I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
oozey mess
h
occasionally subtle
Monterey Bay Aquarium
Peter Solarz
we're not kids anymore.
izzy's playlists!
tannertan36
Discoholic 🪩
AnasAbdin
todays bird
$LAYYYTER
❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
Product Placement
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Three Goblin Art
Love Begins
Origami Around
Sade Olutola
seen from Tunisia
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seen from Chile
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@zobrietikuni
༺❃༻ — 𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐎, 𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐙𝐎𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐈 ! ! !
my name is jo ( she / her ), i’m 26. ( mst ). this is an independent, mutual exclusive, selective role-play blog featuring muses from A SONG OF ICE AND FIRE and FIRE AND BLOOD / HOUSE OF THE DRAGON by grrm. links will be posted down below, but please do not hesitate to message me with any questions. 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI.
𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐃. 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒.
i can also be found here::
❇ — 𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐎𝐒𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐀 // ᵐᵘˡᵗⁱ-ᶠᵃⁿᵈᵒᵐ, ᵐᵘˡᵗⁱ-ᵐᵘˢᵉ
❇ — 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐀𝐄 // ʳʰᵃᵉⁿʸˢ ᵗᵃʳᵍᵃʳʸᵉⁿ
Jason Lannister: This is why men wage war. Because women would never be ready for the battle in time
Johanna Westerling, his future wife, who becomes regent for House Lannister after he dies, dons a man's mail, single-handedly drives the Ironborn off their shores, and reclaims their family's dwindling gold:
#look who’s talking
JODHI MAY as QUEEN CALANTHE ⟶ THE WITCHER, season 1 episode 4
“ DISAGREEABLE. ” HE ECHOES HER WORD WITH ARCHED BROWS, the tone in his voice mockingly impressed, while Maron quietly nods to himself. “ quite the big word for someone so small. ” a grin follows, audacious but laced with nothing but love, in the way only an older brother could fondly grin at a younger sister or something as close to that, as possible. early morning sunlight shines into their makeshift little hideout ; the broken skiff, overturned by the tide and partially in shambles, still doing its duty as a seating arrangement that they have upholstered and laid out with cushions, and around them is nothing but the comfortable privacy of a dry, warm cave, eaten into the cliffs below the castle. all they see is sand and candles, all they hear are their own voices and the quiet sound of the sea lapping at the shoreline reaching a little inside their nest. nobody else knows about this place. Maron had found it three years into his stay at Dragonstone and, steadily, whenever he could steal away from his duties, turned it into his very own getaway. a place nobody, not Ser Axell, nor Selyse could find. Shireen, he had found a few years later, needed a space like that, too. removed from her mother’s over-cautious, prying eyes ; a place where they could meet. talk, play, envision a future brighter than the present surrounding them. as young people do, occasionally . . .
he shifts a little, the broad back comfortably leaning against the warm rock, and closes the book she had diligently laid down in his lap a few minutes prior. words and stories have little appeal for him right now, and yes, he may have been a tad disagreeable, borderlining grumpy, when he had waved away any suggestion by her for things to do. his mind is elsewhere.
his twentieth nameday had come and gone ; a man grown, heir to one of the five biggest houses of Westeros, and yet he is removed from the world. removed from everything a man his age should have accomplished by now a home, a wife, children, perhaps trapped instead in a prison they call mercy, that he cannot seem to escape. his fingers idly pick at the worn-out leather binding of the book, careful not to damage it so Shireen wouldn’t scold him for that. she’ll be trapped, too, he thinks, by an overbearing mother and a heartless sickness. “ did you know your father is going back to King’s Landing in a fortnight? council meetings, all that. he wants me to come with him. ” he had already accompanied Stannis once, two years ago, and found that he hated the capital. but if Stannis ( or rather Selyse ) wanted him to go, he had no choice. “ think you can find someone else to tell your dragon tales to for a while then? ” he gently pokes her side, once again smiling that loving smile he reserves for her and her only.
༺❃༻ SHIREEN'S LITTLE FINGERS CLOSE AROUND A PRETTY curved seashell, tinted a fine shade of pearl and lavender, and then CHUCKS it with surprising force to her ironborn brother. it bounces ineffectively off of his chest, landing with scarcely a thud upon his lap. but i got him square in the chest. that is something. ❝ call me little again, lord maron, and i shall see myself out. and you'd be most lonely without my company, i expect, ❞ shireen says haughtily. all bluff, of course. shireen could never depart from her dear brother and their little hidden spot, their sanctuary away from the prying eyes of her mother, father, and all others who would disapprove . . . who'd see them isolated, instead. maron had introduced it to her a handful of years ago, and, needless to say, she had been honored. up until then, it had belonged solely to him. it was a secret place for him to disappear to, to do whatever it was he did when he was alone . . . brood, probably . . . but he'd chosen to share it with her. she still remembers how her eyes had stung when she'd first learned of this, though she hid it remarkably well behind a bright smile. and memories flood back to her all at once, of how she'd bring little toys ser davos made for her here, and how she'd collect pretty seashells or things lost ashore like a scavenging bird. she liked to think of them as offerings to pay for her stay here.
