sorry i disappeared i’ve been in the middle of moving, i hope you’ve all had a nice week ( or two )
Misplaced Lens Cap
Xuebing Du
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
One Nice Bug Per Day
Keni
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
NASA
wallacepolsom
Today's Document
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
noise dept.

roma★

JBB: An Artblog!
will byers stan first human second
art blog(derogatory)
No title available
DEAR READER

JVL
No title available
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her

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@redvipier
sorry i disappeared i’ve been in the middle of moving, i hope you’ve all had a nice week ( or two )
What is called a reason for living is also an excellent reason for dying.
Albert Camus, The Myth of Sisyphus and Other Essays (via the-book-diaries)
𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔. So why does the Lord of Light keep bringing you back? I’ve met better men than you, and they’ve been hanged from crossbeams, or beheaded, or just shat themselves to death in a field somewhere. None of them came back. So, why you?
𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊 𝐈 𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐀𝐒𝐊 𝐌𝐘𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓?
[ laces ] 👀
* 𝙽𝙾𝙽-𝚂𝙴𝚇𝚄𝙰𝙻 𝙰𝙲𝚃𝚂 𝙾𝙵 𝙳𝙾𝙼𝙸𝙽𝙰𝙽𝙲𝙴 : 𝙾𝙿𝙴𝙽
he would not have noticed the viper slithering by his chambers had it not been for the gentle desert breeze . she had brushed her lazy fingers over the wind chimes hanging by his door and caused the piper to turn his head . instead of being met with the shimmering reflection of sunlight upon silver bells , ufran was instead face to face with none other than oberyn martell . dark gazes were locked for a short moment of sheer surprise before melting into something warm and familiar . it had been TOO LONG since their last meeting . long enough for ufran to notice the lines which had started to form on the corners of the prince’s eyes and the small buds of silver which had bloomed upon the other man’s head . the desert piper tilted his head while gazing up at him , clearly happy to see him . HAD HE ALWAYS BEEN THIS SHARP ? there was barely anything left of the boy he had met . he who had raced him through the water gardens and always managed to climb the highest branches of the highest trees . his cheeks had been fuller then . his eyes wider . his arms had punched his stomach almost as hard as they had wrapped around him after . oberyn , old friend ━━ YOU LOOK SO DIFFERENT .
the prince’s hands reached over to grab the fine blue silk surrounding ufran’s waist . the musician had just begun to tie it before being interrupted by this unexpected visitor . he kept his hands stubbornly still in order to allow his heavily ringed fingers to touch oberyn’s . let the prince peel them off the piece of cloth if he wants . make him feel his skin over ufran’s even if only for a moment . ufran sand was just a man , after all ; HE TOO WANTED THE SUN OF DORNE TO TOUCH HIM . the piper searched for their old familiarity there , under his palm . and he found it in the nonchalant way oberyn swatted his hand away . and the bastard complied with a small chuckle , letting both arms fall to his sides in an overly-dramatic manner . he quietly watched as the other man tugged at the expensive fabric , knotting it with a quick movement . not like ufran would have done but how he would be sure to wear for the rest of the day . the piper arched a puzzled eyebrow . ❛ has your trip here left you weary ? ❜ ufran asked , dark brown eyes lifting to examine the other man’s face . although his lips didn’t move there was a hint of a smile in his stare . ❛ because i recall you having a stronger grip . ❜
❝ Please speak up! I cannot hear you over your outfit! ❞
𝗱𝗿𝗮𝗴𝗼𝗻 𝗮𝗴𝗲: 𝗶𝗻𝗾𝘂𝗶𝘀𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 ⇀ accepting
𝚘𝚏 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎 𝚑𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚎. in his rigid, targaryen garb. bold reds and greys and blacks, silver - detailed. sharp, padded, ribbed. his clothes are adorned with brocades, scales, a heavy cape hangs over one shoulder — 𝑨𝑺 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑷𝑹𝑰𝑵𝑪𝑬 𝑳𝑶𝑶𝑲𝑺 𝑫𝑶𝑾𝑵 𝑼𝑷𝑶𝑵 𝑯𝑰𝑴𝑺𝑬𝑳𝑭 𝑯𝑬 𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑳𝑰𝒁𝑬𝑺 𝑯𝑶𝑾 𝑭𝑶𝑹𝑬𝑰𝑮𝑵 𝑯𝑬 𝑳𝑶𝑶𝑲𝑺. he’s only just arrived in dorne with his mother and sister. he’ll change into something more suitable in due time no doubt. aegon begins to laugh, humored and in good - spirits.
