Sister wives:

I think it’s time for this post again…

If you get anon hate please do not take it personally. I believe all these messages are coming from the same sad little person who wants to stop us from writing. It has nothing to do with you, your skills, your ideas, or your likeability. In fact, if you were targeted, it PROBABLY means you’ve been on fire lately and this anon can’t stand how much you’re killing it around here.

Stay strong and remember how much we love you and your work!!!


Pairing: Ivar x Reader
Summary: Reader belongs to Ivar but at night he belongs to her.
Warnings: HOLY SHIT SO NSFW, swearing, submission, praise!kink, explicit
Length: super long!!
Tagging: @squirrelacorngliterfarts @captainpoopweinersoldier
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I walked up to the flowering altar, with my hands on my hips, admiring it at first and just the sight of it brought back memories. Ivar and I had been married no more than a few months now, wedded in the same exact spot in the woods.

I smiled, reaching out to touch it and started remembering how handsome he looked, his hair slicked back and resting nicely. His skin aglow from the setting sun, his tunic a strong blue to match his beautiful eyes. Bjorn had helped him find the right angle for his stool while Floki held him up on his back, waiting patiently.

The way my love looked sitting there on his stool when the drums had started, I recalled it clearly, the way he turned his whole body to see me, the sun hitting his face perfectly. How tightly he was holding and then wringing his hands, fidgeting nervously. The stunned smile when he finally saw me for the first time that day, holding an array of foliage in my hands as I made my way towards him.

My smile grew even more when I turned around and saw Ivar was sitting on a well made chair then, brought out special for him so he could watch his older brother be married up close. I walked up to him and smoothed down his hair, tucking it behind one of his ears. He lightly slapped my hand away with a smirk and raked his fingers through it, as if I had messed it up.

I raised an eyebrow, giving him a warning look and instead was about to talk to one of the other Shield-maidens joining the foray, when he caught my wrist and pulled me to sit side-ways in his lap. He cupped my face and kissed me as softly as only Ivar could imagine.

“I would behave myself if I were you, Ivar. You are playing a dangerous game.” I said lowly, nipping at his ear lobe. We were still newlyweds, nothing or no one bothered us. They all knew how in love we were with each other, getting caught fooling around wasn’t that abnormal in the slightest.

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Ivar Imagine- Ivar Doesn't Share

So I’m posting early because I’m going out tonight, but this is in response to this week’s Friday Night Heathen Army Prompt about a “Ragnarsson sandwich”. I definitely took my own spin on it, it’s probably not a typical “sandwich” story.
But I still hope you enjoy! It was so fun to write.


You sigh in frustration at your lover, rolling your eyes as he glares at you. “Ivar, he will freeze otherwise. It is not a big deal.”

Ivar growls at you, gripping your waist tightly. “I said no. I do not want him touching your naked body!”

Hvitserk looks up from where he is currently attempting to breathe some life into your pitiful fire. “I’d very much like that.”

You shoot him a look. “You are not helping.”

“He can keep warm by the fire,” Ivar grits his teeth, pushing his body closer to yours. “He is not getting in here with us!”

You let out an exasperated groan. The three of you are currently stranded in the mountain cabin, pinned down by a sudden snowstorm. You had been hunting deer, and before you knew it, the temperature dropped to freezing and the snow starting flying. Hvitserk had stayed out to quickly try to find some firewood as you and Ivar hurried back to the cabin. With such cold temperatures, you knew body heat was the best way to stay warm. By the time Hvitserk had gotten back with a few twigs, you and Ivar were already naked and bundled up in furs.

Now, to keep Hvitserk from becoming an icicle, you know he has to get under the furs with you. But your jealous, stubborn lover is not fond of that plan.

“Hvitserk will keep his hands to himself,” you try to placate Ivar. “Right, Hvitserk?”

The blonde man opens his mouth to probably make a joke, but catches the murderous look in his brother’s eyes and thinks better of it. “Of course,” he says instead.

Ivar huffs childishly and sticks out his bottom lip. It’s an adorable look that usually has you giving in instantly. But not today. Your sister will kill you if you bring back her man half frozen to death. You kiss his pouty lip quickly and turn back to the shivering man now blowing on his hands.

