full of terrors

anonymous asked:

What do you think about Ariana grande and the charity concert

I think it’s fucking incredible that not even 2 weeks after that happened, she managed to organise the whole thing. I think it’s incredible that every bit of money that is made is going to help the families of those who died and the victims that survived but not without significant pain and suffering. I think it’s pretty incredible that she was apparently in hysterics and inconsolable for nearly 24 hours after it happened, but she came back to the city it happened in to give something good to those people. I think it’s incredible to see the support of so many other artists for the people of Manchester. I think it’s the best thing that could have happened honestly. They wanted us scared, they wanted us to be scared to do what we love, that’s why they targeted the place they targeted. And instead we’ve put on an even bigger show, brought even more people together, spread love and support and acceptance. It’s the most beautiful show of support and the best fuck you to everything the people that plan these attacks stand for.

Before this all happened, I didn’t really pay Ariana any attention, and I wasn’t a fan of her music. But after all of this, and the grace and poise and class that she’s responded to this situation with, I have nothing but respect for her.

The fact is, there is no highly organised network of jihadis working to ceaselessly undermine Western democracy from within the ‘Muslim community’. Such a simplistic understanding, imported from the Bush-era ‘War on Terror’, only serves to perpetrate endless cycles of international warfare, racist backlash and domestic political repression.

Are we really surprised that kids from dirt-poor, ghettoised communities -

- who watched the invasions of Iraq and Afghanistan on the TV when they were young,

- who grew up experiencing racism and discrimination at school,

- who see images of people with the same colour skin as themselves routinely degraded in the media,

- who have had vital public services, youth clubs and social services taken away by successive austerity administrations,

- can fall into the clutches of opportunist recruiters on Internet forums and chat rooms in their own bedrooms, away from any stabilising influence in their faith community,

- and feel the need to claw some kind of power back by committing horrific acts of violence against the society which has made their lives a misery?

It’s a comfortable fiction to convince ourselves that there is ‘no motive’ for the awful acts committed in Manchester and in London. Flooding Britain’s streets with military personnel and sliding towards a police state is stupefyingly insufficient: if we can’t understand the underlying social conditions which motivate these violent, grotesque, twisted individuals - and address them head on - then we cannot even hope to truly fight terrorism.

RIP the victims of the London attacks

Request: Hi! Would it okay to make a request? Ivar x Reader have a really nasty argument right before Ivar has to sail away for a raid or something which leads to make up sex when he gets back? Sorry! I really adore you Ivar x Reader’s!

Note: The argument got a little more intense then I had intended when I started this. I hope you still like it, nony.

Warning: Contains rough smut and some violence.

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“This is delicious.“  Ivar said, mouth still full of food. “Did you cook it or the slaves?”

You smiled at him. “I did. I don’t need any slaves to take care of me.”

“And you think I do?” He replied with grin.

“Well, I don’t know. Do you, son of Ragnar Lothbrok, prince of Kattegat?”

“Of course not. I just prefer not to waste time on cooking and such things. And you make it sound like I was sitting on a throne all day long, having servants tending to all my wishes.”

“Is that not what you do?” You said, giving him a mischievous grin from across the table.

He groaned and threw one of his potatoes at you. “Shut up!”

You ducked under the flying potato. “I’m just worried that no one will feed you the next few weeks.”

“Then maybe you should change your mind and come with me.”

Your grin faded and you got serious. “You know there’s nothing I want more but my father has gotten so sick and since mother died there’s no one else to take care of him.”

“I know. But I will miss you.”

You reached across the table and put your hand on his cheek. “Promise me you’ll come back to me.”

He placed his hand on yours. “Always.”

You smiled at each other and you got lost in his mesmerizing blue eyes, like you had so many times in the past.

After a while Ivar broke the silence. “Speaking of coming back, where have you been all day? I’ve been looking for you and then I saw you coming out of the forest.”

“I’ve been helping your brother.”

“Which brother?” He asked and you did not miss a certain sharpness in his voice.

