#sifd

[lostchildofthenewworld]

Random but what happened to SIFD?

What happened to SifD you ask?

Lmao.

The Dorne fandom did not appreciate having a mirror held to them for the same shit they called out in R/Ls // Targ stans. You can find more posts tagged under “anti fandom” or “fandom critique” or “dorne fandom.”

Though the following year they tried their own event, which flopped. Very, very, very unfortunate and complete devastation to the nation lol. Let’s take a trip down memory lane!

[zombified-queer]

For Act 2 I'll be selecting the Mox deck starter.

[basilpaste]

Hey Basil, I'd love to see an interactiom of cannon Sif (before the time loops) with The Lamb, and just see how things deteriorate between the two

oh gosh i hadnt really thought about how canon sifd react to the saviors. or well i thought about how theyd react to nightmare and singular wish but no one else really.

uuuh. heres a very rough thing.

(You open your eyes and find yourself in a fancy looking cabin. Which is weird because you were at least... pretty sure you were in Dormont a second ago?)

(You must have been, right? You remember Mira nervously welcoming everyone to town. Tomorrow you were going to fight the King and hopefully save the country that she loved so much.)

(Or... did that already happen? Did you forget saving an entire country? You know you're a pretty forgetful person, but you don't think that you're that forgetful.)

(You look around the place. There's not really much here. No people. Are you... alone? You don't see any of your friends and they don't respond when you call out to them.)

(Your dagger is sitting on a table.)

(Except... that's not right. Your dagger is in your pocket. You can feel its weight.)

(Ooookay. Weird.)

(Having nothing else to do, you decide to check out the basement of this strange place. The door to the basement creaks open, revealing a staircase with a really fancy carpet. You slowly creep down the steps, only to hear a voice break the silence.)

The Lamb: Hello? Is someone there?...

(You hear your own voice.)

(Almost your own voice. It sounds like if you were pretending to be fancy. Like a typical damsel in distress)

"What."

(You fly down the rest of the stairs, hand on your dagger. When you reach the bottom of the steps you see... you.)

(But it's not you. It looks like you, but you're you! And his eye is too wide and his cloak is too fluffy and his features are all just a little bit too soft. They look like you but they're not. They're all wrong!!!)

The Lamb: Oh!! You... aren't my dashing knight. Who are you?

("Dashing knight"??? That makes you wrinkle your nose. That isn't something you'd ever call anyone. Which just proves that this person isn't you! They're just a poor imitation of you who doesn't really get what you are at all. You pull out your dagger. It glints in the torch light.)

"Who are you?" (You echo, pointing the blade at the chained stranger.) "What are you?"

(They frown. It looks more like a pout. Cute and sweet and almost childish. Your shoulders tense, grip on your dagger tightening.)

The Lamb: That's an easy question! It's something I've answered before! You can call me 'The Bright One'! Or just 'The Savior' is okay! Whatever works best for you, I don't want to be any trouble.

(This 'Savior' makes you feel... gross. They seem so yielding, like they'd just go with anything anyone told him to do. Are you like that? You don't want to be like that.)

(The Savior folds his hands on his lap, smiling up at you brightly as the chain binding him to the wall rattles.)

(That chain... it's so loose that it'd fall off if they made any attempt to remove it. Have they been trapped down here? Why hasn't he just taken off the shackle if he has?)

(You... don't trust this.)

"Why are you here?"

The Lamb: I dunno! I think my knight does, but he's not here so I can't really say! All I know is that last time, I had to kill him! And then I blinked and I was in chains again. But it's all so different this time...

("Last time?")

(WAIT. Did they just say he had to KILL his knight??? You take a guarded step back, brandishing your blade.)

The Lamb: My head feels so fuzzy... like it's full of cotton.

(Um.)

(The Savior looks up at you, eye pleading. They look so helpless. And so much like a messed up version of you. Is this what you look like to people? Meek and helpless?)

The Lamb: I'm so confused! My dashing knight isn't here to help me anymore. I can't get out of here without him!