like how maron makes offerings to the drowned god.
shireen straightens as maron closes the book she had leant to him. jade compendium. she had found it buried in one of the shelves in her father's study. it was old and dusty, but she found it an entertaining read. so, naturally, she had to share it with her beloved brother. truthfully, she had hoped the book would aid in his mood . . . that, perhaps, the solemn air surrounding his name-day could be softened by it.
books always make her feel better, after all. she hopes he will discuss it, but rather he addresses something else entirely . . . and her heart sinks, for she'd hoped to avoid it for as long as she could.
❝ oh. i know. mother won't stop talking about it . . . she thinks father is must wear his best clothes, and remember to address the king formally, and reflect brotherly devotion. ❞ shireen tilts her head, mulling over her lady mother's obsession with it all, how frazzled she has been in the passing days. she wonders if it has anything to do with maron going, as well. she's probably relieved by it. one less bad influence around. and yet she shall be completely alone. it doesn't bother her much, though, she's used to it. the isolation can be filled by books and her thoughts and such, and so when maron prods her with his foot she offers him an endearing grin, in spite of how her chest certainly aches. ❝ shush. i save all of my stories of dragons for you, you daft fool . . . and, you know, i had a dream about a dragon last night. ❞ she uses her own foot to shove maron's away, with a soft laugh. ❝ i dreamed a dragon rose up out of the beach near dragonstone, straight up. it flew upwards with a burst of fire and then disappeared. i was there, watching, and when i woke up i'd realized i'd fallen asleep on sea demons: a history of the childre of the drowned god of the isles. thankfully i hid it quickly under my pillow before anyone could find it . . . mother would be furious if she found it in my collection. ❞
@azmenka
SLOWLY BUT STEADILY, THE COURTYARD OF WINTERFELL, ALONG WITH THE PLAINS BEFORE ITS WALLS ARE FILLING UP banners upon banners, raised high in the stiff, northern wind, and the sound of clanking armor and voices is heard from every corner. the three-headed dragon and speared sun, side by side with the golden kraken on black are the most prominent ones, but whilst walking amongst the row of tents, she spots others as well. the falcon on a blue field, the leaping silver trout, the roaring giant, the silver fist on scarlet, the merman on green . . . and eventually, the white sunburst on black. it is here, that certain words ring to her. words that are accompanied by a scoff and the sound of someone spitting, cussing about the ‘ lady unfit to lead ’, the child-queen that once was lion, then flayed, and now is supposed to be what exactly it takes little imagination for Sansa to understand that she is the one meant by all this.
an ancient, familiar feeling grabs her. a sweet mixture of dread and anxiety, plummeting her back into days of utter helplessness and insecurity. unfit to marry a knight. unfit to marry a prince. the little dove barely good enough to wed the family’s laughing stock, or so she had thought, had just been handed a kingdom to call her own, and knows better than to believe the filth she hears and still . . .
it is movement by her side that draws her from her fear. a hand with stunted fingers reaching for the hilt of the sword hanging from his hip, but before Theon can make another step towards the tents, she has reached out ; her own gloved hand calmly placed upon his lower arm, halting his movement, and bright, tully-blue eyes find the familiar face. the little dove is no more. she died at the Eyrie, shifted into Alayne for the briefest while, and then had pieced herself together again into the young woman now standing here. a newly-crowned queen, with her head held high. “ no, don’t. let Lord Karstark consider this a chance to prove his loyalty when he hears of this. ” recently freed from years of imprisonment, the task of righting the wrongs of an entire family rests on Harrion’s broad shoulders now. a feeling that, perhaps, is somewhat familiar, not only to her, but her companion as well. she gently squeezes Theon’s arm. “ though I appreciate your willingness to fight just about anybody these days, best when it isn’t necessary. there are more important battles ahead. ”
༺❃༻ THEON FEELS LIKE A GHOST, HAUNTING THE corridors and halls and courtyard of winterfell. he moves soundlessly, his eyes skimming the great banners surrounding him, and in brief moments of despair he wonders if he shall wake up. one moment he shall be here, with his brother, with sansa, and the next he shall awaken in the kennels. surrounded by shit, dead rats, and the tireless chanting in his own head of reek, reek, reek, rhymes with freak. a small shudder ripples through his body. this is not a dream. it is not. a part of him shall always be a ghost, to forever haunt winterfell. theon greyjoy . . . the ward of ned stark, who'd been a brother to robb, who'd fought for him, who had betrayed him . . . that boy is dead now. reek is dead, too, though. theon greyjoy. the name is his again, yet the identity is different. now white haired and marred with scars, theon wears the kraken upon his chest again, and a sword at his belt. he walks, not as a ghost, as a loyal sentinel to sansa stark. there is something oddly natural to it. he matches her stride, his stubbed hand grazing the hilt of his blade.