“Ubbe.”

“Why are you spending so much time with Ubbe recently?” He wanted to know, his tone now clearly annoyed.

You rolled your eyes. Ivar could be so loving and caring when he wanted to but sometimes he acted like a child, especially when he was jealous of his brothers.

“He is building a house for himself and Margrethe, so I figured he could use some help.” You replied, unable to hide an unnerved undertone.

“If you help him with his house then what have you been doing in the forest?”

“We’ve been cutting trees.”

“And was Margrethe also there?”

“No she wasn’t. She had other stuff to do. What are all these questions?” You were starting to lose your patience.

Ivar’s eyes narrowed. “So you’ve spend the whole day in the forest, alone with my brother. And you want me to believe you’ve been cutting trees?”

“What else would we’ve been doing, Ivar? Hmm? You tell me.” Your voice coming out louder and more angry than you had intended.

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking you.” He replied, his voice seeming completely calm, but you knew him well enough to know that it was very likely just the quiet before the storm. But you could not care for that now because your own anger was starting to cloud your mind. How could he dare to accuse you of such things?

“You know what, Ivar? Think whatever you want. I’m tired of your mood changing from one second to the next for no reason. If you want to go ahead and play the spoiled little prince that’s fine, but do it with someone else because I’m really tired of it.”

You saw Ivar’s eyes become dark with anger and immediately regretted your words but it was too late to take them back.

Ivar leaned over the table. “You are mine. You better don’t forget that.” He hissed.

You also leaned forward so that your face was just inches from his. His jaw was clenched and his eyes dark like the stormy sea. He radiated such anger that it scared you a bit, but you were a Viking, you were taught to never let your fear show.

“I don’t belong to anyone. You better don’t forget that.” You spat, echoing his words.

You could see him clenching his jaw even harder and releasing a stiff breath, fighting to keep control over himself. He seemed to have lost that battle because the next moment his arm shot towards you and before you could react his hand closed around your throat.

“You are mine.” He repeated, voice shaking with anger.

You tried to move away from him but his fingers were digging into the sides of your neck, giving you no chance to escape. Your air stream was completely blocked and your hands clutched around his, trying to open his grip but he was way too strong for you. As little shadows began to dance in front of your eyes you started to panic, your body demanding the air he was no longer able to get. As you let out a strangled noise, Ivar’s anger twisted face changed into a look of utter shock. It was as if he was waking up. He stared at your face, then down to his hand on your throat and very slowly his grip softened. He let go of you completely and quickly withdraw his hand as if he had burned it, his face now full of terror.

“Y/N, I….”

As the fear left your body the anger came back.

“Get out of here.” You hissed, your voice raspy, the words burning in your throat.

“Y/N…”

“OUT! NOW!”



You had made sure he had no chance of seeing you again until he left the next morning with his warriors. You knew that Ivar had moments like this, when his anger took over and he completely lost control, you had seen it happen more then once. But so far it had never happened with you. You had trusted him, felt completely save in his presence. You knew it was stupid but there was a feeling of betrayal inside you, you couldn’t get rid of. Of course you’ve had arguments before, the kind of arguments that made everyone else flee out of the room, not wanting to become casualties while you two released earthquakes and thunderstorms. But he had never hurt or really scared you before. And now you weren’t sure if you could forgive him.

But as the weeks passed you had to admit to yourself that you missed Ivar. You were worried about him, even more than usual. If something happened to him, your last conversation would have been the worst argument you ever had.

One evening you were sitting in your hut, taking out your braids and humming some melody that was stuck in your head as you heard a noise behind you. You turned in your chair and your eyes grew wide in surprise. Ivar was leaning against the door frame, supported by his crutches. You hadn’t heard him open the door. Your first impulse was to run to him and sink into his arms but you still  weren’t sure if you had forgiven him. It took you all your inner strength to keep any emotion from your face as you looked at him. He had a crooked grin on his face but as you didn’t react at all and just kept looking at him, you could see some insecurity grow in his eyes. After a moment though, he gained back control and his grin only grew wider.