❝ uncle! ❞ he shouts, teasing. 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚕𝚘𝚢𝚊𝚕𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚜 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍. though aegon may not have spent much time with the dornish side of his family, he has always heard his mother speak well of her brother, oberyn — it’s as if the prince knows him intimately, at this point. 𝑯𝑬 𝑰𝑺 𝑾𝑨𝑹𝑴𝑬𝑫 𝑩𝒀 𝑭𝑨𝑴𝑰𝑳𝑰𝑨𝑹𝑰𝑻𝒀 𝑨𝑵𝑫 𝑲𝑰𝑵𝑺𝑯𝑰𝑷, and feels safe in the presence of his family. enough to smile and laugh. a side which is so often kept a secret to himself. ❝ ah, you’re right. i look too austere in these colors, don’t i? ❞
* / CONTINUED FROM HERE ! @targreign
𝙸𝙽𝙲𝚁𝙴𝙳𝚄𝙻𝙸𝚃𝚈 𝚂𝙴𝚃𝚃𝙻𝙴𝚂 𝙾𝚅𝙴𝚁 𝙵𝙴𝙰𝚃𝚄𝚁𝙴𝚂 / warm familiar affection softens the surprise. his nephew , his blood , the targaryens speak of blood and fire and yet oberyn feels a blooming warmth in his chest , a sun rising over the crest of the horizon. “ THE COLORS ? i’d like to hug my young nephew , but i can’t seem to find him ! i thought i was the viper but it seems elia has brought a dragon home to brood. “ sure steps echo in the great halls of this place , open , lush with green life found rarely in the wilting heat of the desert. his smile is bright , his arms outspread in welcome , his DEAR FAMILY RETURNED to the sun they should know.
as he draws near hand reaches out , flicks a scale on the line of his clothing , the heavy brocade of his fabric. “ the desert must have been kind , for you to make it all this way unscorched. “ his hand settles , firm on aegon’s shoulder. smile , fierce. “ welcome home. “
if i made a verse where oberyn was killed by the mountain in trial by combat but was resurrected by the seven would anyone be interested ?
oberyn feels no shame about the number of children he has sired, why would he ? bastards aren’t ill treated in dorne, a night of passion that leads to the creation of life is a beautiful thing, and no matter, he protects his own. always has and always will.
oberyn martell is a proud father, he’s always been a proud father, each child is a marvel to him, each smile is treasured and he wants nothing more than to protect his children, even as he knows the best defense is to teach them to protect themselves.
in that vein oberyn trains each of his daughters in the fighting arts, how they choose to act and who they choose to bed means little to him as long as they’re not swanning about thirsty for blood. in the beginning he teaches them each his chosen weapon, the spear, he uses it to balance the foundation of their skills.
he leads morning meditation when he’s at home in dorne, should any of his daughters, should ellaria join, it brings a smile to his face, he used to, physical meditation, the art of keeping count and breath through movement, through the timing of muscle memory, allowing your mind become blank and serene while in the midst of action.
and because this is an oberyn headcanon and he literally can’t avoid mentioning his sister. he definitely prefers women who can defend themselves, whether with tongue or hand, he definitely trained his daughters in the hopes that they’d be able to protect themselves in case he can’t.
he wants to be wanted, to be loved and to have a place in each of their lives but as much as he appreciates that he doesn’t want to be needed. he hopes that his daughters have the strength to stand on their own, without the shadow of the viper looming.
he’s always been rough on them, he holds them accountable for their actions, he personally trained them, he pushed them to their limits, he was a harsh and demanding teacher, because their enemies would not hesitate and so he must not, though he’d been free with his praise as well. free with his gentility, free with his affections, he strived to make each of them know they are loved and seen and known.
oberyn loves his daughters. oberyn loves his daughters. oberyn loves his daughters. oberyn loves his daughters. oberyn loves his daughters. oberyn loves his daughters. oberyn loves his daughters. oberyn loves his daughters.