“Get in, Hvitserk.”

He’s up and undressing in an instant. You ignore Ivar’s protests and lift up the furs so the older Ragnarsson can climb in.

He settles down beside you, back to your chest. “Ivar, move your arm,” he mutters referring to the possessive arm his brother has slung around your waist. Ivar snarls and clutches you tighter.

“No,” his breath is hot on your neck. “And if you even think about touching her with those big meaty paws of yours, I will make sure you lose some fingers-slowly.”

Hvitserk laughs while you give Ivar a scolding pinch on the arm. “No one is losing any fingers,” you say firmly. “Now everyone just be quiet and go to sleep. Hopefully the storm will be over by the morning.”

Thankfully, the brothers listen to you. Well, mostly. You can still hear Ivar grumbling under his breath as he keeps an almost bruising grip on your waist. Hvitserk is quiet, his breathing evening out as he slips into sleep.

It’s oddly comfortable, being pressed between the two brothers. You are extremely warm, with Ivar’s chest at your back and Hvitserk’s back against your own chest. You take the time to examine his form. You don’t have any sort of sexual attraction to him, but you can definitely say he is a handsome and well built man. Your sister is a lucky woman indeed.

You giggle silently to yourself as you think of what she would say if she saw you now. She’d laugh at you being the middle of a “Ragnarsson sandwich”. And then probably demand to switch places with you.

Eventually you find yourself getting drowsy, and you let go of your thoughts and let yourself be lulled into sleep by the peaceful breathing of the men surrounding you.

You wake with a start, disoriented as you feel someone trying to roll you over. You blink blearily, seeing Hvitserk’s back a few feet from your face. He must have moved away from you in the night. Which means Ivar is the one currently tugging on you.

You flip over to face him. “What in Odin’s name are you doing?”

“Shhh,” he hushes you, pulling you so you are flush against him. He kisses you hard, lips working against yours in a feverish dance that is all too famillair.

You groan against his mouth. How could you have forgotten? Ivar is a morning sex person. As soon as he wakes, he wants you. Sometimes he even wakes you up in very creative ways. This morning appears to be no different. Except usually there is not another person sharing the furs.

“We can’t,” you say frantically against his lips, “Hvitserk is right there!”

“He’s still asleep,” Ivar grips your hair tight and pulls it back to expose your throat. He begins to suck at the expanse of skin. “If you are quiet, he will not wake. He’s a heavy sleeper.”

You try to keep your wits about you as his talented mouth wrecks havoc on your sensitive flesh. “I don’t think we should-”

He snarls and sinks his teeth into you at the same time he yanks hard on your hair. You have to suppress the gasp that tears from your throat.

“You will please me now,” he hisses, gripping your hips so hard you will probably have hand shaped bruises. “You will be a good little dove and do as I say. We have made love every morning since you first spent a night in my bed. You will not deny me!”

The commanding tone melts your resolve, as it always does and probably always will. You quickly climb on top of him and fuse your lips as your bodies come together in that carnal dance you love so nuch. You try your very best to stay quiet, but it’s hard when Ivar can pull feelings and sounds out of you that no one else has before. That man can play you like the most finely tuned lyre and make you sing for him with both your body and your voice.

You have to bury your face in his neck at the end, pressing your lips into his skin so you will not cry out. He in turn bites your shoulder. When you are finished, you simply lay there, trying to catch your breath as quietly as you can.

“That sounded like fun. Why wasn’t I invited?”

You shriek and roll off of Ivar at the sound of Hvitserk’s voice. Ivar catches you and covers you both with the furs before glaring at his brother.

“You know I do not share,” he snarls, clutching you to him like you are some sort of prize. He does not even seem perturbed that his brother was apparently listening.

“Were you awake the whole time?” You squeak, feeling your cheeks flush red in embarrassment.

Hvitserk, who has rolled to face you, simply grins. “Not the whole time. I only caught the end. You are not as quiet as you think you are.”

“Apparently,” you press further into Ivar, wishing the ground would open up and swallow you whole.

“Are you sure you do not wish to share, Ivar? She looks like she could go a second round,” Hvitserk teases.