“Are you not going to ask me in?”

“Where’s the point when you are in already?” You replied, struggling to keep your voice neutral. “I didn’t know you were back.”

“We just arrived about half an hour ago.” He slowly crossed the room and stopped in front of your bed. “Come here. I’ve missed you.”

Your eyes narrowed. You couldn’t believe he could be so ignorant. “Don’t think you can command me to do anything!”

His grin came back to his face, just a hint of evil arrogance in it. “But you want to. I can see it in your eyes.”

He was right. Although you were still mad at him your body longed for his. You wanted nothing more than to feel his skin on yours, to be as close to him as you could possibly get. It made you angry that he had such an effect on you. And it made you even angrier that he knew it and that he knew how to use it against you. You stood up so fast that your chair toppled over. You went over to Ivar and stood in front of him, eyes blazing with anger.

“Don’t you dare to tell me what I want.”

His grin didn’t fade one bit. “Not even when it’s that obvious? You want me, Y/N. There’s no point in denying that.”

You hated him so much that moment, mostly for being right. You somehow had to let your anger vent and pushed against his chest with both hands, harder than you had intended to. Ivar lost his balance and as he fell backwards he let go of his crutches and grabbed your arms, pulling you down with him. You heard the crutches clatter on the floor as you fell down on the bed. Ivar quickly rolled over so that he was on top of you.

“Get off me!” You hissed and pushed against his chest.

Ivar just smirked at you and caught your wrists, pinning them to the bed above your head. Then he moved his hips so that they rocked against yours. You could feel heat shoot through your body like liquid fire and fought hard to suppress a moan. But Ivar didn’t stop, he kept grinding his hips against yours and the need to feel more of him grew bigger and bigger inside your stomach, causing your breathing to come quick and heavy.

He chuckled at you. “See? So stop struggling and let me give you what you want anyways.”

You gave him an angry hiss but had to admit defeat. He must have seen it in your eyes and placed his lips on yours, kissing you hungrily while one of his hands slid under your dress and up your thigh. He let his fingers slowly travel across your folds and gave you an satisfied yet amused grin as he found you already soaking wet. Then his lips were back on yours and he slipped one finger between your folds. You moaned into his mouth as he started to move it up and down, hitting your clit with every move. His other hand found one of your breasts and started to knead it but he quickly became annoyed by the fabric getting in his way and he retrieved his hand from between your thighs. You whimpered at the loss and he smirked, clearly pleased with himself. For a moment he fiddled with the stings that held your dress together, but soon lost his patience and just ripped it apart. He hurried to slide the fabric down your body and then discarded it to the floor. He quickly undressed himself and you took a moment to cherish the view. You adored the way the toned muscles on his shoulders and his chest worked as he moved back up to you.

“You still want me to leave?” He asked with a cocky grin.

“No.” You admitted.

“What do you want me to do then?”

You smiled and lifted your head from the pillow to kiss him again but he pushed you back down, pinning you to the bed with his body. He rocked his hips again and now that you where both naked you could feel his hard cock rub against your thigh. You sighed, half in anticipation and half in defeat. You knew he wouldn’t stop until you said it out loud.

“I want you to fuck me.”

He gave you a nod as if to say See, it wasn’t that hard. Then he pushed your thighs apart to get better access. He was hovering over you, still pinning you to the bed, not allowing you much movement. He looked down at you and pushed himself inside you with one swift movement. You gasped at the exquisite sensation of him stretching your inner walls and your eyes flew shut. Ivar leaned down and bit your shoulder.

“Keep looking at me.” He cooed.