(He tilts his head. You grimace.)

The Lamb: Could you help me get out of these chains?

(The worst part is that his sob story almost works on you. For a moment, you genuinely consider letting this weird copy out of their chains! But it must be a trick, right? Because they can escape literally any time! The chain isn't holding them there! They must just want you to get close.)

"No." (You say, suppressing the urge to run away.) "I'm not going to let you out when I don't even know why you're trapped."

(The Savior's eye wells with tears.)

(You hate their face. It makes you feel disgusting knowing that you could look like that. Disgusting, disgusting, disgusting.)

(You're scared.)

The Lamb: ... Why not? I just... I just want you to like me! Did I do something wrong? Act the wrong way?

(You don't understand.)

"What?"

The Lamb: Was being myself wrong? I can be someone else! If that'd make you like me!

(Something just... changed. They just changed. He looks even more wrong.)

(You take a step back. Your heel knocks into the base of the stairs.)

"I... I don't like you." (You say, barely above a whisper.) "I don't like you at all."

The Lamb: Let me try something else!!! I just want you to like me!

(No, no, no. He's changing again. You feel sick to your stomach.)

"I'm not going to like you!" (You shout.) "Not ever! You can't make you!"

(The Savior weeps.)

The Lamb: I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! I just want you to like me!!!

(you feel a tug on your stomach...

and )

(You dreamed of seeing your face reflected back at you in the mirror.)

[kitty-lemon]

if it's faloods vs roohafza i'm on your sifde

Right??!! Isn't falooda so good 😋

[polycharismas]

SIFD SNIIFF ANIFF SNORF

EEEEEEEEKKKKKKK IM BEING SNIFFED AND ANALYZED BY THE CREATURE

[x-amoromnibusidem]

with the help of dornish spears who infiltrate the red keep,  princess elia and her children escape to braavos,  where the newly elected sealord swears to protect them

Elia Martell Week prompt: essos

#SummerIsForDorne #EliaMartellWeek #EliaFests

[sayruq]

Sansa modern aus: She is airheaded and flawed compared to her siblings who knew world more than her, leave her loving family to pursue her ambitions only to be shattered by reality and unhealthy relationships(Joff,Harry, Ramsey), realised how selfish, cruel and vain she was, return to WF and apologies to everyone for taking them for granted, constantly berating herself, her siblings became experts in life and relationship, Marg(Jeyne who) is her best friend and sex expert, end up living in North

even fics set in canon are all like this

[dorneuniverse]

Sundragonsweek: Modern AU

[nocheiraia]

ELIA MARTELL: You are a star lady, you light up the lives of all

[starlitxmusings]

Moodboard: Elia - The Light of Hope.

A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away...

Centuries before the Saga of the Skywalkers, another embodied the hope of the Jedi.

Elia Martell had a hand full of titles throughout her lifetime.

Daughter of Tatoonie, Padawan, Jedi Healer, Master, Lightworker.

Yet the one that meant the most was : The Light of Hope. Gifted her by the citizens of what was eternally a war torn galaxy.

For it was not Doran's expert diplomacy nor Oberyn's mastery with a saber that brought such peace but Elia's proficiency in using the living force to heal the damage violence and greed had made.

[lostchildofthenewworld]

Any headcanons about genderbent Elia? (Or Elios in this case)

I’m pretty sure I answered this type of question before during SifD.

[sunontherhoyne]

allyria dayne headcanons

Allyria is around the same age as Arianne.

(Dornishwomen tend to marry later than women in other parts of Westeros, and her marriage to Beric was actually going to happen within the next few months when war broke out.)

Basically idolizes Ashara's memory, and they were as close as they could be before she died.

Actually looks a lot like Ashara, though with some differences (Allyria has brown eyes instead of purple, things like that.)

Does not like to think of Arthur. At all. As far as she's concerned, he's a traitor to their family and nation.

She was very close to her other older brother Allem, however.

Go look up the trope Lady of War, and that should give you a decent view of her character.