The growl that rips from Ivar is positively animalistic. “Suggest that again and I will strip the flesh from your bones. I. Do. Not. Share.”

Hvitserk just laughs and proceeds to get out of the furs and find his clothes. “As you wish, brother mine. I will just have to wait until I get back to Visna.” He finishes dressing and gives the two of you a wink. “The storm has passed. I’m going to get firewood. You two do what you want.”

Once the door shuts behind him, you let out a loud groan.

“I can’t believe this. I told you it was a bad idea!”

Ivar just pushes you onto your back and swings himself on top of you. “No idea of mine is a bad idea. Hvitserk can listen all he wants, so long as he does not touch.” He gives you a wicked grin. “Now, about a second round…..”

Hvitserk is right, you can go another round.

And you don’t bother trying to be quiet.


Happy Friday, my sister wives! And everyone else too, come join us!

Ride Me | Ivar Cowboy AU

Words: 3000+

Pairing: Ivar/Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Warnings: Dirty talk, oral (male recieving), choking, dom/sub dynamics, vaginal sex

Author’s Note: Whew, you ready for this? Thank the Gods for Google Docs! There is some lingo in this, so if you have no idea what is going on, feel free to message me! Slightly based on real events from when I was an 18 year old rodeo bunny.  Enjoy!

Friday nights were always the same in Custer; stale whisky and too many of the same faces at Maggie’s Place. Of course, Maggie’s was the only bar in town so you kept coming back, but some change would be nice. You folded your arms across the wooden counter, munching on a few peanuts while you watched your old high-school friend, Jimmy, mix an experimental drink. He slid the concoction across to you, a grin on his boyish face.

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Trust Issues (one shot I think)

 Ok so this is my first proper fic for vikings and im not sure yet on fic etiquette so i apologise if i do any of this wrong ( just let me know!!)  
Ivar and  OC
Warnings: NSFW / unprotected sex / derogatory towards disability at one point / smut later on 
wordcount: 1696 ( sorry its long !) 
 I think this is a one shot but depends if people want more or not xxx

@ivartheheathen @ivars-heathen-army @heathensisterwives

There had been a great celebration when the Ragnarsons had returned from their travels, tales had spread of all their triumphs but it was great to finally have them back home in Kattegat. You had not always lived here but when the sons had recruited for their army you had come along with your people and while they were away in England, you had stayed and made quite a name for yourself. You were no fool, with a sharp mind and no stranger to a weapon, you had become a great asset.
On the sons return you had been introduced by Margrethe the sons all of which seemed pleased to meet you, all except Ivar. The more Ivar heard about you the more disgusted he seemed at the sight of you, he refused to speak to you and would just sit and judging watch you whenever with his brother.

That was until one night during the sacrifice and celebrations of the god Freyr.  Although the sons had been triumphant they had lost many men and those lost needed to be replaced, it was nights like these that were designed to bring the men and women together in the sight of Freyr to bring about a new generation of warriors.

At the celebrations feast you manged to sit across from Ubbe and Hvitserk, with Ivar sitting at the head of the table. As the feast went on you could not help but notice Ivars constant watch over you as he bore his knife into the table top. You tap your spoon in front of the other two Ragnarsons to grab their attention.

“Your brother” you say as you throw your eyes over to ivar “the way he looks at me, I don’t like it.”
Ubbe shakes his head “ I don’t know what you mean” as Hvitserk scoffs trying to supress a laugh from escaping his lips as Ubbe jabs him in the rubs.
“What is so funny? Huh? Tell me” you ask dropping your head to catch eye contact with Hvitserk, but it is Ubbe who answers.
“He doesn’t trust you”
“What? Why not!?!” you ask glaring at Ivar
Ubbe continues, “he said you cannot trust a beautiful woman, not if she is smart and ambitious”