Drink the ’ respect female muses, ocs and older muses ’ juice or die by my blade .
“I have loved, I have burned brighter than a thousand flames,”
— Louise Labé, tr. by Judith Thurman, featured in “I Became Alone; Five Women Poets,”
Could you please reblog this if it is okay to ask you straight up if you want to ship?
SENTENCE MEME ⟶ HOZIER / WASTELAND, BABY! always feel free to tweak the sentence to fit your muse.
“The fear of fellow man is mere assignment.”
“The same kind of music haunts her bedroom.”
“I’m almost me again, and she’s almost you.”
“I wouldn’t know where to start.”
“Don’t ruin this on me.”
“Tell me who, and I’ll thank them for it.”
“I laugh like me again, and she laughs like you.”
“I still watch you when you’re grooving.”
“As if through water from the bottom of pool, you’re moving without moving.”
“You are a call to motion.”
“I could never define all that you are to me.”
“You are the rite of movement.”
“I can recall something that’s gone from me.”
“I’m put in awe of something so flawed and free.”
“Move me, like you’ve nothing left to prove and nothing to lose.”
“You’re an odd sight come out at night.”
“What a waste to say the heart could feel apart or feel complete.”
“It’s the screaming, heaving fuckery of the world.”
“All things come from nothing.”
“My heart is thrilled by the still of your hand.”
“The harder the rain, the sweeter the sun.”
“I’ll be your man if you’ve got love to get done.”
“There will be darkness again.”
“Your secret is safe with me.”
“I shouldn’t hope to know, but here I stand.”
“It’s gin o’clock.”
“I think about you everywhere I go.”
“I’ve had no love like your love.”
“I’d be appalled if I ever saw you try to be a saint.”
“I wouldn’t fall for someone I thought couldn’t misbehave.”
“Why should we deny the truth?”
“We could have less to worry about.”
“I won’t lie to you.”
“Remember when you’d sing, just for the fuck of it?”
“The look of it was as sweet as the sound.”
“You put your emptiness to melody.”
“My heart is screaming.”
“Whatever here is left of me is yours.”
“Your love was unmoved.”
“Make your good love known to me, or just tell me about your day.”
“The nights were as dark as my baby, and half as beautiful too.”
“I couldn’t utter my love when it counted.”
“I couldn’t whisper when you needed it, and I shouted.”
“Remember me, when I’m reborn as the shrike to your sharp and glorious thorn.”
“All of my goodness is going with you now.”
“I’m flying like a bird to you now.”
“I was housed by your warmth.”
“I was transformed by your grounded and giving.”
“I’d be the choiceless hope in grief.”
“Imagine being loved by me.”
“I’ve got in my mind now, all the things I would do.”
“I’ll try to talk refined for fear that you find out how I’m imagining you.”
“I’d be the last shred of truth in the myth of true love.”
“Be as you’ve always been.”
“Be the love that discovered the sin that freed the first man.”
“Be love in its disrepute.”
“I’d suffer hell if you’d tell me what you’d do to me tonight.”
“This is the kind of love I’ve been dreaming of.”
“Let there be hotel complaints and grievances raised.”
“Let there be damage ensues and tabloid news.”
“You’re good to me, baby.”
“With the roar of the fire, my heart rose to its feet.”
“It settles soft and as pure as snow.”
“I feel in love with the fire long ago.”
“With each love I cut loose, I was never the same.”
“Your love is sunlight.”
“The tale is the same, told before and told again.”
“All that was shown to me was something foreknown to me.”
“Each day you rise to me, know that I would gladly be the Icarus to your certainty.”
“All the fear and fire of the end of the world happens each time a boy falls in love with a girl.”
“Wasteland, baby, I’m in love with you.”
“Be still, my undelible friend, you are unbreaking.”
“I love, too, a love that soon might end.”
“It’s the start of all things that are left to do.”
an old septon once claimed I was LIVING PROOF of the goodness of the gods. why, if the gods were cruel, they would have made me my mother’s firstborn, and doran her third. I AM A BLOODTHIRSTY MAN, YOU SEE. and it is me you must contend with now, not my patient, prudent, and gouty brother.
the TARGARYANS talk of fire and blood. in dorne, OUR BLOOD IS FIRE.
personals do not interact.
catelyn stark ( née tully ): daughter of rivers , wife of winter , mother of wolves deserved better.