Badly wants to try claiming Dawn and be the next Sword of the Morning. She hasn't yet because she's held back by the knowledge of what Arthur did and the fact that she's supposed to marry outside of Dorne.

Genuinely likes Beric Dondarrion, and truly thinks that they could end up loving each other.

However, she's not exactly enthusiastic about marrying outside of Dorne- especially to a Marcher lord. She's never quite forgiven Allem for pushing the match even if she agreed to it.

Remembers enough about the Rebellion that she knows that Ashara never had a child. She's chosen not to think about it, and told Edric that they might have a nephew/cousin in the North to let him think they're not the only Daynes left.

Doesn't have as sharp of a tongue as Ashara did, but she has her moments. Mostly around their cousin Gerold, who hates visiting Starfall for this exact reason.

Loves embroidery and weaving.

[wintercameandwent]

A small token of thanks for the camaraderie I've found in the Dornish fandom. We might be small, but that's okay...quality over quantity is the way to go.

Welcome to Summer is for Dorne 2021!

[the-great-bbe]

The children shriek with laughter as the waves roll against their legs. The sweet sound melds with the crashing of the sea, of Mellario and Ellaria gossiping about their beloveds, of Rhaella sighing and relaxing for once. All is bright and golden and warm, save for their ice-cold goblets of sangria. Elia tilts her head back against her chair and smiles. Let those bastards keep that ugly ass throne, she has all she needs right here.

Or, the sangria beach party that Elia and her loved ones deserved. A short fic to start off Summer is for Dorne!

Among his many talents, Elia’s little brother is a master of mixing drinks.

He is a viper after all, and vipers know their poisons and how to mix them. Tequila from the agave blooming across the hillsides pairs perfectly with lime juice and distilled orange blossom nectar to make a margarita. Horchata foamy and fragrant with Summer Islander cinnamon can be elevated with sugarcane rum. And there’s nothing better on the gods’ green earth than red wine—proper Dornish sweetwine, not that diabetic piss from the Arbor—left to idle in icy splendor with strong brandy and fruit. Blood oranges, black strawberries, white nectarines, even a tart green apple or two. Their cousin Manfrey picked them all fresh from his private orchards near the Water Gardens just the day before. The bounty of Dorne for Dorne and Dornishmen alone.

A pitcher of his perfect sangria rests in a bucket full of ice slurry. Already her goblet is half empty, despite her efforts to sip and savor. It tastes so rich on her tongue much abused by dull Riverlands ale and Reacher wines. There are few blood oranges to be found north of the Boneway, even for a Princess of Dorne, and Elia feels the urge to inhale her drink. She sighs and rolls her shoulders. Just another sip for now. Summer explodes on her tongue, ripe and rich and such a dear welcome home.

Elia doesn’t remember the last time she was this happy. On Dragonstone it was a constant haze of sulfur and marine fog, and Kings Landing reeks from miles away. But here, on a long stretch of beach near Saltshore, the sun burns bright and delicious above the palm trees. Not a single cloud in the sapphire sky, nor any fog to mar the turquoise seas. Elia rolls her head back against her wicker chair. Perhaps later she’ll relocate to the hammock strung between two date palms and let the balmy sea breeze lull her and her children to sleep. But for now her precious Rhaenys plays in the surf with her cousins and Viserys, and dear Aegon builds a sandcastle with Oberyn’s help.

Instead of cowering from the Mad King’s rages and simmering with hatred towards her once husband, Elia lounges in the shade. Zinc paste is cloudy white on her shoulders, nose and ears to protect her from the strongest of the sun, just like the children. But the rest of her body is resplendent with shea butter and avocado oil. Thick aloe leaves already sticky with cooling sap wait in a basket by her feet in case she must ward away a sun burn, but her skin soaks up the midmorning sun like a child returning to her mother’s embrace. Gods, but the sun! She stretches her arms above her head and nearly knocks her wide brimmed hat aside. She swears she can feel the sunlight itself like warm silk through her fingers, like a waterfall down her chest to pool in her stomach and ignite joy in her veins.