Hvitserk leans over the table slightly towards you “ I said, beautiful smart women make men like us beautiful strong children, I mean we are celebrating Freyr, me and you could make a fine few warriors don’t you think?” he asks with the devilish smile of his, trying his luck as usual.
You raise an eyebrow and pull a horrified face in gest, “ I could think of far better things to do …”

it was then Ivar spoke, “ better than having the child of a Ragnarson?” his mocking laugh followed. You turned to meet his confrontational glare, your smiling face did not even threaten to soften it. You pause for a moment taking in the colour of his piercing blue eyes in contrast to his dark hair, the angle of his jaw and he tensed it as he looked at you, and the way his collar bones protruded from the neckline of his shirt as he lent onto the table. “No Ivar” you replied softly while allowing your eyes to meet Ivars before looking him up and down slowly, you fingers playing with the handle on your cup of mead allowing your own teeth to graze your bottom lip as you look at youngest brother, “ I can just think of a better thing to FUCK than your brother.” You pull your cup of mead up to your lips as Ivar sits back in his chair, his eyes dancing across the table, the floor, anywhere but your eyes, his lips twitching as if looking for something to say. For such a fearsome Viking, the reaction to a woman was what you would expect of a child, you had heard from Margrethe, but you did not want to elicit this reaction in him. To ease his discomfort you changed the subject “Besides!” a smile returning to your face “ I think Hvitserk is spoken for” you gesture towards to women walking towards the brother, “ I think three of us may be a crowd.”


As the celebrations had gone on the smell of mead in the air had begun to mix with the unmistakable smell of sweat and sex. It was hard to see in some places where one person began and another had ended. So many bodies intertwined with one another drunk on their mead and victories. It was here where you found yourself among some of Ivars own satisfied warriors and their companions. One of the young women leaned over to speak to you.

“You have been looking over at Ivar all night, I have seen you…”

“What?” her partner questions with a bellowing laugh, “that cripple shouldn’t even be here, no women would want to fuck him”

“they couldn’t from what I hear” the women adds laughing and covering her mouth as if to hide her words.

“What you need is to find yourself a real man, sweet, not that!” the man points over to Ivar who is still sat in the large chair at the head of the table alone overlooking everyone.

“ A real man?” you laugh “Like a leader of a great army?” your hand mocklingly slips between your legs, the heal of your hand pressing into yourself, “ A man so ruthless even Vikings like you fear him?” the man is no longer laughing as you stand “hm.. maybe you are right.” you throw the comment over your shoulder as you walk away from them towards Ivar.

You could not tell if it was the mead or you who had thought this was a good idea, but as you reached his chair you sank to your knees positioning yourself to the side, beckoning him to lean his head down to you so you could speak to him, you place your hand down over his as you speak, your stomach tightening at the warmth of his skin compared to cold leather straps and buckles.

“I know you do not trust me Ivar, and you are right not to” you can feel his muscles tense under your hand but you continue “ but your army Ivar, some doubt you are a real man. doubt breeds weakness” you pause to move yourself in front of him, your hands unravelling the leather ties of his pants, “you will be no good to me or my plans if you are weak” you stand slowly, leaning in and raising the hem of your dress to reveal one of your legs as you straddle Ivars lap, his body is tense under yours but you can feel him soften as you run a hand along the side of his neck, your thumb grazing his jaw.
“Y/N, I…” you interrupt his words, grinding your hips into his, “ I don’t care Ivar, let people see what they think they see” you whisper into his ear before letting out a soft moan” you continue to play the illusion of sex for onlookers, the friction of your bud against him still giving you sensation of pleasure, the pit of your stomach crackling like the embers of a fire waiting to ignite as Ivar begins to play along and places his thumb to twirl between your folds.

The moans were no longer an act, as Ivar cupped your jaw his thumb placed on your lips, teasing between them the way he was between your legs. You seized the opportunity to suck his thumb into your warm, wet mouth, your cheeks hollowing as you swirl your tongue. In that moment Ivars hand forces between the two of you as he lets out a deep growl, “you really shouldn’t have done that” he teased as his hand cupped you neck and pulled your forehead to his, the hand between your legs pulling at his pants. The way he was looking at you now, hungrily like you were his prey, it felt dangerous, it felt fun. You had been lost in that feeling of fear and excitement when you felt something pulsate against your entrance, Ivar drew his lips you your ear, “no more pretending” he purred as his tip slid between your folds, your head shot back in shock “but..” you gasped pausing not sure what to feel, but while ghosting your fingers down Ivars chest you still burned to be touched. “It’s not true” you smile as Ivars teases the tip at your entrance again, this time causing you to stretch as the head enters you.

