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.

[hider=Livi Viriatus]
[center][h2][color=F2AED3]Liviana Viriatus of Lusitania[/color][/h2]
[img]https://i.imgur.com/cTPNRbe.png[/img] 

[color=F2AED3][i]"Every new beginning comes from some beginning’s end."[/i] -[b]Seneca[/b][/color][/center] 

[color=F2AED3][b]💎𝓝𝓪𝓶𝓮[/b] 
――――――――――[/color] [INDENT]Liviana ‘Livi’ Decima Viriatus[/INDENT] 

[color=F2AED3][b]💎𝓣𝓲𝓽𝓵𝓮[/b] 
――――――――――[/color] [INDENT]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.[/INDENT]

[color=F2AED3][b]💎𝓐𝓰𝓮[/b] 
――――――――――[/color] [INDENT]Sixteen (Born March 15, 2002)[/INDENT] 

[color=F2AED3][b]💎𝓖𝓮𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻[/b] 
――――――――――[/color] [INDENT]Female[/INDENT] 

[color=F2AED3][b]💎𝓢𝓮𝔁𝓾𝓪𝓵𝓲𝓽𝔂[/b] 
――――――――――[/color] [INDENT]Asexual[/INDENT] 

[color=F2AED3][b]💎𝓐𝓹𝓹𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓬𝓮[/b] 
――――――――――[/color] [INDENT] 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. [/INDENT] 

[color=F2AED3][b]💎𝓟𝓮𝓻𝓼𝓸𝓷𝓪𝓵𝓲𝓽𝔂[/b] 
――――――――――[/color] [INDENT] 
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. [/INDENT] 

[color=F2AED3][b]💎𝓛𝓲𝓴𝓮𝓼 + 𝓓𝓲𝓼𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮𝓼[/b] 
――――――――――[/color] [INDENT] 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.[/INDENT] 

[color=F2AED3][b]💎𝓑𝓲𝓸𝓰𝓻𝓪𝓹𝓱𝔂[/b]
 ――――――――――[/color] [INDENT] 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.[/INDENT] 

[color=F2AED3][b]💎𝓕𝓒 + 𝓒𝓸𝓵𝓸𝓻 𝓒𝓸𝓭𝓮[/b] 
――――――――――[/color] [INDENT]Code: F2AED3 | FC: Jodelle Ferland[/INDENT] 

[color=f2aed3][b]💎𝓣𝓱𝓮𝓶𝓮 𝓢𝓸𝓷𝓰[/b] 
――――――――――[/color] [INDENT][url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PS_B7RmNjd0]Invisible Ink - Mandy Moore[/url]
[sub][i]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...
[/i][/sub][/INDENT] 

[color=F2AED3][b]💎𝓑𝓮𝓽𝓻𝓸𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓭 𝓣𝓸[/b] 
――――――――――[/color] [INDENT]N/A[/INDENT] 

[color=F2AED3][b]💎𝓞𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻[/b] 
――――――――――[/color] [INDENT][url=https://www.pinterest.com/aj4774/liviana-traianus-wrc/]Aesthetic board here.[/url]
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 '[i]that[/i] (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 [i]politely[/i] 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.
[/INDENT] 
[/hider]
[hider=Dom Viriatus]
[center][h2][color=c2e2a7]Domitia Viriatus of Lusitania[/color][/h2]
[img]https://i.imgur.com/s4cZHUT.png[/img]

[color=c2e2a7][i]"I am too intelligent, too demanding, and too resourceful for anyone to take charge of me."[/i] -[b]Simone de Beauvoir[/b][/color][/center] 

[color=c2e2a7][b]💎𝓝𝓪𝓶𝓮[/b] 
――――――――――[/color] [INDENT] Domitia ‘Dom’ Annia Viriatus[/INDENT] 

[color=c2e2a7][b]💎𝓣𝓲𝓽𝓵𝓮[/b] 
――――――――――[/color] [INDENT] 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.[/INDENT]

[color=c2e2a7][b]💎𝓐𝓰𝓮[/b] 
――――――――――[/color] [INDENT]18 (Born September 15, 1999)[/INDENT] 

[color=c2e2a7][b]💎𝓖𝓮𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻[/b] 
――――――――――[/color] [INDENT]Nonbinary (prefers ‘they’ pronouns)[/INDENT] 

[color=c2e2a7][b]💎𝓢𝓮𝔁𝓾𝓪𝓵𝓲𝓽𝔂[/b] 
――――――――――[/color] [INDENT]Aaaaa?![/INDENT] 

[color=c2e2a7][b]💎𝓐𝓹𝓹𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓬𝓮[/b] 
――――――――――[/color] [INDENT]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.[/INDENT] 

[color=c2e2a7][b]💎𝓟𝓮𝓻𝓼𝓸𝓷𝓪𝓵𝓲𝓽𝔂[/b] 
――――――――――[/color] [INDENT]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 [i]surviving[/i] - 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.[/INDENT] 

[color=c2e2a7][b]💎𝓛𝓲𝓴𝓮𝓼 + 𝓓𝓲𝓼𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮𝓼[/b] 
――――――――――[/color] [INDENT]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.[/INDENT] 

[color=c2e2a7][b]💎𝓑𝓲𝓸𝓰𝓻𝓪𝓹𝓱𝔂[/b]
 ――――――――――[/color] [INDENT]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.