She lets her gaze fall back towards the sea. When was the last time Rhaenys laughed this loudly? When was the last time Viserys laughed at all? Poor boy, but he, his mother and his baby sister are well in hand now. Targaryens by birth they may be, but the blood of Myriah Martell and Dyanna Dayne run sevenfold in their veins. Dorne shall never turn its back on any child no matter the color of their skin, and even from her shaded refuge Elia sees the freckles blooming across Viserys’s shoulders. Good; the more sun the better. Uncle Lewyn’s eldest daughter Obara throws him headlong into the waves and he shrieks with joy, while her little sister Nym and Doran’s Arianne demand their own toss into the surf. Rhaenys and Manfrey’s daughter Sarella help Lewyn’s Tyene search for shells and crabs, giggling and kicking seaweed at each other. When they find a proper shell, they bring it to Aegon and Oberyn who add it to their castle. Aegon blows a messy kiss onto Rhaenys’s cheek and Elia’s heart runs over with sweet warmth. Her babies, alive and well and happy.

It was a terribly close thing by the end of Robert’s Rebellion. Elia’s correspondence was cut off by Aerys in his paranoia, but she was able to smuggle out a letter to Oberyn when Rhaella left for Dragonstone. He returned with his sellswords to rescue them from their imprisonment, and not a moment sooner—Elia remembers how Kings Landing burned from her view on the ship home to Dorne. To think of what would’ve happened had they stayed…they say that Aerys was cut down by his own Kingsguard, and that the royal nursery was torn to shreds by the Mountain That Rides in search of children to kill.

Elia shudders. Perish the thought, banish it to the seven hells. Rhaegar is dead, and her children are Martells now. Even Rhaella forsook the Targaryen name when they alighted in Sunspear and she was hurried into proper birthing chambers. Daenerys came to the world not as a Targaryen princess but as a Lady Martell of Dorne, with Rhaella Martell the new Lady of Planky Town. Viserys and Aegon shall not give their lives to the Wall and Rhaenys shall not be chained to a Baratheon prince. Not if Westeros intends for Dorne to remain in the Seven Kingdoms, and truth be told Elia wonders if Doran intends to leave anyway. They entered into a kingdom with a union, and perhaps they shall leave with the sundering of one…

But that’s not what matters today. What matters is refilling her goblet. Elia raises it high, and Doran shuffles over with the pitcher. Her dear older brother is shirtless, stained with sand and salt, and there is a sweet flush to his cheeks. Even his bad leg seems fine with the therapy of burning sunlight illuminating their bones from the inside out. Mellario must certainly appreciate that! Her good sister lies on a spread linen sheet on the sands with Ellaria, Oberyn’s paramour. Both of them are bronze in the sun, a silk turban around Mellario’s head and Ellaria’s curls formed into twists down her back. And its’ said that Cersei Lannister is the most beautiful in Westeros, obviously people are blind. They look up at them with mischievous grins, before bumping their heads together and giggling. Elia smirks at Doran. “Careful now, habibi. I believe you’ll be ambushed later in the night and whisked away by a mystery woman.”

He laughs and his eyes crinkle at the edges. “I’ll be sure to not fight back too much.” He plops down next to her and sips at his lemon water. The maesters forbid him from alcohol and sugar until his gout is under control, a true tragedy in Elia’s eyes as the sangria is excellent. But even more excellent is seeing how happy her brother is. Gods, to imagine him mourning her and her babies as they did for uncle Lewyn, it’s a fate she would not wish on her loved ones. She intends to live to a hundred and twenty, just to ensure he’ll always smile at her with crinkled eyes.

Elia leans against his shoulder and peers out towards the cabana higher up towards the oasis grove. “Has Rhaella returned from Saltshore yet? Dany was giving the wet nurse a bit of a hard time.”