“Take it” he instructed as you sink down onto him, a rasped moan leaving his body as you grind into him harder your nails digging into his skin as you stretch around him trying to engulf every last inch of the man beneath you.  His hips force upwards causing pleasure to splinter through you over and over again each buck of his hips brings you closer to your climax. His rough hands grab at your chest and throat as he pulls apart the collar of your dress to reveal your bare breast. The cold air brushing your skin causes you nipple to harden before Ivars tongue and lips make their contact. His teeth graze the flesh causing a shock to travel down your spine and your walls tense around his cock. “Ivar” you beg “please, I can’t” his teeth gently grazing your flesh again his thrusts becomig harder, “say it again” he growls, you moan his name again but a sharp thrust that would have been painful had you not been so close stops you in your tracts “No! say it again” he snarls.  His hand was no longer on your hips but between you, his thumb twirling over your clit.

“Ivar, please” you beg as his breath quickens “again” his voice wrasps against your skin before his lips kiss at your neck, he wanted you to beg for him and with every please you let out his thrust became harder and more erratic. His pulsing cock pushing against your clenching walls as your body began to come undone, you force yourself down onto him, taking him in completely your nails ripping at his skin as your body screams out of pleasure a wave of heat coming over you as his hips buckle and you feel his body release into you.

You collapse into his chest and neck, as you come back into reality and see so many watching eyes including Ivars warriors from before, their jokes of Ivar no longer relevant. As you glance around the room your head is ripped back by its jaw so that your eyes lock with Ivars, the smell of mead on his breath filling your nostrils. His grip tight as his eyes bore into yours, “You do not have to beg a WEAK man!” 

hope it was ok for my first Ivar fic !!! Love to the Heathen Army and Sisterwives!!

One Wish, One Night- An Ivar Imagine

So our lovely sister wife @splendor-e sent me the following prompt:

Ok, so there goes the prompt! In the celebrations in England (we will pretend that nothing happened with Sigurd), the shieldmaidens proposes a small competition between them. Each would choose one of Ragnar’s sons to represent, as well as the Kings and Earls. They must approve that they represent them, because if they win the competition, they win a wish that cant be denied. There will be three modes: archery, sword fighting and target shooting with the ax. (1) there’s more. Only those who win two of them win the wish. What happens? *—-*~

I tweaked it a little bit, but I hope you still like it dear! It was fun to write, thanks for sending it to me!

TW: very very mild sexual content


Of course it was Ingrid who suggested the competition. The girl was calculated and cunning and always looking to improve her status in the eyes of their leaders. She had called out her idea during a lull in the post battle celebrations, as they were all drinking and toasting to their victory against the Saxons.

“Let us shieldmadiens have a competition, to celebrate,” she had said. “Each one of us chooses one of our leaders to represent. Then we compete against each other in a battle of skills. The last two women standing are allowed to ask a wish that must be granted from the man they have chosen. What say you, my princes?”

The Ragnarssons had all welcomed the idea enthusiastically, as well as King Harald Finehair. The maidens who wished to compete began assembling themselves. You shrugged and decided to join them. You had become bored with the feasting and were looking for a little more excitement.

In the end, six of you stood ready, one for each leader. Ingrid, being the one who came up with the idea, got to choose first.

“I will represent Bjorn Ironside,” she said, and Bjorn raised his drinking horn in acknowledgment.

“I will represent King Harald Finehair,” said a tall blonde woman whose name you did not know. She must be a shieldmaiden from his own forces, you thought, as the King nodded at her with a grin.

You were next in line. You looked at the remaining four choices, and your dark eyes were immediately drawn to the youngest Ragnarsson. You had always found him very handsome, but had never spoken to him. You were the daughter of a fisherman and very much below his rank. You longed to run your fingers through that thick, glorious hair, to know what those lovely scowling lips would feel like against your own. His blue eyes were mesmerizing, and you wanted to cut your tongue on the sharp angle of his jaw so badly you could sometimes taste the coppery tang of his luscious, Viking blood.

