet room listening to older women quietly sing and tell stories between the thumping of the looms and scarce whispering of twirling threads. She hated her spinning lessons, but took part in them.
A marry-able woman was quiet, and adept at her work, and so Livi had to be. For the Empire. Certainly, she had the 'quiet' in spades. Few people, save her maids, ever cared to speak to her, and most even seemed to actively look through her. For the most part she was allowed to just exist, slipping out of the weavers' room and into the halls to wander. If her father ever noticed, he never cared, nor said anything to have her stop.
Time and chance had her, at last, make a friend - Lucian Catilina, a nobleman's son, and a pianist-in-training. He saw her as a person, and didn't seem to care that she was small and weak... Though how could he? He was scarcely bigger than her, and had his own small novel’s worth of medical problems. With much pleading and cajoling, he convinced her to come to an orchestra rehearsal with him - where she was immediately plopped down in a seat and handed a cello with little more explanation than, 'it'll be fun!' (which it certainly was, though perhaps less so for the others in hearing distance.) Thus, a remarkably-intense interest in music (and an intense friendship) were born.
Through Lucian, she was exposed to a great many things. Clumsy Greek and English lessons, musicianship in all facets - though cello and piano became by far her favorites - and most magically... the Internet. Smartphones (or really phones in general) were a rarity in Lusitania, especially for girls, but Lucian pulled a few strings and cajoled a few people and managed to get Liv an older Athenian-made one, and a generous data plan. She lost countless hours to scrolling through social media, hours of arguing with people (The annoying contingents of Aciran ‘Roma’ fangirls, in particular, were often argued with about their willful ignorance) and starting to break the silence on the real social climate in Lusitania.
Today, she has just under 300 thousand followers on Instagram, which is her primary platform - say what you like, but it is an ideal one for comments of political exposition disguised under pretty, pink-filtered ‘aesthetic’ photos of people and landscapes.
💎𝓕𝓒 + 𝓒𝓸𝓵𝓸𝓻 𝓒𝓸𝓭𝓮 ――――――――――
Code: F2AED3 | FC: Jodelle Ferland
💎𝓣𝓱𝓮𝓶𝓮 𝓢𝓸𝓷𝓰 ――――――――――
Invisible Ink - Mandy Moore People say it's nice to meet me I often wonder why ... But I still can't draw conclusions I'm still talking out of turn...
💎𝓑𝓮𝓽𝓻𝓸𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓭 𝓣𝓸 ――――――――――
N/A
💎𝓞𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻 ――――――――――
Aesthetic board here. Liv has a pet sparrow named Qvi (pronounced 'kwee'), a gift from Lucian, and she loves That-bird to death. (It's a joke, get it? because qui means 'that' in ancient imperial Latin. Aforementioned bird used to terrorize orchestra rehearsals and was so often called 'that (optional: bloody, or 'fucking', or some other expletive) bird' that the name eventually stuck.
Liv is a proud member of the Lusitanian Women's Forum, a moderate feminist organization that hosts meetings and debates and politely politically protests, by sending petitions and speakers to the senate house and imperial court. They look down on many other feminist groups, seeing their rioting and passionate speech as being overall harmful to the greater good of their mission.
Domitia Viriatus of Lusitania
"I am too intelligent, too demanding, and too resourceful for anyone to take charge of me." -Simone de Beauvoir
💎𝓝𝓪𝓶𝓮 ――――――――――
Domitia ‘Dom’ Annia Viriatus
💎𝓣𝓲𝓽𝓵𝓮 ――――――――――
N/A – Lusitania does not use inherited titles at all, it is rather a cultural – implication, of sorts, that one’s family name be the indicator of their power. That said, in another kingdom they would be called a princess – they (were) second in line to inherit after their father.
💎𝓐𝓰𝓮 ――――――――――
18 (Born September 15, 1999)
💎𝓖𝓮𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻 ――――――――――
Nonbinary (prefers ‘they’ pronouns)
💎𝓢𝓮𝔁𝓾𝓪𝓵𝓲𝓽𝔂 ――――――――――
Aaaaa?!
💎𝓐𝓹𝓹𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓬𝓮 ――――――――――
Dom is a very stern looking young person, somehow intimidating despite their tiny stature. Though they are notably tall for an afab person born into the Viriatus bloodline, and even stand just above the Lusitanian average, they are dwarfed by most from the rest of the world – they stand at five feet and zero point seven five inches, to be precise.
Their body was once that of an athlete or soldier, toned and wiry with muscle and padded with a healthy layer of fat, but in the last three years it has withered away and become emaciated and frail. Collarbones are starkly sharp against their sallow skin, joints comparatively knobby and bulbous. Once-broad shoulders now are loose and pointed and often bruised – the running ‘joke’ in their family is that a sparrow’s landing on their shoulder would leave a mark for weeks.
Despite their form, or perhaps because of it, everything else about them has a razor-like intensity. Dark green eyes peer out from under wisps of precisely jaw-length mousy-brown hair, over painfully-prominent cheekbones further emphasized by a long, thin scar that traces lengthwise across the right one. Dom refuses to conceal it with makeup, even considering the scar a point of pride – the only injury they ever sustained during their years of military school.
Regarding attire, Dom clothes themself as a Lusitanian lady would – only out of the insistence of their father and grandfather. Their attire is always closely fit to their body - at least, as closely as any Lusitanian fashions ever are – and in the dullest colors they can get away with. They wear no jewelry or hair accessories, and minimal makeup, though their fingernails are immaculate and always have clear, glossy gel polish on them.
💎𝓟𝓮𝓻𝓼𝓸𝓷𝓪𝓵𝓲𝓽𝔂 ――――――――――
Dom is a master of self-control. Everything about them must be entirely, exactly in its place. They are obsessive - hands eternally fidgeting, picking at buttons or brooches or loose threads or, without anything else, their own skin; eyes flickering to every face and object in the room and back over them a hundred times. When something manages to capture their focus, however, it is absolutely laser-like. Dom has been taught to be utterly attentive to every last detail of a situation. At one point, their memory was impeccable as well; the ability to recall any face or name would come in immense use should they ever wind up as the kingdom's ruler - but in recent years that ability has faded. Nonetheless, Dom is a very unnerving person to be around- their eyes seem to linger on all of one's secrets.
In all other regards, however, they are the perfect royal of bygone times. Elegant, graceful, and (perhaps overly) formal, they're not the sort to embarrass or cause offense at a dinner party. That said, there's always something off about them - they do not do well at idle small talk, and have a bearing and posture that never fully settle to relaxed.
Internally, Dom is very introspective and honestly quite pessimistic. Their existence has, for the last several years, been a matter of keeping their head down and just surviving - and now these two months here in Aciras are to be their only chance at escaping Lusitania and finding somewhere to except them for who they are. Pressure mounts - but then, they've always been good under pressure. With that being said, they've never tried to make a personal connection with anyone, certainly not on the level required to get them to agree to a wedding. They just pray they can make it happen.
💎𝓛𝓲𝓴𝓮𝓼 + 𝓓𝓲𝓼𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮𝓼 ――――――――――
Likes: Pretty, strong girls (!!!!!), gardening, rainstorms, swimming and running, vegetarian cuisine, ’wonder food’ smoothies, indie music and edm, cartography.
Dislikes: Meat, especially fatty Aciran cuisine; fuckboys from their year, idle time, milkshakes (they're lactose intolerant), penmanship lessons.
💎𝓑𝓲𝓸𝓰𝓻𝓪𝓹𝓱𝔂 ――――――――――
The kingdom rejoiced when Servius Titus Viriatus’s wife bore him twins. The heir to the throne had his own heirs, and the fate of Lusitania was secure!
To honor the twins’ mother, they were both named for her father – and the female twin was given her name, in place of the ancestral ‘Titus’ that had been traditionally bestowed to the eldest children for generations. Thus Domitia Annia and Domitius Titus Viriatus were welcomed into the world.
Growing up, the twins were utterly inseparable. They were fiercely doted upon, and guarded, and kept from playing with any of the lesser-born children, and so they became figuratively joined at the hip. They also bore an uncanny resemblance to each other, to the point where if their hair was obscured even their regular nurses couldn’t tell them apart.
As they grew older, they were separated – the girl twin shut inside to learn to weave and spin and embroider and do pretty lady things, and the boy set out to explore and scuffle and run with the hounds and do stern soldier things.
Annia wouldn’t have minded such a docile life. But Titus- he aggressively, painfully, did not want to be a solider. And Annia had always looked out for her brother.
In their infinite wisdom, the twins hatched a foolproof plan to switch places. At the tender age of eight years old, Annia cut off her long hair, chopped it up all raggedy with scissors until the nurses had to shave it just like her brother’s.
With that came the sad realization that even their parents could not tell them apart (at least when they were clothed) whatsoever, which made it almost painfully easy for them to trade places. On the fateful day when Titus was to be sent off to Lusitania’s most prestigious military academy, Annia took his place in the car.
So was born the identity with which Annia continues to use today – ‘Dom’ was hungry for knowledge and viciously eager to prove himself better than his classmates, which he did with much perseverance and effort. He soon became a favorite of many of the teachers, who admired his work ethic and discipline despite his lack of physical stature, and found his mental aptitude to be second to none.
As years passed, Dom and Titus were rarely given a chance to interact. But Titus was at least as clever as Dom; he continued his part of the ruse without revealing it, and under much more careful scrutiny than Dom ever was at the Academy.
The twins were approaching their thirteenth birthday. By this time, Dom had become the top of their class. Titus had done so well at convincing everyone that he was Annia that a proposal had been extended. Dom’s heart nearly fell out of their chest.
There was no way they could make the change. The day of the ceremony, Dom tried to get Titus alone, to switch with him once more, but he… either didn’t see, or refused to acknowledge them. Their terror grew as the ceremony progressed, as they were sent back to the school that very same night – feasting was all well and good, but they had to get an education.
In the morning they were awoken to the most horrifying news they could have imagined.
Titus had been found dead in the marriage bed, his throat slit and body mutilated, and the noble he’d been wed to nowhere to be found.
All eyes turned to Dom. Forcibly revealed to be the fairer twin, their father ordered them brought home. It was a riot. Not even figuratively speaking- there were students taking up arms and rocks and standing against the legion with their shields and swords, and the fury was infectious, spilling over into the common people. The riots spread all through Rome, through the surrounding cities, and lasted in force for over two weeks. Dom themself was ordered to lay down their arms and surrender to their father’s guard; they very politely told the guards to fuck off and continued fighting.
The riots eventually settled. Many were wounded, including Dom – they had been glanced across the cheek by the edge of a throwing spear, but refused medical treatment, for fear that they would be returned home – but their father no longer required it. They were allowed to return to school.
Oh, and how things changed.