“Missed me, have you?” Rhaella, emerged from their cabana and the platters of fruit kept safe from the sea salt there, calls down to them. It’s been only a few months, and Rhaella is unrecognizable. Elia is glad to see the plump roundness of her stomach and thighs where before she was only skin and bone. And her skin, once as pale as parchment and twice as translucent, is as dark as her great-grandmother Dyanna. It glows against her silver-gold hair and lavender eyes, and there is happiness in her face where before there was only stifled fear.

Elia waves Rhaella over to the empty wicker chair by her side. Perhaps later, when the children sleep off their lunch and the adults are properly sauced from sangrias and margaritas, they’ll return to the cabana and lounge on the day beds. Maybe even one of the cabana boys—cabana men in truth, with their strong arms and backs—can give them all shoulder massages. Rhaella has a little favorite who is always eager to help his new lady relax. Elia raises her eyebrows at her good mother and she takes a long sip of her margarita. Elia is far from judging, as Rhaella deserves whatever happiness she can grasp.

They all do. How long have they all suffered these last years? Suffering Aerys, suffering Rhaegar, suffering the war that they wrought upon Westeros. Elia still remembers the screams from Rhaella’s chambers during their terrible stays in Kings Landing, she remembers the cold silences before Harrenhal and the even colder absences after. And now those men are dead and thousands with them. All over some Northern girl, and a prophecy that probably foretold the coming of the seasons than any promised prince!

Well, fuck them. Westeros has a new king now, in that stinking castle filled with blood and shit and ghosts, and the Baratheons and Lannisters can figure it out now. Let them have the starving smallfolk ready to rebel after a harsh winter. Let them have the honor of bartering away pieces of their souls until all that remains is bleeding pride. Let them have it all. All that matters to Dorne is the rice crop, and managing citrus exports, and the wellbeing of its people. Elia plans to build a new school for smallfolk children and petty gentry in Sunspear, as she is now Princess of Sunspear. More Martell branches for a blood orange tree to bear wondrous fruit. All beneath the sun, so bright in that perfect sky…

Elia sips her sangria. Oberyn and Aegon are finished with their sandcastle, and now he’s pulled out a guitar from somewhere and tries to teach his nephew how to play. Rhaenys perches on Obara’s shoulders and pretends to joust with Arianne who is on Viserys’s. Manfrey and his Summer Islander wife Bellegara Otherys finally finish up their romantic walk up and down the shore, with Bellegara joining Mellario and Ellaria’s whisper pile and Manfrey pulling Doran away to talk drunken business. Something about making a fleet of ships to rival Nymeria’s, and selling sweetwine to Sothoryos in exchange for coconut and date liquor. Elia giggles and can’t stop. Not with the sun so warm on her skin, not with Rhaella raising her goblet and toasting the coming summer.

It’s still winter north of the Red Mountains, but not here. No, summer is here for Dorne, and it is here to stay.

The children shriek with laughter as the waves roll against their legs. The sweet sound melds with the crashing of the sea, of Mellario and Ellaria gossiping about their beloveds, of Rhaella sighing and relaxing for once. All is bright and golden and warm, save for their ice-cold goblets of sangria. Elia tilts her head back against her chair and smiles.

Let those bastards keep that ugly ass throne, she has all she needs right here.

[ofthcsun]

Hi Guys!!!

@thesunsdragonsweek 's mini event starts TOMORROW!! Yay!! It's a four day mini event celebrating the children of Elia Martell; Rhaenys & Aegon.

Also don't forget that @elia-martell-creative-fest has their Elia Martell Fest scheduled to run from August 28th to August 31st!!!

@lostchildofthenewworld Summer is For Dorne event is still going strong as well, so head over to the tag to see all the amazing stuff that's been made thus far!!

[x-amoromnibusidem]

Elia and her siblings are a bit of an oddity, for their mother had not one, not two, but five children with the god of sunlight known as Apollo. 

Elia Martell Week prompt: crossover, percy jackson

#SummerIsForDorne #EliaMartellWeek #EliaFests