Not only was he good looking, he was also the smartest and most cunning of all his brothers. He had drawn up the very plans that had helped win the recent battle. You were very, very attracted to him and not being able to do anything about it was very frustrating.

But as the crowd waited for your choice, you suddenly knew this was your chance to change all that. If you won, your wish had to be granted. And you knew exactly what you wanted to wish for.

“I will represent Ivar the Boneless,” you said, and you saw his eyebrows shoot up. But he said nothing, just nodded at you in acceptance. You smiled to yourself, and ran a hand over the fine sword on your belt. It was time to get to work.

Once the other maidens had picked their men, the competition began. It was divided into three parts: archery, sword fighting, and axe throwing. You were pretty good in all of those areas, so you felt confident you would be able to be one of the final two.

Archery was first. You did very well in it, you scored the second highest score out of all six. You caught a glimpse of Ivar’s face after the scores had been announced; he looked mildly impressed. You noticed he sat up straighter in his chair and leaned forward, as if to examine you more closely. You felt heat creep up your neck, but faced his gaze with a haughty one of your own. His lips quirked up in the barest of smiles, and from that moment on his eyes never left you.

Of course, that made it extremely difficult to concentrate during the next two rounds. You could feel the burning of his blue eyes into your skin, watching your every move closely. You had to suppress many a shiver that threatened to dance along your spine. He was finally noticing you, and it was scary and thrilling all at the same time.

Despite the distraction, you also did well in both the sword fighting and the axe throwing. You were pretty sure you were one of the top two shieldmaidens, but until the scores were calculated you wouldn’t know. While your friend Brunhild and another shieldmaiden added everything up, you chanced another glance at Ivar. You had to bite your lip to keep from gasping. Apparently your performance on the field had intrigued him greatly, as he was now giving you an extremely appraising look, and judging by his flared nostrils and wide eyes, he definitely liked what he saw. Oh yes, the youngest Ragnarsson was aroused by your work with weapons. You felt the hot molten heat of desire stir in your belly.

“We have our two champions,” Brunhild annouced. You couldn’t help but send a quick prayer up to the gods. Please let her say your name, please let her say your name!

“Ingrid and Y/N, representing Bjorn Itonside and Ivar the Boneless respectively!”

You let out the breath you hadn’t known you were holding. Ingrid came over and patted you on the back, beaming. But your eyes were on the blue eyed prince, who was now wearing a troubled frown. You wondered if he was wondering what you would ask of him. He probably thinks I’ll ask for land or money, you thought. Little does he know….

“What is your wish, Ingrid Torstiensdottir?” Bjorn addressed your comrade.

“Land and a title in this new world we have conquered,” Ingrid said without hesitation, and you had to admire her nerve. That was an awful lot to ask. But the wish had to be fulfilled, so Bjorn raised his horn of mead in salute. “Done.”

“And what of you, shieldmaiden?” Ivar called out to you, and your heart sank a little at the fact that he didn’t even know your name. But you forced yourself not to look disappointed, and took a deep breath. Well, you thought, here goes nothing.

“I wish to spend one night with you, my prince.”

Ivar’s eyes widened in surprise. A deadly silent hush followed your words as everyone present stared directly at you. The other Ragnarssons mouths had dropped in shock.

“You what?” Ivar sounded like he had been hit over the head with something.

You ignored the butterflies fluttering nervously in your belly. “I said I wish to spend one night with you, Ivar the Boneless. Honour my wish, or are you not a man of your word?”

They were bold words, and risky. But they appeared to be the right ones, as Ivar’s lovely blue eyes darkened, and the tip of his tongue poked out to wet his bottom lip. Your whole body tingled at the sight.

“I am a man of my word,” he said, his voice dripping confident and sin. “I shall see you in my room at sundown, shieldmaiden.”

Your legs felt weak, your heartbeat raced like a Valkyrie rushing back to Valhalla. You were finally going to get what you had wanted for so long now.

Hours later, when your hands were finally buried in that glorious hair and your body felt like it was on fire, the thought came to you.

“Orin’s beard,” you cursed with a gasp, “I should have wished for more than one night.”

