For the times they are a-changin'.

Maria F. Vega. Twenty. From Costa Rica.
There were three sorts of Dornishmen, the first King Daeron had observed. There were the salty Dornishmen who lived along the coasts, the sandy Dornishmen of the deserts and long river valleys, and the stony Dornishmen who made their fastnesses in the passes and heights of the Red Mountains. The salty Domishmen had the most Rhoynish blood, the stony Dornishmen the least.

All three sorts seemed well represented in Doran’s retinue. The salty Dornishmen were lithe and dark, with smooth olive skin and long black hair streaming in the wind. The sandy Dornishmen were even darker, their faces burned brown by the hot Dornish sun. They wound long bright scarfs around their helms to ward off sunstroke. The stony Dornishmen were biggest and fairest, sons of the Andals and the First Men, brownhaired or blond, with faces that freckled or burned in the sun instead of browning.

The lords wore silk and satin robes with jeweled belts and flowing sleeves. Their armor was heavily enameled and inlaid with burnished copper, shining silver, and soft red gold. They came astride red horses and golden ones and a few as pale as snow, all slim and swift, with long necks and narrow beautiful heads. The fabled sand steeds of Dorne were smaller than proper warhorses and could not bear such weight of armor, but it was said that they could run for a day and night and another day, and never tire.

(Source: stannisbaratheon, via erwinnsmith)

elegantspell:

Door at St. Edward’s Parish in The Cotswolds, flanked by beautiful 17th century yew trees.

elegantspell:

Door at St. Edward’s Parish in The Cotswolds, flanked by beautiful 17th century yew trees.

(via kassidyrae)


I think it’s absolutely crazy how feelings can flicker so quickly, deteriorate so easily. One minute my ears are filled with the sound of your soothing voice complementing my every thought, mistake and action- then the next you plaster me with doubt, mentally suffocating me with criticism. I don’t know which is the truth and which is the lie, or what hurts more; the compliments or the suffocation. Weird isn’t it. I am not sad because your feelings changed, or that you lack understanding. No. I am sad that you are letting go of someone who was willing to change themselves into a better person. Change for you. All the care and feeling I have towards you is being thrown away. You let go of that, you let go of me. And you will never find that again. Another girl? Sure, but not the feelings I had. No matter how hard you search. Never. Giving you a chance and showing the slightest bit of affection was an ocean of effort. Appreciate me. Patience is all we needed, all you needed. But waiting seemed like a forever maze; an inescapable facade, an emotional trap. I can’t keep living in the past, the only time that’s real is now, the only time that exists is now. Our touch, our laughter, forever hugs, feelings, kisses and every depressing word I just wrote no longer exists. It’s in the past. Dead.

I think it’s absolutely crazy how feelings can flicker so quickly, deteriorate so easily. One minute my ears are filled with the sound of your soothing voice complementing my every thought, mistake and action- then the next you plaster me with doubt, mentally suffocating me with criticism. I don’t know which is the truth and which is the lie, or what hurts more; the compliments or the suffocation. Weird isn’t it. I am not sad because your feelings changed, or that you lack understanding. No. I am sad that you are letting go of someone who was willing to change themselves into a better person. Change for you. All the care and feeling I have towards you is being thrown away. You let go of that, you let go of me. And you will never find that again. Another girl? Sure, but not the feelings I had. No matter how hard you search. Never. Giving you a chance and showing the slightest bit of affection was an ocean of effort. Appreciate me. Patience is all we needed, all you needed. But waiting seemed like a forever maze; an inescapable facade, an emotional trap. I can’t keep living in the past, the only time that’s real is now, the only time that exists is now. Our touch, our laughter, forever hugs, feelings, kisses and every depressing word I just wrote no longer exists. It’s in the past. Dead.

(Source: yungmanic, via youngangel-xo)

vinebox:

worst pain imaginable

(via thefuuuucomics)

I don’t want just words. If that’s all you have for me, you’d better go.

—F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Beautiful and Damned  (via dieworten)

(Source: larmoyante, via backshelfpoet)