Teachers who used to dote on and fawn over them were cold, callous, and unfairly harsh in marking their papers. They would consistently ‘lose’ submitted work – Dom began submitting it in hard copy, digitally, and in any other way they could think of, until eventually the teachers got so tired of the eternal spam that they dropped the pretense. The other students, who had previously been in varying shades of awe and envy, suddenly saw them as lesser. Hazing and bullying started at every turn, constantly calling them by their too-feminine name. More than their fair share of scuffles broke out- scuffles which they could not defend within at all, for fear of being expelled.
(TW for implication of sexual violence) . . . . . It was perhaps good that the secret’s revelation had been so sudden, rather than a gradual one of budding curves and bloody thighs. But they too soon grew into their femininity, and tenuous though it was it attracted the look of many – and they soon realized what a vile part of the world they really lived in.
Classmates soon found excuses to be near their bed, in the year’s communal bunkroom; found excuses to sneak beside them in the dead of night. Professors, during midterms, in the daylight and dubious seclusion of office hours – ‘there’s a price for passing marks, little girl.’
They grit their teeth and bore it, silently, and graduated with the highest possible honors. To spite them; to spite all of them. To be a stronger person than they would ever dream to be.
What had they learned at school?
Sure, sure. Tactics, history, the legends of the man who dared stand against a tide. How ironic that he who broke the tyrannical Roman’s back is idolized, yet the one who now tries to take more than their due be vilified.
Trying to re-integrate to palace life, having returned home with their medals and uniforms, was… decidedly not easy. There was no rigor, at least not compared to the planned-to-the-minute days they had grown so used to at the academy, and everyone else was altogether too relaxed.
It didn’t help that upon their return they were immediately forced back into the pretty, flowy dresses that they had escaped at the age of eight. Constantly followed by that name – that nameand forced to be someone they were not – until they burst from the halls in a fit of rage and ran, and ran, and did not stop until they twisted their ankle in a pothole and went skidding across ancient concrete.
Seven miles from the palace. How long had they been out there? The agonizing walk back gave them time to think, gave them time to let the pain of the situation ease along with the ache in their lungs.
Not Annia. Annia had died that day she had taken Titus’s place. Annia would have become the quiet wife of that nameless noble four years before. Annia would have worn dresses and curlers and braids and laurels and been content to know that someday she would have children.
Not Titus. Titus was dead. Murdered. Titus would have been an emperor, blessed by gods and revered by men. He would have been noble and just and kind and powerful.
No, Dom was neither the girl they had been born nor the man they tried to become. Rather… stuck in limbo. Incomplete.
The only person they dared reveal this revelation to was their younger aunt – Livi. The sheltered and frail youngest sister of their father. If they expected her to be shocked or confused, they were instead met with a soft laugh and a quiet Internet search on Livi’s ever-present smartphone. Such words as ‘nonbinary’ and neutral pronouns – only ever used in conversation with Livi and a few other trusted friends, of course, the emperor was ill-prepared to deal with a nonconforming child, never mind a nonbinary one! - but gradually Dom became more confident in their personal identity. It was easier for them to don the sparkly gowns knowing that the way they dressed didn’t invalidate who they felt they were.
But with that comfort and confidence came in turn issues with their physical appearance. They were too small and lacking in form and muscle to ever be a masculine enough man, and too few people took them seriously with their increasingly feminine shape. Rome had always prized women with wide hips and generous busts.
Tw for eating disorder below . . . . . When they had pinpointed that – that the shape of their body was what was causing them so much discomfort – they soon found remedies for it. What started as a healthy diet and conditioning exercise, to get back into the physical condition they had once been, became increasingly obsessive as they started to see results.
Livi grew concerned, as she ever did, and begged them to eat something, to stop the exercise. Dom said they would once there was no trace of their old body. Liv made them swear it. On Titus’s grave.
They barely ate, and when they were forced to, quickly purged it following the meal. Hours and hours in the training fields, on the courts, until their legs were shaking so they could hardly stand. So much self-hatred and anxiety and fear of it- never being enough. Of them never ridding themself of the last airs of femininity; of Annia always being there in the corner of their mind, whispering about what a woman they could have been.
Their figure melted away over the next year. Eventually, the monthly pains and bleeding spaced out, and stopped entirely. Still the relentless regimen. Liv begged them, again, pleaded with them, screamed at them and tackled them down onto the bed – even the child-sized Liviana was stronger than them, by this point – and reminded them what they’d sworn. Would they dishonor their brother, or would they get better?
After this outburst, their relationship with their aunt much improved. Livi was patient, gentle and quiet; she would distract Dom with drawing or music or internet ‘memes’ when the urges to run got so strong, would entice the kitchen staff to make low calorie vegetarian dishes, knowing that vegetarian food was Dom’s weakness and reasoning that few calories were still better than no calories – and they got better.
They still fear gaining weight; they still exercise too much and eat too little. But gone, at least for now, is the numbness and apathy that once surrounded them.
Several months have passed. This trip to Aciras is going to be… interesting, for certain. Betrothed to a man they’ve only met on official business, from a kingdom that might be progressive compared to Lusitania, but is still remarkably old-world fussy compared to the rest of the world... they can only hope that Edwin won’t immediately call it off upon getting to know them, or worse, force them into an identity they can’t fill.
They feel awful at the thought of abandoning little Liviana, but – they need to do this, if they want to survive. Britannia might not be much better but as the empress-to-be they would have certain protections that would be unheard of in Lusitania. Everything would be fine.
…right?
💎𝓕𝓒 + 𝓒𝓸𝓵𝓸𝓻 𝓒𝓸𝓭𝓮 ――――――――――
Color Code: c2e2a7 | Faceclaim: Alba Galocha
💎𝓣𝓱𝓮𝓶𝓮 𝓢𝓸𝓷𝓰 ――――――――――
Warriors - Imagine Dragons As a child you would wait And watch from far away But you always knew that you'd be the one That work while they all play In youth you'd lay Awake at night and scheme Of all the things that you would change But it was just a dream!
💎𝓑𝓮𝓽𝓻𝓸𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓭 𝓣𝓸 ――――――――――
Edwin Drakewine of Britannia
💎𝓞𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻 ――――――――――
Dia has at times spoken at FF ('Foeda Flammae', or 'the league of the flame' - a radfem organization that advocates for women to take up arms and forcibly take back their rights) rallies, and has accidentally become a bit of a radical feminist icon across the world. They don't agree with all of FF's platforms, and even speak out against how dangerous their 'rekindling the flame of war' would be, and how many women would be subject to horrible violence because of it- but it falls on deaf ears; the organization only ever uses their quotes that appear to support their platforms, and claim to be endorsed by Dom when they're very much not. They have 10k followers on Tumblr, and about 12k on instagram, but try to keep a low profile and keep those identities un-associated with their name.
Andronikos Telesphorides of the Athenian Federation
"There is nothing permanent except change." -Heraclitus
💎𝓝𝓪𝓶𝓮 ――――――――――
Andronikos ‘Anton’ Loukianos Telesphorides
💎𝓣𝓲𝓽𝓵𝓮 ――――――――――
Prince
💎𝓐𝓰𝓮 ――――――――――
Twenty-three (born 25 May 1995)
💎𝓖𝓮𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻 ――――――――――
Male
💎𝓢𝓮𝔁𝓾𝓪𝓵𝓲𝓽𝔂 ――――――――――
At least bi, if not fully gay.
💎𝓐𝓹𝓹𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓬𝓮 ――――――――――
Though Anton is not especially tall, and is indeed rather short - standing about five feet, five inches tall - he carries himself exceptionally proudly. His eyes are a deep coffee brown, his hair a dark shade of brown that is often mistaken for black. Much to his chagrin, the bridge of his nose and his prominent cheekbones are dusted with a liberal sprinkling of freckles, which really detract from the whole “severe businessman” look… depending on how desperately he wants them gone, he will sometimes raid his sister’s makeup kit and apply a thin coating of foundation before any formal appearance.
His body is well-built, if a bit on the thin side – his muscles are wiry, not bulky. He’s been through some amount of physical training as the city states require all young men to go through basic military training, regardless of if they intend to stay in or not. In attire he tends to forgo cultural norm in favor of something more stylish and business-conscious – his go-to outfit is a fitted navy or black business suit, usually over a white or blue shirt and a black or metallic gold satin tie.
💎𝓟𝓮𝓻𝓼𝓸𝓷𝓪𝓵𝓲𝓽𝔂 ――――――――――
Charismatic and proud, there’s quite a lot of personality packed into Anton’s pint-sized frame. He’s at times quite arrogant, doing his best to hold himself loftily above everyone around. Massively proud of his intellect, and the depth and breadth of his education, he strikes up many a conversation with the sole purpose of proving himself superior to those around him. This brash, somewhat stoic facade is just that - a facade hiding his own fear of his shortcomings, and his massive bitterness that his sister is set to inherit instead of him.
Hidden behind all of this, so deep that not even he recognizes it, is a cruel cunning and a burning lust for power. He is deeply envious of his elder sister’s inheritance, and seeks to prove himself to his parents as the rightful next ruler, doing so through cunning business and shrewd social deals. His personal moral compass, while strong, seems not to apply in matters of trade and influence - he will stop at nothing to exploit others’ personal weaknesses and strengthen his own position. Highly manipulative, he takes the role of the underdog and victim whenever he can, seeding pity and using that to his own advantage. He refuses to admit that it’s his inferiority complex talking.
With this being said, he does have a surprising soft spot for those actually befallen by misfortune, and is fiercely protective of those weaker than he is- those who he judges are genuine and not just seeking pity.
💎𝓛𝓲𝓴𝓮𝓼 + 𝓓𝓲𝓼𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮𝓼 ――――――――――
Likes: Black coffee, organized spreadsheets, chrome anything, tailored suit jackets, precise schedules, the ocean, rain, fancy pens, Eione (His cat), playing piano.
Dislikes: Cream or sugar in his coffee, caramel, milk chocolate (too sweet, bleh), 'traditional' Athenian wear, free time, artistic pursuits (other than calligraphy), guitar music (for some reason it's just super grating on his ears.)
💎𝓑𝓲𝓸𝓰𝓻𝓪𝓹𝓱𝔂 ――――――――――
Andronikos was the only son, the second of three children, and spent much of his childhood in a peculiar state of being doted on and yet still considered lesser. His elder sister Andromede (“Andi” when she must anglicize it) and younger sister Korinna (“Kory”) were lovely, confident girls, but he was always the treasured one- the only son, after all. Raised in a bizarre fusion of the cutting edge of the modern world - every piece of technology and modern wonder at his fingertips - and the classical one, his worldview definitely is… unique. Growing up, he was a bit pampered. He had anything his heart desired, except, of course, the title of crown prince. This honor was given to Andi, naturally, and Anton had a front seat view of how his only-two-years-older sister had to grow up into a diplomatic, graceful woman before she even hit her teens. He did his best to be there for her, helping her prepare to take the eventual burden of keeping the citystates in line, and the burden of being the first woman to inherit. (Though the citystates’ inheritance ran solely on primogeniture, the luck of the gods had been such that a woman had not inherited in living memory.)
