pinned

★

if i look back, i am lost
tumblr dot com
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
d e v o n

❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
Show & Tell

shark vs the universe
No title available
DEAR READER

pixel skylines
dirt enthusiast
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
No title available
Stranger Things

Kaledo Art
Mike Driver
trying on a metaphor
Today's Document

oozey mess

seen from Malaysia

seen from T1
seen from Malaysia

seen from Malaysia
seen from Côte d’Ivoire
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Australia

seen from Türkiye
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from Germany
seen from Türkiye
seen from Argentina
seen from Singapore
seen from Brazil
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States
@divineuncrowned
pinned
(@sacrificeds + @eclipt1cs + @traegedys + open for 0/3)
"Your move, my liege." She had played more games of cyvasse in the past few years than she thought possible, and she always started the sane. Aggressive, and ruthless, willing to sacrifice any piece for the greater good. A greater reliance on water than was probably advisable. She had a tinge of a headache behind her eyes, hence the jug of water on the table next to her, one she was steadily making her way through. "The morning after a celebration is always so peaceful. Never a better time for a game or two, while half the castle lays abed and regrets half the cups they downed." Never mind the fact that she had been that noble more than once or twice, she judged freely and with no shame in her hypocrisy.
Cyvasse kept her still during her formative years, one of the few things that could actually manage such a feat, much to her father's chagrin and relief. It meant he could corral her long enough to settle and focus on something other than ruffling every feather in Blackhaven, but it also meant he too remained seated across from her until she played enough games to allow the restlessness to seep in again. Time afforded her skill and patience, something she showed now even as a headache thundered behind her eyes. Her own jug of water mirrored Gysella's, currently abandoned in favor of focus but no less drained.
"Mm," she hummed in response, light eyes flitting around the board as she mapped her options. Orianne had been one of those nobles, though thankfully she'd managed to escape the evening without a currently visible bruise or bite. Contrary to her opponent and perhaps surprising given her demeanor, she moved her pieces precisely and with great forethought, eventually moving a lapis piece after great consideration. "I certainly don't regret the cups--" she said, then winced at the sharp sound of a distant barking dog. "--for the most part," she amended, then sighed and straightened. "An invitation to a gala at the keep is never dull, however."
tag: @traegedys / visenya
Sharp eyes and a sharper mind made quick note of the little entourage that gathered and followed conspicuously the second the eldest Martell stepped foot outside the keep, eager to leave the stress of the evening behind and utterly destroyed to discover it followed her as a white-cloaked shadow. The message was clear: you are not trusted, and you will remain in sight. She abandoned the endeavor almost immediately, the anxiety of a high-profile, heavy-handed guard outweighing the deeply-seated need to decompress. Once she returned to the keep, her following thinned to one guard now almost lazily following her, his steps distant and casual until they vanished entirely as she made her way into a courtyard garden, quiet enough to suit her needs for the time being.
The peace didn't last, however. Sabriye nearly lost herself in watching one a crownlands hummingbird flit delicately from flower to flower when steps drew her attention. At the sight of the Targaryen princess, tension crept into her posture again, shoulders raising as her features drew tightly for a moment before she schooled her expression to something more neutral. They'd been friendly for some time despite the razor-wire tension between their families, but the weight of the crown's hand on Sabriye's shoulder soured those memories somewhat.
"Hummingbirds here are different," she said by way of a greeting, dark eyes sliding to the colorful little bird feet away. She didn't meet Visenya's gaze. "More colorful."
"So few of them have met us, who could be certain?" It requires every ounce of what minuscule decorum she possesses to withhold the chortle that threatens to emerge. No one in their truest mind would ever inquire about the youngest Martell's hand in either courtship or marriage. Her reputation and generally unserious demeanor are both more than adequate when staving off legitimate suitors. "I'm sure you only spoke the kindest words about your sister."
Pivoting towards the crowd, she leans in to Sabriye and mutters conspiratorially, "Look at them all. They dress in silk and gold, smile like septons, and lie like snakes." A beat of consideration. "My sincerest apologies to snakes."
The truth of her words earns Selin a noncommittal hum in response, though Sabriye's dark eyes remain focused on her younger sibling. That was the truth of it, really; the northern nobility gave the Dornish houses wide berth, and none so much space as the Martells themselves. It made tentative flirtations and even overt inquiries as to her marital status sour immediately--no one ever seemed to care about her, simply what she represented, what sort of power a match might buy.