[hider=trigger warnings within]
(TW for implication of sexual violence)
.
.
.
.
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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.’[/hider] 

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. [i]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.[/i]

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 [i]name[/i]and 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. 
[hider=tw again sorry]
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.[/hider]

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?
[/INDENT] 

[color=c2e2a7][b]💎𝓕𝓒 + 𝓒𝓸𝓵𝓸𝓻 𝓒𝓸𝓭𝓮[/b] 
――――――――――[/color] [INDENT]Color Code: c2e2a7 | Faceclaim: Alba Galocha[/INDENT] 

[color=c2e2a7][b]💎𝓣𝓱𝓮𝓶𝓮 𝓢𝓸𝓷𝓰[/b] 
――――――――――[/color] [INDENT][url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fmI_Ndrxy14]Warriors - Imagine Dragons[/url]
[sub][i]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![/i][/sub][/INDENT] 

[color=c2e2a7][b]💎𝓑𝓮𝓽𝓻𝓸𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓭 𝓣𝓸[/b] 
――――――――――[/color] [INDENT]Edwin Drakewine of Britannia[/INDENT] 

[color=c2e2a7][b]💎𝓞𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻[/b] 
――――――――――[/color] [INDENT]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.[/INDENT] 
[/hider]
[hider=Anton Telesphorides]
[center][h2][color=F2E9AC]Andronikos Telesphorides of the Athenian Federation[/color][/h2]
[img]https://i.imgur.com/6qqu2zI.png[/img]

[color=F2E9AC][i]"There is nothing permanent except change."[/i] -[b]Heraclitus[/b][/color][/center] 

[color=F2E9AC][b]💎𝓝𝓪𝓶𝓮[/b] 
――――――――――[/color] [INDENT]Andronikos ‘Anton’ Loukianos Telesphorides[/INDENT] 

[color=F2E9AC][b]💎𝓣𝓲𝓽𝓵𝓮[/b] 
――――――――――[/color] [INDENT]Prince[/INDENT]

[color=F2E9AC][b]💎𝓐𝓰𝓮[/b] 
――――――――――[/color] [INDENT]Twenty-three (born 25 May 1995)[/INDENT] 

[color=F2E9AC][b]💎𝓖𝓮𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻[/b] 
――――――――――[/color] [INDENT]Male [/INDENT] 

[color=F2E9AC][b]💎𝓢𝓮𝔁𝓾𝓪𝓵𝓲𝓽𝔂[/b] 
――――――――――[/color] [INDENT]At least bi, if not fully gay.[/INDENT] 

[color=F2E9AC][b]💎𝓐𝓹𝓹𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓬𝓮[/b] 
――――――――――[/color] [INDENT] 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. [/INDENT] 

[color=F2E9AC][b]💎𝓟𝓮𝓻𝓼𝓸𝓷𝓪𝓵𝓲𝓽𝔂[/b] 
――――――――――[/color] [INDENT] 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. [/INDENT] 

[color=F2E9AC][b]💎𝓛𝓲𝓴𝓮𝓼 + 𝓓𝓲𝓼𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮𝓼[/b] 
――――――――――[/color] [INDENT] 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.)[/INDENT] 

[color=F2E9AC][b]💎𝓑𝓲𝓸𝓰𝓻𝓪𝓹𝓱𝔂[/b]
――――――――――[/color] [INDENT] 
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. [/INDENT] 

[color=F2E9AC][b]💎𝓕𝓒 + 𝓒𝓸𝓵𝓸𝓻 𝓒𝓸𝓭𝓮[/b] 
――――――――――[/color] [INDENT]Color code: F2E9AC | FC: Cameron Boyce[/INDENT] 

[color=F2E9AC][b]💎𝓑𝓮𝓽𝓻𝓸𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓭 𝓣𝓸[/b] 
――――――――――[/color] [INDENT]N/A yet![/INDENT] 

[color=F2E9AC][b]💎𝓞𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻[/b] 
――――――――――[/color] [INDENT]Aesthetic to be added later! [/INDENT] 
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[hr][hr]
[hider=Lusitania][center][h2][color=992777]The Empire of Lusitania[/color][/h2][/center]

[color=992777][b]💎𝓚𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓭𝓸𝓶 𝓝𝓪𝓶𝓮[/b] 
――――――――――[/color]
Commonly called simply ‘Lusitania’[INDENT][/INDENT] 

[color=992777][b]💎𝓚𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓠𝓾𝓮𝓮𝓷[/b] 
――――――――――[/color] [INDENT]Julius Titus Viriatus is the reigning [i]Viriathus[/i], 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. [/INDENT]

[color=992777][b]💎𝓚𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓭𝓸𝓶 𝓒𝓸𝓵𝓸𝓻𝓼[/b] 
――――――――――[/color] [INDENT]Tyrian purple and gold[/INDENT]

[color=992777][b]💎𝓦𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓚𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓭𝓸𝓶 𝓲𝓼 𝓚𝓷𝓸𝔀𝓷 𝓕𝓸𝓻[/b] 
――――――――――[/color] [INDENT]Lusitania, and famous? In the same sentence? Ha. At any rate, the only reason Lusitania is relevant is because it’s so [i]old[/i]. 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 [i]Nasty Women[/i] and other such rough-and-tumble feminist cries.)[/INDENT]

[color=992777][b]💎𝓡𝓮𝓬𝓮𝓷𝓽/𝓡𝓮𝓵𝓮𝓿𝓪𝓷𝓽 𝓚𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓭𝓸𝓶 𝓗𝓲𝓼𝓽𝓸𝓻𝔂[/b] 
――――――――――[/color] [INDENT]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.

[hider=Excessively Rambly History]
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[i] Viriathus[/i] 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.
[/hider]
 [/INDENT]

[color=992777][b]💎𝓞𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻[/b] 
――――――――――[/color] [INDENT]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.[/INDENT] 
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