Kory was born when he was five years old. As they grew, he was always much closer to Andi than their… foolish little sister, and the younger girl resented all of them for it, withdrawing from everything. He did his best to put the girl’s pettiness out of mind, and remains frosty with her to this day.
Their schooling was second to none. By the time they were thirteen, they were fluent in English, as well as their own Greek and Latin and knew at least snippets of a few other languages. Business partners were often more receptive when met halfway with their own language being used for negotiations, after all. He was educated in politics and philosophy, math and finance and the theory of investing. All fairly standard things for Athenian nobility.
His world was turned upside down when he was fourteen. Of course he knew of the revolution in the neighboring Luxieme- they’d been following the news of the bloody revolt quite closely- but he never expected he would be the state delegate sent to the scene, after the Athenian soldiers had forced the insurgents’ surrender. Amid the crowd of paparazzi and elite soldiers, as he took the symbolic first shovel of earth in the ruins of the capitol building, pledging his people’s support for the reconstruction of the kingdom of Luxieme… he saw her. A little girl, spindly, hungry, disheveled, and peering at him from half behind a pillar with the bluest eyes he’d ever seen. He faltered in his speech, faltered on national television, his diplomat’s smile slipping for one single second.
His mother had been furious, having seen his reaction on the television, his momentary slip of poise as though he’d seen a ghost. He’d tried to defend himself, but no one believed what he said. A few days later, one of their medical units dragged in the same girl he’d seen. Edelessa D’Argent. Valentine. She was sent to their home soon after she was found; they thought raising her in the more… sheltered and structured Federation capital would be good for her, would give her confidence and some semblance of perhaps a normal childhood - and give her a jumpstart on becoming the crown princess her kingdom needed.
He expected Kory to be all over the new girl, but if she was distant to him she was downright frosty to the errant princess. So it fell to him to keep the young princess of Luxieme company. Grudgingly at first, but he slowly won her over with little gifts of books and sweet things, and spending time just close enough that she grew to tolerate his presence.
He taught her to ride horses, and on a whim bought her a polaroid camera- he’d seen the way those pretty eyes would latch on to birds and especially butterflies and insects- and when that was a success made a small investment of personal wealth to acquire a very nice digital camera for the girl. This turned out to be the proper turning point of their friendship. The promise of artistic opportunities seemed to be what was needed to get the young princess out of her shell.
Four years ago, his mother dropped the bomb that they were to be married, and Luxieme finally, officially annexed. He was horrified - at nearly twenty, when Blue herself was only twelve - but Mother’s mind seemed made up.
He took the issue to Andi, who gave her soft, already-matronly grin, and ruffled her baby brother’s hair, and told him not to worry and that she could give him some time to figure something out. She’s undermined the king’s authority and gotten Anton an invitation to attend the festivities in Aciras. The unspoken agreement is clear, though - he needs to strike up a deal when he’s there, or else he’ll be wed to Valentine upon their return.
💎𝓕𝓒 + 𝓒𝓸𝓵𝓸𝓻 𝓒𝓸𝓭𝓮 ――――――――――
Color code: F2E9AC | FC: Cameron Boyce
💎𝓑𝓮𝓽𝓻𝓸𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓭 𝓣𝓸 ――――――――――
N/A yet!
💎𝓞𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻 ――――――――――
Aesthetic to be added later!
Name: Iliana Servus. Dom calls her ‘Ana’ (pronounced ah-na)
Age: Thirteen
Gender: Female
Personal Details: Ana is a person, and that is about all that can be said about her with any certainty. Her hair is a shade somewhere between blond and brown, shoulder-length and wavy and always braided. Her skin is a warm olive tan, and rather indicates her age with a small scattering of blemishes around her chin and hairline. Her eyes are a muddy hazel, cheekbones dusted with a few freckles. She stands at precisely the Lusitanian average height for her age, four feet and nine inches, and has an utterly nondescript form.
Slavery is illegal in Lusitania, as per conditions of the League of Nations Slavery Convention of 1926, which they narrowly ratified in 1952. However, its ‘servile’ class (the more… genteel name that has been used for household slaves since the classical era) has had trouble integrating into society. Aside from the matter of naming – in a rather thoughtless decision, all former slaves (who would not have borne a family name) were given the surname Servus, which socially marked them as being from the lowest class – the vast majority had no formal education, and possessed highly niche skills that were not in nearly as much demand once the artificial market for slaves was so abruptly ended. Many slaves actually found their lives worse once they were freed. So they stayed on in service to their noble former owners; while a basic wage was required and given, it didn’t solve the fundamental problem that Lusitania had minimal groundwork for mass education of any sort, and so options for improvement were (and still are) very minimal unless one either married up or else had a soft-hearted and wealthy ‘employer’ who might have their children educated.
Iliana is a child of former household slaves; her grandmother one of several dozen handmaid slaves to a previous Viriathus and his wife, and her grandfather a stablemaster for their household guard. Their family has maintained a close relationship with the reigning family, and remain known for their unquestioning service and loyalty.
In return, the Viriatus clan upholds their traditional obligation – they facilitate and fund the children’s basic education until they turn thirteen, at which point they are ‘recruited’ into the household service for the empire’s fair minimum wage (which is accrued in a trust until they turn sixteen, Lusitania’s legal age of adulthood) and are supposed to be educated under the direction of their employer (which seldom happens). After these first three years of service, their wages are released to them and they can either continue on in service or pursue further education.
Iliana recently turned thirteen, conveniently within a month of Domitia’s previous maid turning sixteen and deciding to, to put it politely, GTFO of the regressive hellhole that is the imperial court. She was quickly ‘hired’ to replace the other girl, and though she is still learning her duties, quite likes the work. Dom isn’t like the other nobles, who treat the people (often young teenagers like herself) who work for them as objects and little more. Rather, they are making efforts to have her tutored, though their hands are tied given their own status as an afab person, and so lessons mostly consist of her working through Dom’s old textbooks from their time at the military school.
Otherwise, her duties consist of helping Dom get ready in the mornings (which they don’t need help with), freshening up their room (which they insist on doing themself) and attending them at meals and during the day. Liviana, Dom’s aunt, has recently come of age to ‘hire’ an attendant herself; given how close the two nobles are, Iliana is inheriting that role as well, which includes similarly little effort aside from the added bits of tending Liv’s birds and keeping her music supplies organized. It’s definitely not a bad arrangement, and nicely convenient for this trip to Aciras as well.
Color Code:c7f7f7
Name: Aulus Caecina Crispin
Age: Twenty-six.
Gender: Male
Personal Details: If you were to read some of the more racy magazine reviews of Aulus Crispin, he would be described as having ‘eyes a wine-dark sea’ and ‘features chiseled from that noble stone of gods and kings’. In person, he does have rather dark, brooding eyes, and unblemished dark olive skin, with the weighty and stern facial features prized of politicians in prior eras. He stands at an entirely respectable height for a Lusitanian, five feet and eight inches.
The Crispin dynasty is full of well-respected diplomats and authors and politicians. A quite wealthy family that can afford education for both its sons and daughters (and is indeed rather nefarious for having their daughters put into private schools and sent to university abroad!) they accept nothing short of greatness, and Aulus is no exception.
He always knew he wanted to be a journalist, going abroad and exploring the nitty-gritty of politics and society. He graduated with top honors from a private academy in Lusitania, and was sent to study abroad in Aciras for a degree in journalism. Returning to Lusitania, he was met with many side-eyes from the Lusitanian royals, who were uncertain where his loyalties fell. They were soon put at ease as he wrote many articles praising their political structure and had them published on the world scale, with his uniquely classical turn of phrase.
After two years of writing for The Roma Eternal, Rome’s foremost city newspaper, and publishing various feature articles in various Aciran and Brittanian magazines, he started on a more ambitious project. It was a long-running series of features that were run in Aciran tabloids, highlighting the dynastic Senators and their current and past roles in history (with just enough “personal information” on them to keep the Aciran gossip-mongers happy), that earned him the Lusitanian state’s highest journalistic honor – the Laureate Ars Oratorium. He wears a scaled down version of the pendant, cast in gold, as a lapel pin when he travels abroad (which is often).
He was commissioned to travel abroad to Aciras for the next several months, to write articles on both the goings on of all the royals and also how- dreadfully foreign existence there is. He has been warned that many journalists have no standards and will stop at nothing to get all the details, and that he must take care not to have his own honorable name dragged through the dirt. Aciran journalists, in particular, are horrific gossipmongers, and will latch on to any lead no matter how tenuous.
Aulus is an honorable man. He has nothing to hide… he thinks. Despite his worldly upbringing, he is forgetful that what is acceptable conduct in Lusitania is nothing short of barbaric elsewhere in the world. Nonetheless, he is confident that his demeanor, shining personality, and ethical and factual prose are going to endear him to readers worldwide and bring Aciras to the front of the world’s journalism stage.
Color Code: c99aed
Ayleanna Lynton Liv: “Oh my goodness, Lea! She’s… so… just – she’s pink, and sparkly, and she loves nature and she! She followed me on Instagram and- *starstruck*” Dom: “She’s too happy. I don’t understand. Does she not understand the weight that nobility carries?” Anton: "Oh gods, why is she such a GIRL? I suppose I should be thankful for this chance to escape my parents’ overbearing pressures, but… she could do with some instructions on poise and boundaries from Korinna.”
Mai Mei Liv: “I don’t know much about her, but she’s so elegant. I would kill to have that much confidence.” Dom: “Liang has certainly not had an easy time these past few decades, and Mai, to be a woman inheriting, has certainly borne a lot of pain unseen. I can empathize with her situation and wish her the best.” Anton: “That confidence is unnatural. I do not trust her as far as I can throw her.”
Alejandro de Augustin Liv: “To use Lea’s word for him… how extra can you get?? I have no idea how to take him beyond that. He seems sweet enough, I suppose? Dom: “How decidedly unmasculine.” Anton: “He’s… ostentatious. I have little more to say.”
Isabella del Reyes Liv: “She scares me. We’re in the same place, really, but – how different can we get?” Dom: “I admire her drive and wish her a match that will spare her from her kingdom. I only wish that my dear aunt had her grace and poise.” Anton: “With all respect due to Isabella’s station- I would invoke a cowardly she-dog, but that would not be fair to those noble Lusitani who once claimed such ancestry. Korinna idolizes her; I think that says enough in itself.”