Dorne Week || Favorite Dornish Woman ↳ Ellaria Sand
sisterofthousands:
@redvipier
“i forget how the rest of the world is, sometimes,” she states with a loose shrug, thick hair tumbling over sun-kissed shoulders, “how it is in every place but dorne. i remember when they stare, of course, and whisper behind their fat hands as i pass.” it digs under her skin more than ellaria would like, to be looked at with such scorn, but her nails press tightly into the palms of her hands and she reminds herself their opinions are not worth so many as the dirt beneath her sandals. they are weak, these people, and cowardly, blinded by the bright sun of dorne.
let them blinded then, if they decide not to cast their gazes aside.
hands move to his shoulders, resting there as if upon an anchor as her voice softens. “many men would not bring me here, sit aside me as an equal, but i have never known to you be as many men. there is only you and a world of lesser men.”
𝙷𝙰𝙽𝙳𝚂 , 𝚂𝚄𝚁𝙴 , 𝚃𝙴𝙽𝙳𝙴𝚁 / reach for her , the desire to envelope , shield. HE IS THE VIPER , his protection has always been sharp toothed and sharper tongued. she has no need of that , her fangs dig just as deep. she has always been hard edged , cutting , the harsh line of her hips the curve of her jaw , her mouth spitting poison or praise. arms encircle the sweet dip of her waist , press into the dark curtain of her hair , plunge through black waves , thumbs soothe over the crest of bone , the warm press of flesh , so close and aching that there is little room for even the bright sun to pass by. TO BE SO BLIND. to look at the flowers of the desert , seething , blooming as if they were lesser. he would never understand the north.
his smile is soft , unyielding in it’s affection , TURNING HIS FACE TO THE SUN , letting the shadows fall behind him. the whispers and turned faces , the lifted hands. oberyn martell had learned what pride had wrought , the dangers of perceived power. how fearful , how frightening. TO LOVE SOMETHING THAT DEATH CAN TOUCH. let their soft bodies shelter black hearts. he would drown in her rather than be without. “ if i was a lesser man you would not be with me. dorne or no. forget them. they’re not a weight worth carrying. “
[ open ] *tips fedora* m'lordy
* / ACTS OF DOMINANCE / NOT ACCEPTING ! @desertio
𝙸𝚃 𝙸𝚂 𝙽𝙾 𝙶𝚁𝙴𝙰𝚃 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙶 / the twisting motions of friendly affection , it is a castle built of sand , maintained and protected with tireless nurturing hands. they look , to each other , blinding , too bright and burning and too fierce to be close. what a pair they made. children of the desert , sons of the sands. TO KNOW AND BE KNOWN the gentle curve of his smile says volumes , if the volumes said: in the reckless gritty chaos of things you are loved. you are seen. something selfish in his gaze , in the way eyes track hands and shoulders and mouth. CONTENT TO TRAIL BEHIND , he’d circled this world the way serpents coiled round their tails , rested his head in hundred beds , down and feather , grass and stone , he’d witnessed the snow of the north and longed for the sting of the sun on overwarmed skin.
eyes trace frame the line of his shoulders , the curl of his hair. there is a slow , slouching thing between them , comfortable in it’s age , they’d known eachother before the touch of moon shine silver touched his roots. known each other before grief had reached into his chest with clawed hands , gripped his spine and twisted it into a new shape. one gnarled and determined. KNOWN , KNOWING , he grins at long time friend , flashes the shine of white teeth against sun-kissed skin , the dark of his mustache , his vipers eyes. he is a man with a long shadow , and he is more than happy to share the light with him.
he bows , the flourish of hand and the smooth whisper of robes. catches ufran’s eye. DORNE IS A SHARP GOLDEN THING , it is harsh and nurturing , fierce in it’s survival , in it’s air of thriving life. the hot crushing press of people , the tranquility of their oasis. dust motes dance in the still air , playful , bright , he matches their spirit , hand trails over sleeve of outstretched arm , feels only the cloth covering skin and yanks , sends him stumbling across the threshold , laughs in the face of it. thrown off kilter , the FLASH OF THE RAUCOUS BOY HE HAD KNOWN. there and then gone. “ the wall can hold itself up. besides you’re a bit short to be trying. “