whispers fill the courtyard. theon's eyes flicker against them, catching sight of karstark men eyeing sansa . . . grey eyes sharp as steel, mouths twisted into cruel smirks. theon's face flushes darkly and he feels his own eyes narrow. how dare they. theon feels himself begin to press forward, when sansa's touch halts him. it draws an involuntary wince from his body . . . touch is still something he is adapting to, yet he finds himself warming a little to hers. his eyes raise to find her gentle tully eyes. at once, his stubbed hand removes itself from the hilt of his sword. his shoulders slacken in defeat. i yield to my queen.
❝ i-it's the least i could do, s - your grace. ❞ a different sort of flush overtakes theon's cheeks. he spares a quick glance to the hand resting still on his arm, those delicate fair fingers once dedicated to needlepoint residing on the dark fabric of his cloak. your grace. how entirely strange it is to say it out loud, yet it is utterly fitting. robb would want this. he'd be proud of her. a gentle smile brings itself to the corners of his mouth, though it still feels . . . strange. it tugs at the scars molded into his flesh, rendering sensations of discomfort, and yet he endures it. he must learn to smile again, after all. he looks to the karstark me again, watching them snicker. if harrion karstark is a smart man, then he'll handle them properly . . . theon shall not abide his queen being disrespected, even if harrion is. but he'll speak up. i imagine he will. theon looks to sansa's face. she is older now, features more refined and beautiful, and yet there is a steel to her eyes where once was porcelain. she is ice, hard and fierce and sharp, in spite of what others may say. ❝ you're right. we have bigger things to think about . . . like the army of the dead. ❞ he clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. ❝ do you think it will be all so bad ? ? ? when maron gets back from the wall . . . do you think the dead can breach it ? ? ? ❞
@tymptir
you are arya of winterfell, daughter of the north. you told me you could be strong. you have the wolf blood in you.
kayra aleyna zabcı (🇹🇷) as arya stark.
The rivalry between the greens and blacks grew deeper, finally reaching the point where the queen and the princess could scarce suffer each other’s presence. Thereafter Queen Alicent kept to the Red Keep, whilst the princess Rhaenyra spent her days on Dragonstone…
THE LORD OF THE RINGS: The Fellowship of the Ring dir. Peter Jackson
The Darkling in every episode 2x04
“ AND HOW EXACTLY DOES ONE ELUDE A THING BY RUNNING STRAIGHT AT IT LIKE A FOOL? ” a scoff follows ; the quiet clink when bejewelled fingers curl around the cup of wine, and the Lady Olenna gently shakes her head to herself. the world had gone mad in it’s entirety. lions at one another’s throats, direwolves almost extinguished, dragons chased from their homesteads one plan fallen to pieces at the expense of her nerves and patience, and it is now, while she has just begun to so carefully construct a new way forward, that a prince invites her to Sunspear. she has heard the news, of course. word spreading across Westeros like wildfire ; Rhaegar Targaryen’s long lost daughter sails along the southern shore to claim her father’s birthright with a Greyjoy of all people by her side. a House best kept away from the rest of civilization, if the Queen of Thornes had it her way . . .
with the cup placed back on the table between them, a view of the blistering, shining city opening up below the balcony they are seated on, does she level the prince with a look ; not quite contempt, but impatience, more than anything. a woman her age should not be made to travel across half of the Narrow Sea. then again, how much movement could one expect from a man bound to a wheelchair? those around her may have lost their wits at large, but thank the gods that she still has her’s. as well as her good health. “ I am well aware of that storm you are speaking of, Prince Doran. your dragonborn viper, to be wed to a kraken. a most unholy union if any ever existed, and one I hope you will not regret having agreed to. but as unfortunate as it may be for the both of us, I can neither sail into it, nor around it, for I am not the one holding the wheel. ”
lies.