Talya Burnley Liv: “She’s pretty. I’m so sorry about her elder brother… beyond that I know too little to comment.” Dom: “She’s apparently quite intelligent. I wish Lusitania was as open-minded about inheritance as Notia is.” Anton: “She’s very attached to her social media. But otherwise is unobjectionable. Perhaps I would pursue an alliance, if she wasn’t already engaged…”
Ivelynne Burnley Liv: “Poor Ivy, I know too well what it’s like to be stuck in a sister’s shadow. I’d love to get to know her.” Dom: “All of the Notians are so gentle. Their kingdom is really peaceful and there’s not much news about them, so I can’t say much more on the topic.” Anton: “She’s pretty, and very softspoken. It’s nice that she likes horses; I should introduce her to mine at some point.”
Edelessa Blanchefleur Liv: “Poor Edelessa. I met her very briefly on a state visit to Athens when I was 12 or 13? I wish I’d been able to speak with her more but Father had me there for betrothal negotiations. Regardless, what she’s been through is something that no one should ever have to be. I really want to befriend her while we’re here.” Dom: “My heart goes out to her. Gods willing, such atrocities shall never happen again; it’s shameful for such occurrences in the developed world.” Anton: “Oh, my little Blue. How could I not adore her? I feel absolutely horrible for what her people did. That’s why Athens has taken Luxieme under their guard, and why I’ve drawn Blue under my protection until she’s able to rule on her own. I’m honored to be the one she’s chosen to trust and I will fight to make sure she has the recognition and care she requires here. And hopefully, I’ll be able to find her someone gentle enough that can take her far, far away from trouble. If I can’t, of course, I’ll marry her myself – as horrible as it would be to marry one’s sister-by-choice, such is a sacrifice I will make to make certain that no further harm will come to her.”
Rhiannon Cadfael Liv: “She’s so gorgeous. I adore her fashion sense, and wish I could get away with the sort of jewelry she wears. Maybe she could help me get the knack of the harp, as well?” Dom: “I second what Liv said. She’s so beautiful. I’d love to teach her to swordfight sometime. …The thought that I will eventually outrank her, being married to the heir of the kingdom hers is a vassal of… that’s slightly disconcerting. I am not nearly enough woman to tame that, should she find objection here.” Anton:”Elegant, I suppose, but… Britannia is old and powerful and certainly not an empire I’d trifle with should things go sour. That said, she is the heiress of Wales. Perhaps worth the consideration.”
Liviana Viriatus Liv: “Oh- oh you’re asking me about myself too? Well, I- I don’t quite like myself. I mean. That should be obvious, I mean, have you seen me? I’m nothing. I- I’m just glad Lusitania has- others to inherit. I’d be useless for my empire, for certain.” Dom: “Livi needs to grow a backbone. I know Father and Grandfather haven’t been the nicest to her, but she’s had a sheltered life, for the most part. It won’t always be the case, especially if she marries. I just hope that when she does marry, she’ll have someone who’s understanding. And maybe a place with better medicine than Lusitania… I’m not a doctor but there’s definitely something wrong with how she grew. Maybe it can be fixed.” Anton: “Lusitanian women are among the best as far as their dedication to their wifely duties. That said, I cannot abide Liviana. She’s only Blue’s age, for starters, and she’s just – too passive. She was at the palace so many times for negotiations and I kept forgetting she was there, she was just so quiet. One could almost think she was mute, were it not for her sniveling.”
Domitia Viriatus Liv: “Dia, Dia Dia. I had no idea- they worked that switch on me for how long? If I’d known I could have- could have helped figure something out. I was nine when Titus died; I watched Dia grow up that day and since. And when they came back to the palace… They were sleeping in servant’s quarters, my brother completely ignoring them, so I invited them to move into my room. We’ve grown closer than siblings, we’ve shared the same bed. What those… monsters did to them at school- I don’t know a lot of it and I’ll probably never know but I wish I could help them heal. I wish I could make this marriage thing easier for them- they have nightmares, still. About what their future husband might do once all the paperwork is done and they can’t say no and have nowhere to run. It’s sobering and terrifying but I want to be here for them, no matter what.” Dom: “Oh hey, now it’s my turn. Yeeeeah, I don’t know how I feel about her. Who is she, again?” Anton: “Remarkably unladylike. The Viriathus was right to disinherit her.”
Andronikos Telesphorides Liv: “Ugh, Anton. He’s redeemed himself in my book with his care for Edelessa, but… my parents tried to wed me to him once and he basically laughed in our faces. For all that he puts on a polite face to me and just says that we’re incompatible romantically and has no issue with who or what I am, he’s still a pretentious – pardon me – twat and I don’t know how anyone tolerates him.” Dom: “The perfect Athenian businessman and military man. I have little to say that is good, so I shall rather not say anything at all. Anton: “I like me. What’s there not to like?”
Alexandra Bonnisseau Liv: “She’s a –pardon me – badass. Dom would get along very well with her, or so I would think.” Dom: “Her aesthetic is very nice; I wonder about her circumstances. I suppose any woman in an oppressive regime will eventually act out; I wonder if Castelleve is not nearly as quiet as we are led to believe. The alternative, of course, is that she just acts out for the sake of being a rebel. I do not know how I feel about that option.” Anton: “I have little to say about such an unladylike individual. Does she not know the gods’ gifts that she bears and squanders?
Leonard Ford Liv: “He’s terrifying. Krieg-Konigreich is a warrior’s kingdom, and I shudder to think of what might happen there. I pity Mai- not only must it be awkward being engaged to a man five years younger, but marrying someone so militant must be horrifying to someone from Liang.” Dom: “A soldier, but there seems a soft core to him. Were both of us not spoken for, his kingdom would perhaps be one I could thrive in.” Anton: “I have a tentative admiration; Krieg-Konigreich is in a difficult situation and needs a hard ruler. I do not think Leonard is up to the task, but I will withhold my judgment.”
Mila Ford Liv: “I don’t know much about her, but she seems sweet enough. I think we have a common goal, with helping people, albeit do it in very different ways.” Dom: “She was a spoiled child, wasn’t she? But she grew up decently enough. Perhaps someday she will be a formidable woman.” Anton: “She’s too young for me, of course, but regardless - I pity the poor sop who winds up marrying her. Konigreich just spells trouble.”
Elijah Rothchester Liv: “He needs to learn to control his temper. I empathize with being forgotten, but you’ve never seen me blow up a building or much of anything, have you?” Dom: “I second Liviana’s thoughts. Another violent man is the last thing that kingdom needs; thank the gods he’s not inheriting.” Anton: “No comment, other than that he seems like a PR nightmare.”
Yu Liang Song Liv: “Yu-liang is so pretty. I never thought I’d say that but he’s just got a beautiful sense of style. He’s soft and quiet and I really would love to get to know him better, though I’m certain he would find me annoying.” Dom: “Does this man have no pride in his masculinity?” Anton: “For once, I agree with Domitia.”
Genevieve Anders Liv: “I see that she likes to hide; it’s a trait of her kingdom that I can’t fault them for. I adore the blue colors she always wears, even if I’m slightly terrified of her people. They’re even more reclusive than Lusitania, though at least slightly less backwards.” Dom: “I know too little to comment, except on her appearance, which is elegant but otherwise not noteworthy.” Anton: “If only Maris was bigger and more relevant on the world stage, she might be worth marrying.”
Eric Rothschild Liv: “He looks and acts the part of a prince, but his kingdom is not safe. Beyond that I have little opinion.” Dom: “I do not trust anyone from a kingdom where dissenters end up dead.” Anton: “He is quite handsome, no?”
Han Hye-ri Liv: “She’s so pretty and down-to-earth. I’ve followed her social media for a long time, but I’m not sure she even knows who I am. I can’t wait to meet her in person.” Dom: “She’s a bit like a porcelain doll- take that one however you will.” Anton: “I would not mind a match to her, for political reasons, though she’s much too social for my taste.”
Diederik Isidor Liv: “Ah, another hated child! I am sure he and I will get along well, though I’ll have to be careful. Publically associating with someone who’s in a group called ‘the mutiny’ is, artistic license be damned, not a good sign for anyone from Lusitania.” Dom: “I understand his obsessive nature much too well. That said, one who is so outspoken must be trouble. I appreciate his honesty and bluntness, and I will stay well out of his way for the duration of my time in Aciras.” Anton: “I have little opinion about such a disgraced child.”
Venera Nikolayevna Liv: “I- yeah, I’m scared of her.” Dom: “She’s pretty, and a badass.” Anton: “Definitely an alliance to consider. I daresay she would be one of my top choices for politics, though she’s everything I don’t want in social terms.”
Anastasiy Romanova Liv: “he plAYS CELLO! He plays cello I can’t wait to hear him play in person!! He’s been forced to grow into an heir, the poor guy, but he’s so sweet. I definitely want to talk to him. Dom: “Though I have little respect for his choice of presentation, I know too well how hard it is to be trapped into a role you’re not. He has my grudging respect for that alone. Anton: “He has power that he does not want. How pitiful.”
Elias Kokinos Liv: “He scares me, too. Oh well. Dom likes him.” Dom: “Scars say a lot about a man. I am certain he would be a formidable opponent. At some point we simply must go attend the courts and… how is it phrased? See what the other is made of?” Anton: “I don’t like him. Nor do I especially care for Polemos.”
Amaranthine Loveridge Liv: “I swear, she looks like a fairy, and she seems so nice. I can’t wait to get to know her.” Dom: “Such a fragile and peculiar creature.” Anton: “I have little opinion on Ms. Loveridge. Regarding Perse, I do not care for their ‘magic’ – petty trickery, if you ask me – and feel that such an alliance would only bring into ridicule the poor noble house that might wed into theirs.’
Edwin Drakewine Liv: “He’s a very noble young man, and so exceptionally well-read. I so loved exploring Britannia’s palace with him when we were young… I should have liked to marry him, and thought I had done a good job of convincing the emperor during those meetings, but I suppose in the end I did not. Oh well, he’ll make a good husband for Dom.” Dom: “Edwin. Oh, gods. I’m to marry him in July, if father’s ranting has gotten him anywhere. He and I have an… understanding, of sorts, one developed at swordpoint nearly a year and a half ago. He’s a wonderful sparring partner, I will say that much. And his empire’s fashion taste makes mine look- well, not tame, but at least a bit less ostentatious.” Anton: “He’s a bit of a pretentious ass, really.”
Aito Bai Liv: Dom: Anton:
Akio Bai Liv: Dom: Anton:
Fareeha Amari Liv: Dom: Anton:
Quentin Houston Liv: Dom: Anton:
Raven Willow Liv: Dom: Anton:
The Empire of Lusitania
💎𝓚𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓭𝓸𝓶 𝓝𝓪𝓶𝓮 ―――――――――― Commonly called simply ‘Lusitania’
💎𝓚𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓠𝓾𝓮𝓮𝓷 ――――――――――
Julius Titus Viriatus is the reigning Viriathus, currently in the forty-seventh year of his reign at the age of seventy-two; Livia Aelia-Viriatus was his wife of thirty-one years and died in 2002 at the age of forty-five.