As you opened your eyes he started to move in and out of you. He didn’t bother to go slow and picked up his pace quite quickly, his trusts fast and hard. It didn’t take long until you squirmed in pleasure but he didn’t give you much room to move, his strong arms keeping you in place and reminding you who was is control. You wrapped your legs around his waist to allow him to go even deeper. As a reward he placed a sloppy kiss on your lips. As your pleasure increases you grind your hips against his, eager to meet his thrusts, while you loudly moan out his name. Ivar places one of his hands on the head of the bed to be able to push himself into your depths with even more force than before. With every thrust he hits a magical spot deep inside of you and you scream out his name so loud you probably wake up all your neighbors.

“You know you are mine.” Ivar growls without stopping his brilliant movements and in this moment you have neither the strength nor the will to disagree.

“Yes Ivar, I’m all yours.” You pant and smirks, even increasing his efforts to make you scream out his name.

You know you are close as you feel your whole body tense. And with one forceful thrust Ivar buries himself deep inside you and spills his hot liquids. The feel of Ivar’s seed filling you is enough to drive you over the edge. Waves of pleasure are rolling through you and your whole body is shaking. You ride out your orgasms together and then Ivar collapses onto you. For a long moment you just lie still. Both of you unable to move, bodies sticky with sweat.

As your breathing slows down a bit, Ivar rolls off of you and pulls you into his arms.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” He says, placing a kiss on your temple.

All you can manage is to hum in agreement, as you settle your head against his shoulder and close your eyes.

“Don’t fall asleep.” Ivar whispers into your ear. “I’m not done with you yet.”

3

When the night was full of terrors and your eyes were filled with tears, when you had not touched me yet. Take me back to the night we met. I had all and then most of you, some and now none of you. Take me back to the night we met. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I’m haunted by the ghost of you. Take me back to the night we met.

Second Chances (James Conrad)

Pairing: James Conrad x OC

Warning: Little, tiny bit of violence. And giant bugs. Lol.

Originally posted by enchantedbyhiddles


I couldn’t relax. Couldn’t close my eyes without seeing it all over again. 

Choppers being tossed from the sky, like tiny toys. Flames licking away at molten metal. Bodies falling from midair. And those eyes. Those huge, yellow eyes. I squeezed my own eyes shut, desperate to make those horrible mental images vanish. Though the second I tried to think of something else, anything else, my mind wandered back to him.

To James Conrad.

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kemmlerthekitschmaster  asked:

Can you elaborate more on how the Alys-Sigorn wedding was awesome and its like a baby that conquered the world? I just really like Alys/Sigorn and want to hear more about it.

Whew, where to begin? The Alys-Sigorn wedding is IMO a strong candidate for “best scene in the series,” and it’s probably exhibit A in the case for ADWD as the best book in that series (give or take Dany X and the dragontaming). It’s the surest sign that GRRM still knows what he’s doing and that the sedimentary layers of story are producing more powerful moments as he goes. It’s such a narratively dense event with so many resonances that you could spend days teasing it apart. Here’s just a brief overview.  

At one level, the wedding symbolizes and enacts the alliance between the Stark North and the Free Folk, presided over by the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch (himself having been raised in Winterfell, but also having ridden with the wildlings). It’s very ceremonial and ritualistic, GRRM taking his time setting it up and lingering on every detail so you really get what a momentous deal this is: a powerful wildling leader and the daughter of a significant Northern house joining to forge something new. This carries such weight with us because we’ve been living with this bitter divide and the knowledge of how longstanding and entrenched it is for multiple books. Climbing this hill seemed nigh-impossible back in ASOS when Stannis proposed it; now, we see a real ray of hope. And of course, this dovetails so beautifully with what happens at chapter’s end: the horn blast announcing Tormund Giantsbane’s arrival to cement that pact. 