“ the realm has been at war for years now ; wolves chasing lions, boars killing stags and whatnot. I believe you and I both are too old to join these nonsensical dances, so why won’t you simply speak plainly and tell me why I have sailed all the way into this scorching heat? ”
༺❃༻ THESE CIRCUMSTANCES ARE LESS THAN IDEAL, YET these are the cards doran has been dealt. cards never meant to be. make no mistake, the prince of dorne had always meant to do dealings with the tyrells - gods, willas had been his first choice for his niece to ally with . . . before she derailed from the plan, ignoring his advice, his influence, in favor of a mad kraken's son. a lofty decision, one that has cost him restless nights. but there is no turning back now. and an alliance with the tyrells is still necessary. nevertheless, doran cannot help but to feel a chill ripple down his spine as the queen of thorns sits across from him, having traveled all this way to sunspear. she does not look right here. her many layers of clothes and jewels, her brittle mouth pressed tight as if tasting lemons, and those cunning eyes of her embedded into his flesh . . . a true thorn, indeed. how, indeed, does one elude a storm by running into it . . . rhaenys had raced through it. she's done well for herself, so far. but now doran must handle the collateral of it all, to roll with all that has happened. the alliances he means to form are now meticulous and mindful, for he cannot yield to the disapproval inside of him. he must feign otherwise, lest they lose everything. so, he simply waves his hand to olenna's words, and gestures for more wine to be brought to their table.
❝ have you not spend these last years playing games with such a storm ? ? ? ❞ doran inquires, then takes the chalice to raise it to his lips. ❝ first there was renly. there was joffrey. and now there is tommen. and yet you continue on, against the storm. ❞ he sets the chalice down with a quieted clink. his obsidian eyes are watchful to the lady olenna. she is less than pleased to be here, he knows. but she would not have come all this way if she did not feel it was worth her while, in some manner. the lady olenna is not one to needlessly waste her time.
a most unholy union if any ever existed. doran agrees. he believes it was a mistake . . . rhaenys has placed herself in a precarious situation. if his niece had chosen willas tyrell, for example, her ascension to power would have boded easier. once she had the throne, those seeking to dethrone and oppose her could be dealt with; the allies of house tyrell run thick, coupled with the house's wealth. the greyjoys, on the other hand, will lead to only disaster. she faces a terrible journey. so far, countless battles have been won, and rhaenys' letters plead fondness for maron greyjoy, but doran wonders if the kraken shall lead to the fall of all he has sought to build and amend.
❝ for near twenty years, i have protected my sister's daughter. now, rhaenys targaryen rises again. i imagine you have heard the great many battles won at her hand, and that of the ironbron ? ? ? ❞ doran begins, then leans forward. ❝ house tyrell and house martell share a similar enemy. the lannisters. i propose an alliance . . . one not to end in misery, as countless others have. your grandson, willas tyrell, betrothed and wedded to my daughter, the princess arianne. and as for your beloved margaery, i propose she be wedded to my son quentyn. she would be a princess of dorne. ❞
@tymptir
@pscentral event 14: your url
ARYA XII, A Storm of Swords
RANVEER SINGH as Alauddin Khalji ADITI RAO HYDARI as Mehrunissa PADMAAVAT पद्मावत (2018) dir. Sanjay Leela Bhansali
@fatedtruths
elia && oberyn
first there were dragons and whispers of wildfyre and how they hated her and her children. now there were lions at least that was what the panicked rumours ripping through the red keep and she doesn't know what to do .
what had been muffled bangs and distant shouting had steadily become louder and louder and she hesitated . her baby in a crib behind her , her other baby hiding under the bed in the adjoining room . she doesn't know what to do .
the door crashed , the poker in her hand shook and ------ @zobrietikuni
oberyn .
looking as manic as she felt but there he stood , her younger brother , and she's frozen to the spot . trembling until his arms are around her and his lips press against her hair . finally she drops the poker . she grabbed the at his back , all but falling against him . " you came . . . you're here. "
kisses are good for the soul
༺❃༻ OBERYN SEES RED. IT IS PAINTED ALL across his vision, polluting everything within sight of him . . . one by one, bodies litter the floor. blood sprays violently against the walls as men cry out in pain, their armor clinking to the ground, and all around the walls the targaryen banners taunt him.
far behind him within the corridor, the dornish army is doing well in keeping aerys' men at bay. he can hear their roars, the sounds of their weapons clashing against steel. the vipers have snuck into the dragon's den, and shall watch them burn.
he adjusts the spear in his hand, then sprints down the corridor until he reaches the tower. ahead of him guards are positioned, but he makes quick work of them. red, he sees red. elia is just beyond that door. NOTHING ELSE MATTERS.
the guards fall. nothing can stop a brother's love and devotion. oberyn steps back, braces himself, and then slams his foot against the door's center. once, twice, and then once more and it crashes against the floor with a great BANG.
and there she is, pointing an iron poker at him.
❝ is that anyway to greet your brother ? ? ? ❞ oberyn says, his voice choking in his throat, and at once he has rushed to close the distance between them. he kisses the top of her head, holding her so closely to him he can feel her heartbeat sing alongside his. alive. she's alive. ❝ no time . . . we must go. grab aegon, now - lewyn has rhaenys. ❞