💎𝓚𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓭𝓸𝓶 𝓒𝓸𝓵𝓸𝓻𝓼 ――――――――――
Tyrian purple and gold
💎𝓦𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓚𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓭𝓸𝓶 𝓲𝓼 𝓚𝓷𝓸𝔀𝓷 𝓕𝓸𝓻 ――――――――――
Lusitania, and famous? In the same sentence? Ha. At any rate, the only reason Lusitania is relevant is because it’s so old. They do some agricultural export, handled by Athenian shipping lines, but for the most part they’re a sleepy (and stagnant) kingdom primarily fueled by a tourist industry – again, they seem to be very much stuck in a prior time that foreigners love to experience (and can’t wait to leave.)
Lusitanian soldiers still fight with swords and shields and armor out of the classical era. In the 1800s there was a brief surge of gothic-plate style knight’s armor, but it was soon abandoned as being too expensive and intricate. (That said, many centurions and those of higher ranks own a suit worn for ceremony, and some prime decani can be seen wearing greaves and gauntlets in that style, in addition to their traditional uniforms.) It should be noted that their military serves in place of a police force; otherwise their role is solely ceremonial.
Overall, they’ve got a mishmash of basically 2000 years of aesthetics happening. Don’t even look at their coin system, where they’ve got several differently-named coins that have the same values.
They’ve become a biiiit of a meme on the Internet, with their quite frankly backwards policies and their blatant lack of such notions as ‘equality’ – they have become ‘the wet-dream of incels’ to quote one scandalous Britannian tabloid, a statement which might have some truth when one considers the proposed changes to Lusitanian immigration law.
A radical feminist symbol has increasingly cropped up in social media even in other kingdoms – a rust- or bronze-colored brazier, shaped as a horseshoe or perhaps a crescent moon, with twisting flames erupting from the top. It’s the icon of Foeda Flammae, the League of the Flare (though with the dual meaning of ‘foeda’ there’s often less-favorable translations. Regardless, it plays well into the Aciran Nasty Women and other such rough-and-tumble feminist cries.)
💎𝓡𝓮𝓬𝓮𝓷𝓽/𝓡𝓮𝓵𝓮𝓿𝓪𝓷𝓽 𝓚𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓭𝓸𝓶 𝓗𝓲𝓼𝓽𝓸𝓻𝔂 ――――――――――
In northern Italy, extending down to Rome. Technically they have the whole of Italy but the southerners are being a bit secessionist/ wanting to join with the Athenians. Most recently in the world news about them have been the Ludiia Riots of 2013 – after the murder of Domitius Titus Viriatus and revelation of his twin sister’s deception, students at the school she had been attending rioted for her right to stay there rather than face discipline at home. The empress died in 2002 while giving birth to Liviana Decima. The kingdom had the customary two years of mourning at that time. Became an empire in 1466. Last external military conflict was finished in 1615, a decisive loss.
The Romans would have had you believe that the Lusitanian War ended decisively with the assassination of Viriathus.
But such was merely misleading propaganda, spread by a cowardly, sniveling empire, in terror of the divine retribution they had wrought upon their own heads.
Viriathus. Viriathus! The rallying cry that united the tribes of the Lusitanii. A god-king amongst mortals; a hero of eras long gone past. The gods would not allow such a cowardly, conniving act to bring to heel their chosen people. No; Viriathus rose with the dawn, with blood still seeping from his wounds, and sent the Roman traitors fleeing back to their masters.
The year was 133 BC. The Romans reported that Viriathus was dead, that the uprising of the Lusitani had been quelled- meanwhile, they marched through Iberia, casting off the shackles of Roman oppression and leaving those perfumed senators, leagues away, quaking in their sandals at the news. The cry of Viriathus became their rally.
The gods recalled their hero in his old age, as they eventually do with even those divine; upon the dawn his graced grandson, in bearing and temperament a likeness to the hero in his prime, came before the assembled army. ‘I am Titus Viriathus; and with your blessing I shall lead you in our quest against the tyrant.’
By 280 CE, the Lusitanii had found themselves against the Rhine, against Rome itself. Within four seasons, what had been left of Roman ideology and influence crumbled away; those who shared in its sentiments in some form were allowed to flee eastward, to Byzantium and the ‘Eastern Roman Empire’.
The Lusitanians did not want to conquer; they simply wanted to empower others to cast off their shackles. They remained as a loosely federated republic, and took up proper residence in Rome. However, as time went on, and the Roman threat faded into distant memory, they soon forgot their values.
The title of Viriathus had been an elected one, though especially dynastic; it seemed to be passed from father to son or grandson or nephew. Their dynasty has ruled, with the gods’ blessing, undisturbed for millennia. As time went on, the vote became increasingly a formality; the title handed down from father to son irrespective of the peoples’ wishes.
Taxes and tariffs were levied on the member states, to fuel the growth of eternal Rome. The conscription of soldiers from the member states, to fight inroads into the territory by the Goths, was the last straw for many. The Iberians, where Castilya now stands, seceded not long after these reforms were formalized. How could Lusitani have so horrifically turned their back on – the values that made them Lusitanian in the first place?
So began the end of Lusitania’s stretch across Europe. Other people and places followed Iberia’s lead, despite Lusitania frantically tightening their grip, dispatching legions right and left to try to force their hand. In 1466, the first Julius Titus Viriathus declared himself emperor, to better circumvent the increasingly-bloated bureaucratic nonsense that was making it hard to dispatch their troops, convinced that it would fix everything.
They had lost almost all of their territory by the dawn of the seventeenth century.
Today, Lusitania is a shadow of its former self, no longer containing any part of its ancestral origin. It occupies the northern half of the Italian peninsula. Though they technically hold the lands south of Rome, those isolated cities on the southern end feel they have more in common with the Athenian city-states than they ever did with the now greedy and gluttonous Lusitanians, and welcome a revolution.
💎𝓞𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻 ――――――――――
To be added as more comes up. Can present a family tree upon request; it is very big and confusing and inbreeding is kinda a thing. Oops.
Wooo! Here's my three friends. And one infodump about my new special interest oops >_< :D I'll finish Athens' sheet before too long. DISCLAIMER: Yes I know I suck at alternate history, deal w/ it.
I tried to keep it plausible-ish, and if you're in that area and need your region to have never been touched by Lusitania lemme know. I totally don't want to screw over anyone's backstories with my hyper-specificity.
Liviana Viriatus of Lusitania
"Every new beginning comes from some beginning’s end." -Seneca
💎𝓝𝓪𝓶𝓮 ――――――――――
Liviana ‘Livi’ Decima Viriatus
💎𝓣𝓲𝓽𝓵𝓮 ――――――――――
N/A – Lusitania does not use inherited titles at all, it is rather a cultural – implication, of sorts, that one’s family name be the indicator of their power. That said, in another kingdom she would be called a princess, though she’s at least twenty-sixth in line to the throne.
💎𝓐𝓰𝓮 ――――――――――
Sixteen (Born March 15, 2002)
💎𝓖𝓮𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻 ――――――――――
Female
💎𝓢𝓮𝔁𝓾𝓪𝓵𝓲𝓽𝔂 ――――――――――
Asexual
💎𝓐𝓹𝓹𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓬𝓮 ――――――――――
Though little Livi Viriatus isn’t much to look at, standing a tiny four feet and four inches and weighing maybe 80 pounds sopping wet, she’s got a lot of attitude about her. Unruly dark-chocolate curls cascade past her hips, when they’re behaving (which isn’t often) and frame a thin face set with enormous, deep blue eyes that don’t flinch away from any form of stare.
In terms of posture, Liv is painfully proper - her back as straight as a board, every muscle tense in a struggle to gain a few more millimeters of stature. Her hands are usually clasped at her waist, behind her, or else held close to her. When she walks, she is careful to make little sound, though her usual soft-soled sandals make that even easier.
Attire is something that all Lusitanians take pride in, and Livi is no exception. Her piles of hair are often braided and pinned up, tucked with all manner of pins and jewels with only a few strands left free. Her clothing is always in Lusitania’s traditional style - long, flowing gowns of chiffon and thin silk that are layered and draped for modesty. Restrictive, yes, but absolutely gorgeous. Many Lusitanian women can pull these outfits off with ethereal ease; on Liv, however, the garments threaten to drown her, at best obscuring any hint of a figure that she might have. She favors shades of baby blue and pink and white, pastel colors that don’t further overwhelm her fair skin.
💎𝓟𝓮𝓻𝓼𝓸𝓷𝓪𝓵𝓲𝓽𝔂 ――――――――――
Outwardly, Liviana is the perfect Lusitanian girl. Quiet and demure, with little opinion about much of anything. Her musical interests are kept quiet, her social ones never spoken of - the only thing she publicly excels at are weaving, spinning, and looking pretty.
Internally, however, it’s a very different story. Equal parts infuriated by her lack of education and fiercely determined to succeed, she has a fiery wit and a thirst for knowledge - but it is crippled by her upbringing, fear of stepping out of line.
Liviana is absolutely devoted to her musical endeavors - cello and piano are by far her favorite instruments. Hours are spent practicing, arguably a majority of her time, even. Second to that is her social media addiction - don’t laugh. After much consideration, and a thorough introduction by her best friend, the 13-year-old Livi decided that the Internet was by far the best way for a sickly, frail princess to be an activist on a global scale.
Loneliness is Livi’s constant companion, though - her best friend’s health is failing, and Liv’s siblings and father scarcely give her the time of day. Though she tries to be optimistic and determined, it’s very hard to stay as such - especially because her activism doesn’t seem to leave a mark. And with her internet presence, she sees all sorts of other young women speaking out in person - and so wishes she had that level of confidence and poise and grace. She just wishes she could do more for her cause - and dares to hope that her engagement is just that.
💎𝓛𝓲𝓴𝓮𝓼 + 𝓓𝓲𝓼𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮𝓼 ――――――――――
Likes: Tea with milk and honey, tiny creatures, orchestral music, libraries, polite conversation, flowing dresses, sunshine, wildflowers.
Dislikes: Coffee, rock music, radical feminists, protest marches, scary old senators, alcohol, spinning lessons.
💎𝓑𝓲𝓸𝓰𝓻𝓪𝓹𝓱𝔂 ――――――――――
Liviana is the tenth, and youngest, child of the current emperor (Imperator Julius Titus Viriatus Augustus) of Lusitania. She has seven older brothers and two older sisters. Her mother died of complications upon her birth, and thus Livi was named for her - it was only fitting that Lady Livia’s legacy be continued.
Born a sickly, premature child, it was a fight for Liv to survive from the very first moment. The realm watched the tiny princess with detached fascination - it wasn’t as though she was to inherit, or rule, and there were plenty of other healthy royal children should she expire - and sighed in tentative relief as she managed to make it to her first birthday. But the health issues did not go away. Her father, upon realizing she was never to grow out of her sickness, did his best to shuffle her out of the public eye.
