* 𝙱𝙻𝙾𝙾𝙳𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚁𝚂𝚃𝚈 𝙼𝙰𝙽

                 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.   

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. 

@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. 

*    /   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.