This sense of harmonic resolution wouldn’t mean much, though, if it didn’t also extend to the bride and groom specifically. Alys coming to Jon (specifically as Ned’s son) and securing his help against Cregan and Arnolf marks a symbolic reconciliation between Houses Stark and Karstark. Instead of the latter house as an enemy, as they’ve been since early in ASOS, we now see them as a complex family riven by internal conflict, and there’s a chance to set things right. It helps, of course, that Alys is immediately one of the most lovable characters in the story: “Let him be scared of me.” As for Sigorn, his father died at Castle Black thanks to Jon’s defenses, and earlier in ADWD, Sigorn himself opposed assimilation to the point of threatening Jon’s life. Here, however, he brings the Thenns into the larger realm and makes a very moving peace–and of course he, too, is written to encourage empathy in the wedding scene, coming off nervous, awkward, and ultimately good-hearted. 

But what really makes this scene shine, undergirding and emphasizing all of the above, is the imagery. It…glows. 

And Melisandre said, “Let them come forth, who would be joined.” The flames cast her shadow on the Wall behind her, and her ruby gleamed against the paleness of her throat.

Jon turned to Alys Karstark. “My lady. Are you ready?”

“Yes. Oh, yes.”

“You’re not scared?”

The girl smiled in a way that reminded Jon so much of his little sister that it almost broke his heart. “Let him be scared of me.”The snowflakes were melting on her cheeks, but her hair was wrapped in a swirl of lace that Satin had found somewhere, and the snow had begun to collect there, giving her a frosty crown. Her cheeks were flushed and red, and her eyes sparkled.

“Winter’s lady.” Jon squeezed her hand.

The Magnar of Thenn stood waiting by the fire, clad as if for battle, in fur and leather and bronze scales, a bronze sword at his hip. His receding hair made him look older than his years, but as he turned to watch his bride approach, Jon could see the boy in him. His eyes were big as walnuts, though whether it was the fire, the priestess, or the woman that had put the fear in him Jon could not say. Alys was more right than she knew.

“Who brings this woman to be wed?” asked Melisandre.

“I do,” said Jon. “Now comes Alys of House Karstark, a woman grown and flowered, of noble blood and birth.” He gave her hand one last squeeze and stepped back to join the others.

“Who comes forth to claim this woman?” asked Melisandre.

“Me.” Sigorn slapped his chest. “Magnar of Thenn.”

“Sigorn,” asked Melisandre, “will you share your fire with Alys, and warm her when the night is dark and full of terrors?”

“I swear me.” The Magnar’s promise was a white cloud in the air. Snow dappled his shoulders. His ears were red. “By the red god’s flames, I warm her all her days.”

“Alys, do you swear to share your fire with Sigorn, and warm him when the night is dark and full of terrors?”

“Till his blood is boiling.” Her maiden’s cloak was the black wool of the Night’s Watch. The Karstark sunburst sewn on its back was made of the same white fur that lined it.

Melisandre’s eyes shone as bright as the ruby at her throat. “Then come to me and be as one.” As she beckoned, a wall of flames roared upward, licking at the snowflakes with hot orange tongues. Alys Karstark took her Magnar by the hand.

Side by side they leapt the ditch.

“Two went into the flames.” A gust of wind lifted the red woman’s scarlet skirts till she pressed them down again. “One emerges.” Her coppery hair danced about her head. “What fire joins, none may put asunder.”

This is hope rendered in radiant red and gold; this is what endgame looks like. We saw it, just a flash of it, as their leap (like Theon and Jeyne’s, several chapters later) reached its apex. This leap over the flames and everything that goes with it exists in defiance of the Long Night, in spite of the army of the dead. It’s a fire to circle around, a well from which to draw strength, and a foundation for what comes next. House Thenn’s sigil is appropriate; they represent the Dawn.

Either/Or: Rosie

Prompt! Can we see Supercorp but one where Kara rescues a baby and brings them home and Lena doesn’t wanna get her hopes up about adoption because she doesn’t want Kara to have to outlive her AND a child (Pref a fluffy ending but up to you?)

“Kara, honey, are you home yet?” Lena called out as she kicked off her heels and balanced the bags of take out in her arms.

The quiet of the penthouse greeted her as she hurried toward the kitchen. As she turned on the lights, the city outside disappeared from the large windows. Their home became its own universe, with just the faintest bit of galaxy outside.

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