When she was seven, she had her first marriage proposal. A crusty old senator's youngest son, who was nonetheless at least five times her age, dressed in finery and anointed in oils that made her breath whistle in her throat. She watched in terror, and in fascination, as her father politely refused the man, taking to heart his confidence in her - "A Viriatus is suitable for only an heir."
As she grew older, however, she realized how - to put it politely - screwed the entire system was. Proposal after proposal offered for her hand, by men as old as her father, who saw her as nothing more than an object to hang on their arm and a fortune to subsume. She watched her next-eldest sister, Valeria, married off at the age of fourteen to an obscenely-rich Athenian investor - and having borne three children by eighteen. Such was not a life Livi wanted, but any statements of this were fielded away as being naive child's wonderings. All things are done for the Empire, silly Livi; for what else do you even exist?
Thankfully, as her body resolutely refused to turn into a woman's, the marriage proposals dried up.
With them, so did her father's hope in her.
She was taught to spin thread from the time she was six and taught the art of loomwork from the time she was ten. Such was what women did, both married and unmarried ones; a young woman's place was on a cushion in a quiet room listening to older women quietly sing and tell stories between the thumping of the looms and scarce whispering of twirling threads. She hated her spinning lessons, but took part in them.
A marry-able woman was quiet, and adept at her work, and so Livi had to be. For the Empire. Certainly, she had the 'quiet' in spades. Few people, save her maids, ever cared to speak to her, and most even seemed to actively look through her. For the most part she was allowed to just exist, slipping out of the weavers' room and into the halls to wander. If her father ever noticed, he never cared, nor said anything to have her stop.
Time and chance had her, at last, make a friend - Lucian Catilina, a nobleman's son, and a pianist-in-training. He saw her as a person, and didn't seem to care that she was small and weak... Though how could he? He was scarcely bigger than her, and had his own small novel’s worth of medical problems. With much pleading and cajoling, he convinced her to come to an orchestra rehearsal with him - where she was immediately plopped down in a seat and handed a cello with little more explanation than, 'it'll be fun!' (which it certainly was, though perhaps less so for the others in hearing distance.) Thus, a remarkably-intense interest in music (and an intense friendship) were born.
Through Lucian, she was exposed to a great many things. Clumsy Greek and English lessons, musicianship in all facets - though cello and piano became by far her favorites - and most magically... the Internet. Smartphones (or really phones in general) were a rarity in Lusitania, especially for girls, but Lucian pulled a few strings and cajoled a few people and managed to get Liv an older Athenian-made one, and a generous data plan. She lost countless hours to scrolling through social media, hours of arguing with people (The annoying contingents of Aciran ‘Roma’ fangirls, in particular, were often argued with about their willful ignorance) and starting to break the silence on the real social climate in Lusitania.
Today, she has just under 300 thousand followers on Instagram, which is her primary platform - say what you like, but it is an ideal one for comments of political exposition disguised under pretty, pink-filtered ‘aesthetic’ photos of people and landscapes.
💎𝓕𝓒 + 𝓒𝓸𝓵𝓸𝓻 𝓒𝓸𝓭𝓮 ――――――――――
Code: F2AED3 | FC: Jodelle Ferland
💎𝓣𝓱𝓮𝓶𝓮 𝓢𝓸𝓷𝓰 ――――――――――
Invisible Ink - Mandy Moore People say it's nice to meet me I often wonder why ... But I still can't draw conclusions I'm still talking out of turn...
💎𝓑𝓮𝓽𝓻𝓸𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓭 𝓣𝓸 ――――――――――
N/A
💎𝓞𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻 ――――――――――
Aesthetic board here. Liv has a pet sparrow named Qvi (pronounced 'kwee'), a gift from Lucian, and she loves That-bird to death. (It's a joke, get it? because qui means 'that' in ancient imperial Latin. Aforementioned bird used to terrorize orchestra rehearsals and was so often called 'that (optional: bloody, or 'fucking', or some other expletive) bird' that the name eventually stuck.
Liv is a proud member of the Lusitanian Women's Forum, a moderate feminist organization that hosts meetings and debates and politely politically protests, by sending petitions and speakers to the senate house and imperial court. They look down on many other feminist groups, seeing their rioting and passionate speech as being overall harmful to the greater good of their mission.
Domitia Viriatus of Lusitania
"I am too intelligent, too demanding, and too resourceful for anyone to take charge of me." -Simone de Beauvoir
💎𝓝𝓪𝓶𝓮 ――――――――――
Domitia ‘Dom’ Annia Viriatus
💎𝓣𝓲𝓽𝓵𝓮 ――――――――――
N/A – Lusitania does not use inherited titles at all, it is rather a cultural – implication, of sorts, that one’s family name be the indicator of their power. That said, in another kingdom they would be called a princess – they (were) second in line to inherit after their father.
💎𝓐𝓰𝓮 ――――――――――
18 (Born September 15, 1999)
💎𝓖𝓮𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻 ――――――――――
Nonbinary (prefers ‘they’ pronouns)
💎𝓢𝓮𝔁𝓾𝓪𝓵𝓲𝓽𝔂 ――――――――――
Aaaaa?!
💎𝓐𝓹𝓹𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓬𝓮 ――――――――――
Dom is a very stern looking young person, somehow intimidating despite their tiny stature. Though they are notably tall for an afab person born into the Viriatus bloodline, and even stand just above the Lusitanian average, they are dwarfed by most from the rest of the world – they stand at five feet and zero point seven five inches, to be precise.
Their body was once that of an athlete or soldier, toned and wiry with muscle and padded with a healthy layer of fat, but in the last three years it has withered away and become emaciated and frail. Collarbones are starkly sharp against their sallow skin, joints comparatively knobby and bulbous. Once-broad shoulders now are loose and pointed and often bruised – the running ‘joke’ in their family is that a sparrow’s landing on their shoulder would leave a mark for weeks.
Despite their form, or perhaps because of it, everything else about them has a razor-like intensity. Dark green eyes peer out from under wisps of precisely jaw-length mousy-brown hair, over painfully-prominent cheekbones further emphasized by a long, thin scar that traces lengthwise across the right one. Dom refuses to conceal it with makeup, even considering the scar a point of pride – the only injury they ever sustained during their years of military school.
Regarding attire, Dom clothes themself as a Lusitanian lady would – only out of the insistence of their father and grandfather. Their attire is always closely fit to their body - at least, as closely as any Lusitanian fashions ever are – and in the dullest colors they can get away with. They wear no jewelry or hair accessories, and minimal makeup, though their fingernails are immaculate and always have clear, glossy gel polish on them.
💎𝓟𝓮𝓻𝓼𝓸𝓷𝓪𝓵𝓲𝓽𝔂 ――――――――――
Dom is a master of self-control. Everything about them must be entirely, exactly in its place. They are obsessive - hands eternally fidgeting, picking at buttons or brooches or loose threads or, without anything else, their own skin; eyes flickering to every face and object in the room and back over them a hundred times. When something manages to capture their focus, however, it is absolutely laser-like. Dom has been taught to be utterly attentive to every last detail of a situation. At one point, their memory was impeccable as well; the ability to recall any face or name would come in immense use should they ever wind up as the kingdom's ruler - but in recent years that ability has faded. Nonetheless, Dom is a very unnerving person to be around- their eyes seem to linger on all of one's secrets.
In all other regards, however, they are the perfect royal of bygone times. Elegant, graceful, and (perhaps overly) formal, they're not the sort to embarrass or cause offense at a dinner party. That said, there's always something off about them - they do not do well at idle small talk, and have a bearing and posture that never fully settle to relaxed.
Internally, Dom is very introspective and honestly quite pessimistic. Their existence has, for the last several years, been a matter of keeping their head down and just surviving - and now these two months here in Aciras are to be their only chance at escaping Lusitania and finding somewhere to except them for who they are. Pressure mounts - but then, they've always been good under pressure. With that being said, they've never tried to make a personal connection with anyone, certainly not on the level required to get them to agree to a wedding. They just pray they can make it happen.
💎𝓛𝓲𝓴𝓮𝓼 + 𝓓𝓲𝓼𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮𝓼 ――――――――――
Likes: Pretty, strong girls (!!!!!), gardening, rainstorms, swimming and running, vegetarian cuisine, ’wonder food’ smoothies, indie music and edm, cartography.
Dislikes: Meat, especially fatty Aciran cuisine; fuckboys from their year, idle time, milkshakes (they're lactose intolerant), penmanship lessons.
💎𝓑𝓲𝓸𝓰𝓻𝓪𝓹𝓱𝔂 ――――――――――
The kingdom rejoiced when Servius Titus Viriatus’s wife bore him twins. The heir to the throne had his own heirs, and the fate of Lusitania was secure!
To honor the twins’ mother, they were both named for her father – and the female twin was given her name, in place of the ancestral ‘Titus’ that had been traditionally bestowed to the eldest children for generations. Thus Domitia Annia and Domitius Titus Viriatus were welcomed into the world.
Growing up, the twins were utterly inseparable. They were fiercely doted upon, and guarded, and kept from playing with any of the lesser-born children, and so they became figuratively joined at the hip. They also bore an uncanny resemblance to each other, to the point where if their hair was obscured even their regular nurses couldn’t tell them apart.
As they grew older, they were separated – the girl twin shut inside to learn to weave and spin and embroider and do pretty lady things, and the boy set out to explore and scuffle and run with the hounds and do stern soldier things.
Annia wouldn’t have minded such a docile life. But Titus- he aggressively, painfully, did not want to be a solider. And Annia had always looked out for her brother.
In their infinite wisdom, the twins hatched a foolproof plan to switch places. At the tender age of eight years old, Annia cut off her long hair, chopped it up all raggedy with scissors until the nurses had to shave it just like her brother’s.
With that came the sad realization that even their parents could not tell them apart (at least when they were clothed) whatsoever, which made it almost painfully easy for them to trade places. On the fateful day when Titus was to be sent off to Lusitania’s most prestigious military academy, Annia took his place in the car.
So was born the identity with which Annia continues to use today – ‘Dom’ was hungry for knowledge and viciously eager to prove himself better than his classmates, which he did with much perseverance and effort. He soon became a favorite of many of the teachers, who admired his work ethic and discipline despite his lack of physical stature, and found his mental aptitude to be second to none.
As years passed, Dom and Titus were rarely given a chance to interact. But Titus was at least as clever as Dom; he continued his part of the ruse without revealing it, and under much more careful scrutiny than Dom ever was at the Academy.
The twins were approaching their thirteenth birthday. By this time, Dom had become the top of their class. Titus had done so well at convincing everyone that he was Annia that a proposal had been extended. Dom’s heart nearly fell out of their chest.
There was no way they could make the change. The day of the ceremony, Dom tried to get Titus alone, to switch with him once more, but he… either didn’t see, or refused to acknowledge them. Their terror grew as the ceremony progressed, as they were sent back to the school that very same night – feasting was all well and good, but they had to get an education.