"I always speak of you kindly," she said finally, meeting her sister's playful sarcasm with her particular brand of blunt earnestness. Her own head tips slightly towards Selin's, a mirror of her sister's movement, and she grins into her drink as she sips again. "Well, gold is an obligate color for the evening," she teased, tiny grin broadening in a rare display of true mirth. "Despite the too much..." She trailed off, grimacing briefly before she gestured with her free hand. "...everything, I do enjoy watching them. It's like a game." Again she paused, then gestured with a tip of her head towards a sweaty, balding man dripping in a particularly tacky display of wealth. "Do you think he's compensating for something?"
@divineuncrowned
" The bells rang long in a kings old keep, a chime for dawn, a dragons sleep - blood of flame, a child of dawn ... Hmm. " He murmurs prose in his cups, tranquil beside the eldest's side and turns with a smile as he grabs a fresh goblet to pour tonight's offerings into; he wasn't much for drinking, but graciously, he would not deprive his sister of her enjoyments. He holds it out for Lady Orianne, head quirked, " is it not quite perfect ? All this, I mean. "
Orianne listened with a look of gentle amusement to the string of words murmured into a goblet, light eyes on the glittering crowd of nobility before them. These were the sort of events she lived for--enough wine to fill the Trident, the pulse of energy that came with so many of them gathered in one place, the stories--all of them charged her as though a cat in a sunbeam. Only when her younger brother pressed a drink into her hands did her gaze shift to him, her grin broadening from one of contentment to outright sunny joy. "Very nearly," she agreed as she took a sip. "Admittedly a little dull thus far," she added a moment later with a playful wiggle of her eyebrows. "You don't seem too out of your element, though."
CLOSED for: @divineuncrowned
Parting from her sister amidst a Dornish party was rather common, if not expected, considering Selin’s proclivity for socializing and merriment. In this nest of vipers, however? It seemed a grander feat, the boldest of undertakings for a princess who so rarely left their southern shores. "One of the nobility addressed me as you,” she mutters teasingly upon returning to Sabriye’s side. "Fear not, I made no efforts to convince them otherwise and my impression of you was rather well done. You’re now betrothed to someone from The Reach.” Tapping a finger against her lips, she feigns confusion about this nonexistent scenario. “Or was it The Riverlands?”
Too loud, too many people. Dorne so rarely hosted events of this magnitude, given the long history of their open distaste for their Targaryen rulers, and so this... this was a bit much. To make matters worse, Selin evaporated from her side nearly the moment they arrived, leaving Sabriye to fend for herself among nobles whose idle banter and simpering attitudes she had excruciatingly little patience for. Just when she thought she might slip out and onto a balcony, Selin materialized at her hip again. Listening, Sabriye took a long, measured sip from her goblet, dark eyes assessing over the rim. After a long pause, she shook her head minutely and exhaled a long-held breath.
"You're too short, that would never happen," she deadpanned, as though that were the only reason reason for the scenario's implausibility. "Someone from the Riverlands did ask me about you, however," she returned, expression still flat.
࣪ᰋ𓈒 ֶָ 𝑤𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑜𝑠𝒕𝒗 ⁝ hazal filiz küçükköse, 35, cis woman, she/her. announcing the arrival of SABRIYE of house MARTELL, the PRINCESS of SUNSPEAR. whispers among the court name them to be both OBSERVANT and ALOOF in disposition, and those closest to them speak to their interests in astronomy and falconry. If we bards could compose a song for them, it might tell stories of a sea of star strewn across an endless field of midnight ; cool sand under bare feet ; the sting of an eagle’s talons where they bite through leather ; the ill-at-ease feeling of being closely watched ; dusk fading to night and the sigh of relief as the sun takes the desert heat with it. the seven whisper to their most devout queen as she sleeps, making her question where their loyalties truly lie. are they right to whisper? for their thoughts have lingered close to treasonous of late.
࣪ᰋ𓈒 ֶָ 𝑤𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑜𝑠𝒕𝒗 ⁝ kathryn hahn, 46, cis woman, she/her. announcing the arrival of ORIANNE of house DONDARRION, the LADY of BLACKHAVEN. whispers among the court name them to be both PASSIONATE and OBSTINATE in disposition, and those closest to them speak to their interests in writing. If we bards could compose a song for them, it might tell stories of humid summer nights ; storms rolling over the plains ; ink-stained fingertips ; golden sunbeams strewn across stone floors ; tangled braids in a horse’s mane. the seven whisper to their most devout queen as she sleeps, making her question where their loyalties truly lie. are they right to whisper? for their thoughts have lingered close to treasonous of late.
Behind the scenes of Kathryn Hahn at the "The Studio" Premiere at SXSW
📸 marcusrfrancis
HAZAL FILIZ KÜÇÜKKÖSE BIR PERI MASALI | 2. BÖLÜM