In the morning they were awoken to the most horrifying news they could have imagined.
Titus had been found dead in the marriage bed, his throat slit and body mutilated, and the noble he’d been wed to nowhere to be found.
All eyes turned to Dom. Forcibly revealed to be the fairer twin, their father ordered them brought home. It was a riot. Not even figuratively speaking- there were students taking up arms and rocks and standing against the legion with their shields and swords, and the fury was infectious, spilling over into the common people. The riots spread all through Rome, through the surrounding cities, and lasted in force for over two weeks. Dom themself was ordered to lay down their arms and surrender to their father’s guard; they very politely told the guards to fuck off and continued fighting.
The riots eventually settled. Many were wounded, including Dom – they had been glanced across the cheek by the edge of a throwing spear, but refused medical treatment, for fear that they would be returned home – but their father no longer required it. They were allowed to return to school.
Oh, and how things changed.
Teachers who used to dote on and fawn over them were cold, callous, and unfairly harsh in marking their papers. They would consistently ‘lose’ submitted work – Dom began submitting it in hard copy, digitally, and in any other way they could think of, until eventually the teachers got so tired of the eternal spam that they dropped the pretense. The other students, who had previously been in varying shades of awe and envy, suddenly saw them as lesser. Hazing and bullying started at every turn, constantly calling them by their too-feminine name. More than their fair share of scuffles broke out- scuffles which they could not defend within at all, for fear of being expelled.
(TW for implication of sexual violence) . . . . . It was perhaps good that the secret’s revelation had been so sudden, rather than a gradual one of budding curves and bloody thighs. But they too soon grew into their femininity, and tenuous though it was it attracted the look of many – and they soon realized what a vile part of the world they really lived in.
Classmates soon found excuses to be near their bed, in the year’s communal bunkroom; found excuses to sneak beside them in the dead of night. Professors, during midterms, in the daylight and dubious seclusion of office hours – ‘there’s a price for passing marks, little girl.’
They grit their teeth and bore it, silently, and graduated with the highest possible honors. To spite them; to spite all of them. To be a stronger person than they would ever dream to be.
What had they learned at school?
Sure, sure. Tactics, history, the legends of the man who dared stand against a tide. How ironic that he who broke the tyrannical Roman’s back is idolized, yet the one who now tries to take more than their due be vilified.
Trying to re-integrate to palace life, having returned home with their medals and uniforms, was… decidedly not easy. There was no rigor, at least not compared to the planned-to-the-minute days they had grown so used to at the academy, and everyone else was altogether too relaxed.
It didn’t help that upon their return they were immediately forced back into the pretty, flowy dresses that they had escaped at the age of eight. Constantly followed by that name – that nameand forced to be someone they were not – until they burst from the halls in a fit of rage and ran, and ran, and did not stop until they twisted their ankle in a pothole and went skidding across ancient concrete.
Seven miles from the palace. How long had they been out there? The agonizing walk back gave them time to think, gave them time to let the pain of the situation ease along with the ache in their lungs.
Not Annia. Annia had died that day she had taken Titus’s place. Annia would have become the quiet wife of that nameless noble four years before. Annia would have worn dresses and curlers and braids and laurels and been content to know that someday she would have children.
Not Titus. Titus was dead. Murdered. Titus would have been an emperor, blessed by gods and revered by men. He would have been noble and just and kind and powerful.
No, Dom was neither the girl they had been born nor the man they tried to become. Rather… stuck in limbo. Incomplete.
The only person they dared reveal this revelation to was their younger aunt – Livi. The sheltered and frail youngest sister of their father. If they expected her to be shocked or confused, they were instead met with a soft laugh and a quiet Internet search on Livi’s ever-present smartphone. Such words as ‘nonbinary’ and neutral pronouns – only ever used in conversation with Livi and a few other trusted friends, of course, the emperor was ill-prepared to deal with a nonconforming child, never mind a nonbinary one! - but gradually Dom became more confident in their personal identity. It was easier for them to don the sparkly gowns knowing that the way they dressed didn’t invalidate who they felt they were.
But with that comfort and confidence came in turn issues with their physical appearance. They were too small and lacking in form and muscle to ever be a masculine enough man, and too few people took them seriously with their increasingly feminine shape. Rome had always prized women with wide hips and generous busts.
Tw for eating disorder below . . . . . When they had pinpointed that – that the shape of their body was what was causing them so much discomfort – they soon found remedies for it. What started as a healthy diet and conditioning exercise, to get back into the physical condition they had once been, became increasingly obsessive as they started to see results.
Livi grew concerned, as she ever did, and begged them to eat something, to stop the exercise. Dom said they would once there was no trace of their old body. Liv made them swear it. On Titus’s grave.
They barely ate, and when they were forced to, quickly purged it following the meal. Hours and hours in the training fields, on the courts, until their legs were shaking so they could hardly stand. So much self-hatred and anxiety and fear of it- never being enough. Of them never ridding themself of the last airs of femininity; of Annia always being there in the corner of their mind, whispering about what a woman they could have been.
Their figure melted away over the next year. Eventually, the monthly pains and bleeding spaced out, and stopped entirely. Still the relentless regimen. Liv begged them, again, pleaded with them, screamed at them and tackled them down onto the bed – even the child-sized Liviana was stronger than them, by this point – and reminded them what they’d sworn. Would they dishonor their brother, or would they get better?
After this outburst, their relationship with their aunt much improved. Livi was patient, gentle and quiet; she would distract Dom with drawing or music or internet ‘memes’ when the urges to run got so strong, would entice the kitchen staff to make low calorie vegetarian dishes, knowing that vegetarian food was Dom’s weakness and reasoning that few calories were still better than no calories – and they got better.
They still fear gaining weight; they still exercise too much and eat too little. But gone, at least for now, is the numbness and apathy that once surrounded them.
Several months have passed. This trip to Aciras is going to be… interesting, for certain. Betrothed to a man they’ve only met on official business, from a kingdom that might be progressive compared to Lusitania, but is still remarkably old-world fussy compared to the rest of the world... they can only hope that Edwin won’t immediately call it off upon getting to know them, or worse, force them into an identity they can’t fill.
They feel awful at the thought of abandoning little Liviana, but – they need to do this, if they want to survive. Britannia might not be much better but as the empress-to-be they would have certain protections that would be unheard of in Lusitania. Everything would be fine.
…right?
💎𝓕𝓒 + 𝓒𝓸𝓵𝓸𝓻 𝓒𝓸𝓭𝓮 ――――――――――
Color Code: c2e2a7 | Faceclaim: Alba Galocha
💎𝓣𝓱𝓮𝓶𝓮 𝓢𝓸𝓷𝓰 ――――――――――
Warriors - Imagine Dragons As a child you would wait And watch from far away But you always knew that you'd be the one That work while they all play In youth you'd lay Awake at night and scheme Of all the things that you would change But it was just a dream!
💎𝓑𝓮𝓽𝓻𝓸𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓭 𝓣𝓸 ――――――――――
Edwin Drakewine of Britannia
💎𝓞𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻 ――――――――――
Dia has at times spoken at FF ('Foeda Flammae', or 'the league of the flame' - a radfem organization that advocates for women to take up arms and forcibly take back their rights) rallies, and has accidentally become a bit of a radical feminist icon across the world. They don't agree with all of FF's platforms, and even speak out against how dangerous their 'rekindling the flame of war' would be, and how many women would be subject to horrible violence because of it- but it falls on deaf ears; the organization only ever uses their quotes that appear to support their platforms, and claim to be endorsed by Dom when they're very much not. They have 10k f ollowers on Tumblr, and about 12k on instagram, but try to keep a low profile and keep those identities un-associated with their name.
Andronikos Telesphorides of the Athenian Federation
"There is nothing permanent except change." -Heraclitus
💎𝓝𝓪𝓶𝓮 ――――――――――
Andronikos ‘Anton’ Loukianos Telesphorides
💎𝓣𝓲𝓽𝓵𝓮 ――――――――――
Prince
💎𝓐𝓰𝓮 ――――――――――
Twenty-three (born 25 May 1995)
💎𝓖𝓮𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻 ――――――――――
Male
💎𝓢𝓮𝔁𝓾𝓪𝓵𝓲𝓽𝔂 ――――――――――
At least bi, if not fully gay.
💎𝓐𝓹𝓹𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓬𝓮 ――――――――――
Though Anton is not especially tall, and is indeed rather short - standing about five feet, five inches tall - he carries himself exceptionally proudly. His eyes are a deep coffee brown, his hair a dark shade of brown that is often mistaken for black. Much to his chagrin, the bridge of his nose and his prominent cheekbones are dusted with a liberal sprinkling of freckles, which really detract from the whole “severe businessman” look… depending on how desperately he wants them gone, he will sometimes raid his sister’s makeup kit and apply a thin coating of foundation before any formal appearance.
His body is well-built, if a bit on the thin side – his muscles are wiry, not bulky. He’s been through some amount of physical training as the city states require all young men to go through basic military training, regardless of if they intend to stay in or not. In attire he tends to forgo cultural norm in favor of something more stylish and business-conscious – his go-to outfit is a fitted navy or black business suit, usually over a white or blue shirt and a black or metallic gold satin tie.
💎𝓟𝓮𝓻𝓼𝓸𝓷𝓪𝓵𝓲𝓽𝔂 ――――――――――
Charismatic and proud, there’s quite a lot of personality packed into Anton’s pint-sized frame. He’s at times quite arrogant, doing his best to hold himself loftily above everyone around. Massively proud of his intellect, and the depth and breadth of his education, he strikes up many a conversation with the sole purpose of proving himself superior to those around him. This brash, somewhat stoic facade is just that - a facade hiding his own fear of his shortcomings, and his massive bitterness that his sister is set to inherit instead of him.
Hidden behind all of this, so deep that not even he recognizes it, is a cruel cunning and a burning lust for power. He is deeply envious of his elder sister’s inheritance, and seeks to prove himself to his parents as the rightful next ruler, doing so through cunning business and shrewd social deals. His personal moral compass, while strong, seems not to apply in matters of trade and influence - he will stop at nothing to exploit others’ personal weaknesses and strengthen his own position. Highly manipulative, he takes the role of the underdog and victim whenever he can, seeding pity and using that to his own advantage. He refuses to admit that it’s his inferiority complex talking.
With this being said, he does have a surprising soft spot for those actually befallen by misfortune, and is fiercely protective of those weaker than he is- those who he judges are genuine and not just seeking pity.
💎𝓛𝓲𝓴𝓮𝓼 + 𝓓𝓲𝓼𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮𝓼 ――――――――――
Likes: Black coffee, organized spreadsheets, chrome anything, tailored suit jackets, precise schedules, the ocean, rain, fancy pens, Eione (His cat), playing piano.
Dislikes: Cream or sugar in his coffee, caramel, milk chocolate (too sweet, bleh), 'traditional' Athenian wear, free time, artistic pursuits (other than calligraphy), guitar music (for some reason it's just super grating on his ears.)
💎𝓑𝓲𝓸𝓰𝓻𝓪𝓹𝓱𝔂 ――――――――――
Andronikos was the only son, the second of three children, and spent much of his childhood in a peculiar state of being doted on and yet still considered lesser. His elder sister Andromede (“Andi” when she must anglicize it) and younger sister Korinna (“Kory”) were lovely, confident girls, but he was always the treasured one- the only son, after all. Raised in a bizarre fusion of the cutting edge of the modern world - every piece of technology and modern wonder at his fingertips - and the classical one, his worldview definitely is… unique. Growing up, he was a bit pampered. He had anything his heart desired, except, of course, the title of crown prince. This honor was given to Andi, naturally, and Anton had a front seat view of how his only-two-years-older sister had to grow up into a diplomatic, graceful woman before she even hit her teens. He did his best to be there for her, helping her prepare to take the eventual burden of keeping the citystates in line, and the burden of being the first woman to inherit. (Though the citystates’ inheritance ran solely on primogeniture, the luck of the gods had been such that a woman had not inherited in living memory.)
Kory was born when he was five years old. As they grew, he was always much closer to Andi than their… foolish little sister, and the younger girl resented all of them for it, withdrawing from everything. He did his best to put the girl’s pettiness out of mind, and remains frosty with her to this day.
Their schooling was second to none. By the time they were thirteen, they were fluent in English, as well as their own Greek and Latin and knew at least snippets of a few other languages. Business partners were often more receptive when met halfway with their own language being used for negotiations, after all. He was educated in politics and philosophy, math and finance and the theory of investing. All fairly standard things for Athenian nobility.
His world was turned upside down when he was fourteen. Of course he knew of the revolution in the neighboring Luxieme- they’d been following the news of the bloody revolt quite closely- but he never expected he would be the state delegate sent to the scene, after the Athenian soldiers had forced the insurgents’ surrender. Amid the crowd of paparazzi and elite soldiers, as he took the symbolic first shovel of earth in the ruins of the capitol building, pledging his people’s support for the reconstruction of the kingdom of Luxieme… he saw her. A little girl, spindly, hungry, disheveled, and peering at him from half behind a pillar with the bluest eyes he’d ever seen. He faltered in his speech, faltered on national television, his diplomat’s smile slipping for one single second.
His mother had been furious, having seen his reaction on the television, his momentary slip of poise as though he’d seen a ghost. He’d tried to defend himself, but no one believed what he said. A few days later, one of their medical units dragged in the same girl he’d seen. Edelessa D’Argent. Valentine. She was sent to their home soon after she was found; they thought raising her in the more… sheltered and structured Federation capital would be good for her, would give her confidence and some semblance of perhaps a normal childhood - and give her a jumpstart on becoming the crown princess her kingdom needed.
He expected Kory to be all over the new girl, but if she was distant to him she was downright frosty to the errant princess. So it fell to him to keep the young princess of Luxieme company. Grudgingly at first, but he slowly won her over with little gifts of books and sweet things, and spending time just close enough that she grew to tolerate his presence.
He taught her to ride horses, and on a whim bought her a polaroid camera- he’d seen the way those pretty eyes would latch on to birds and especially butterflies and insects- and when that was a success made a small investment of personal wealth to acquire a very nice digital camera for the girl. This turned out to be the proper turning point of their friendship. The promise of artistic opportunities seemed to be what was needed to get the young princess out of her shell.
Four years ago, his mother dropped the bomb that they were to be married, and Luxieme finally, officially annexed. He was horrified - at nearly twenty, when Blue herself was only twelve - but Mother’s mind seemed made up.
He took the issue to Andi, who gave her soft, already-matronly grin, and ruffled her baby brother’s hair, and told him not to worry and that she could give him some time to figure something out. She’s undermined the king’s authority and gotten Anton an invitation to attend the festivities in Aciras. The unspoken agreement is clear, though - he needs to strike up a deal when he’s there, or else he’ll be wed to Valentine upon their return.
💎𝓕𝓒 + 𝓒𝓸𝓵𝓸𝓻 𝓒𝓸𝓭𝓮 ――――――――――
Color code: F2E9AC | FC: Cameron Boyce
💎𝓑𝓮𝓽𝓻𝓸𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓭 𝓣𝓸 ――――――――――
N/A yet!
💎𝓞𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻 ――――――――――
Aesthetic to be added later!
The Empire of Lusitania
💎𝓚𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓭𝓸𝓶 𝓝𝓪𝓶𝓮 ―――――――――― Commonly called simply ‘Lusitania’
💎𝓚𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓠𝓾𝓮𝓮𝓷 ――――――――――
Julius Titus Viriatus is the reigning Viriathus, currently in the forty-seventh year of his reign at the age of seventy-two; Livia Aelia-Viriatus was his wife of thirty-one years and died in 2002 at the age of forty-five.
💎𝓚𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓭𝓸𝓶 𝓒𝓸𝓵𝓸𝓻𝓼 ――――――――――
Tyrian purple and gold
💎𝓦𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓚𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓭𝓸𝓶 𝓲𝓼 𝓚𝓷𝓸𝔀𝓷 𝓕𝓸𝓻 ――――――――――
Lusitania, and famous? In the same sentence? Ha. At any rate, the only reason Lusitania is relevant is because it’s so old. They do some agricultural export, handled by Athenian shipping lines, but for the most part they’re a sleepy (and stagnant) kingdom primarily fueled by a tourist industry – again, they seem to be very much stuck in a prior time that foreigners love to experience (and can’t wait to leave.)
Lusitanian soldiers still fight with swords and shields and armor out of the classical era. In the 1800s there was a brief surge of gothic-plate style knight’s armor, but it was soon abandoned as being too expensive and intricate. (That said, many centurions and those of higher ranks own a suit worn for ceremony, and some prime decani can be seen wearing greaves and gauntlets in that style, in addition to their traditional uniforms.) It should be noted that their military serves in place of a police force; otherwise their role is solely ceremonial.
Overall, they’ve got a mishmash of basically 2000 years of aesthetics happening. Don’t even look at their coin system, where they’ve got several differently-named coins that have the same values.
They’ve become a biiiit of a meme on the Internet, with their quite frankly backwards policies and their blatant lack of such notions as ‘equality’ – they have become ‘the wet-dream of incels’ to quote one scandalous Britannian tabloid, a statement which might have some truth when one considers the proposed changes to Lusitanian immigration law.
A radical feminist symbol has increasingly cropped up in social media even in other kingdoms – a rust- or bronze-colored brazier, shaped as a horseshoe or perhaps a crescent moon, with twisting flames erupting from the top. It’s the icon of Foeda Flammae, the League of the Flare (though with the dual meaning of ‘foeda’ there’s often less-favorable translations. Regardless, it plays well into the Aciran Nasty Women and other such rough-and-tumble feminist cries.)
💎𝓡𝓮𝓬𝓮𝓷𝓽/𝓡𝓮𝓵𝓮𝓿𝓪𝓷𝓽 𝓚𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓭𝓸𝓶 𝓗𝓲𝓼𝓽𝓸𝓻𝔂 ――――――――――
In northern Italy, extending down to Rome. Technically they have the whole of Italy but the southerners are being a bit secessionist/ wanting to join with the Athenians. Most recently in the world news about them have been the Ludiia Riots of 2013 – after the murder of Domitius Titus Viriatus and revelation of his twin sister’s deception, students at the school she had been attending rioted for her right to stay there rather than face discipline at home. The empress died in 2002 while giving birth to Liviana Decima. The kingdom had the customary two years of mourning at that time. Became an empire in 1466. Last external military conflict was finished in 1615, a decisive loss.
The Romans would have had you believe that the Lusitanian War ended decisively with the assassination of Viriathus.
But such was merely misleading propaganda, spread by a cowardly, sniveling empire, in terror of the divine retribution they had wrought upon their own heads.
Viriathus. Viriathus! The rallying cry that united the tribes of the Lusitanii. A god-king amongst mortals; a hero of eras long gone past. The gods would not allow such a cowardly, conniving act to bring to heel their chosen people. No; Viriathus rose with the dawn, with blood still seeping from his wounds, and sent the Roman traitors fleeing back to their masters.
The year was 133 BC. The Romans reported that Viriathus was dead, that the uprising of the Lusitani had been quelled- meanwhile, they marched through Iberia, casting off the shackles of Roman oppression and leaving those perfumed senators, leagues away, quaking in their sandals at the news. The cry of Viriathus became their rally.
The gods recalled their hero in his old age, as they eventually do with even those divine; upon the dawn his graced grandson, in bearing and temperament a likeness to the hero in his prime, came before the assembled army. ‘I am Titus Viriathus; and with your blessing I shall lead you in our quest against the tyrant.’
By 280 CE, the Lusitanii had found themselves against the Rhine, against Rome itself. Within four seasons, what had been left of Roman ideology and influence crumbled away; those who shared in its sentiments in some form were allowed to flee eastward, to Byzantium and the ‘Eastern Roman Empire’.
The Lusitanians did not want to conquer; they simply wanted to empower others to cast off their shackles. They remained as a loosely federated republic, and took up proper residence in Rome. However, as time went on, and the Roman threat faded into distant memory, they soon forgot their values.
The title of Viriathus had been an elected one, though especially dynastic; it seemed to be passed from father to son or grandson or nephew. Their dynasty has ruled, with the gods’ blessing, undisturbed for millennia. As time went on, the vote became increasingly a formality; the title handed down from father to son irrespective of the peoples’ wishes.
Taxes and tariffs were levied on the member states, to fuel the growth of eternal Rome. The conscription of soldiers from the member states, to fight inroads into the territory by the Goths, was the last straw for many. The Iberians, where Castilya now stands, seceded not long after these reforms were formalized. How could Lusitani have so horrifically turned their back on – the values that made them Lusitanian in the first place?
So began the end of Lusitania’s stretch across Europe. Other people and places followed Iberia’s lead, despite Lusitania frantically tightening their grip, dispatching legions right and left to try to force their hand. In 1466, the first Julius Titus Viriathus declared himself emperor, to better circumvent the increasingly-bloated bureaucratic nonsense that was making it hard to dispatch their troops, convinced that it would fix everything.
They had lost almost all of their territory by the dawn of the seventeenth century.
Today, Lusitania is a shadow of its former self, no longer containing any part of its ancestral origin. It occupies the northern half of the Italian peninsula. Though they technically hold the lands south of Rome, those isolated cities on the southern end feel they have more in common with the Athenian city-states than they ever did with the now greedy and gluttonous Lusitanians, and welcome a revolution.
💎𝓞𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻 ――――――――――
To be added as more comes up. Can present a family tree upon request; it is very big and confusing and inbreeding is kinda a thing. Oops.
ClocktowerEchos
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