Ivar looked up at you from between your shaking thighs, were he had buried his face what seemed like ages ago (to your intense satisfaction and delight). He grinned wickedly at you, teeth shining in the low candlelight.

“I think I can be persuaded to change the conditions of your request,” he said, voice heavy with lust. “If you are a good girl and do exactly what I tell you all night. Can you do that, Y/N?”

You nodded feverishly, squirming as his hands squeezes your thighs. “I can do or be whatever you damn well please, Ivar.”

His grin turned positively animalistic. “Good. Now shut up and let me continue enjoying you. Battle leaves a man with a hearty appetite, you know.”

You smiled to yourself as he settled himself back to work. You could have wished for anything else-land, money, the best pick of the plunder-but you are exceedingly glad you didn’t. One wish, one night, hopefully turned into many.

And one very, very satisfied shieldmaiden.

Have a good day or night, sister wives!!❤️❤️


The daughter of Mormon fundamentalist Sister Wives stars just came out as gay and her family’s reaction was actually really heartwarming

As for Mariah? She’s a pretty badass 21-year-old who just came out on national television. Her Twitter bio reads: “ask me about my radical feminist agenda.” Wait, she seems awesome on multiple levels.

Gifs: Entertainment Tonight



Pairing: Ragnar x Reader
Summary: Ragnar and reader are close and his new wife doesn’t like it. Ragnar goes to read, instead of talking about it, he explains himself in another way. Warnings: HOLY SHIT SO NSFW, killing mention, adultery (please don’t do that shit! I DO NOT condone it!), daddy!kink, praise!kink

Tagging: the mvp @squirrelacorngliterfarts @captainpoopweinersoldier @underthenorthstar @mizzvengenz6661 @whenimaunicorn @lordavanti @ivartheboneme @pagan-raider @synnersaint @rockyrascal @arkrimwitchout @heathen-army @cherrytrinkets @littlewolfieposts @lumpyqueen97 @wastelandsheep @ubberagnarssons @shondlenoodle @sylvia-wolfe-postlimit-blog @bluearchersstuff @ryderwinchester

Length: super fucking long!! (once again I got carried away..oh well)
P.S. : uh, I’m pretty sure I’m going to hell for this so.. yeah. Here ya go! Send me postcards from Valhalla! P.P.S: this is a mashup of season 1 and 2 Ragnar, not completely accurate but guess what? it’s fiction! here we fucking go!

Being a Shield-maiden is no easy task. To think so would be fucking ridiculous. Constantly on edge, at the the ready, just in case someone was foolish enough to invade our shore. All the time spent training and preparing for the next raid, the next fight. Always ready to battle, sometimes just for the namesake, to show everyone in Kattegat you are just as strong and able as the Viking next to you. Man or woman.

The scars and wounds on your receiving end were not ugly, or frowned upon. Though I did know a few women who would cover them with long sleeves or hide their face. A few said it made them feel weak but I only saw the opposite. I liked my scars.

They made me feel powerful and worthy enough to call myself a Shield-maiden. They let everyone who saw me know that I had seen things they had not, that they were lucky to see me at all. They let people know I was not one to fuck with, that I was here with them and the enemy, whoever they were, were no more.

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Raising the Stakes- Ivar's Turn

Ivar got whiny and made me write my axe throwing prompt from his point of view.


“Care to raise the stakes?”

He gives her a cocky smile, knowing it will help provoke her into agreeing to this. He knows exactly how to push all her buttons. He spends all his time with her, all his time studying her. She is his favourite subject.

“How so?” She asks, twirling her axe between her fingers. He smiles wider.

“If you lose, you must pay the penalty,” he says.

She raises one eyebrow at him. “What’s the penalty?”

He gives her his most wicked look. “Whatever I say it will be. After you lose.”

He has many ideas. They all involve him finally getting what he wants: her tender flesh under his hands and his name spilling from her pretty red lips.

“And if you lose?” She asks.

He shrugs. “Same thing. You will decide a penalty for me. But you know I never lose.”

He can see the cogs turning in her head. She knows he is a very good shot. They have trained together since they were children and he has always been able to best her. Still, he knows her better than he knows himself. She is competitive, and he is positive she will not back down. She doesn’t back down from anything. It’s one of the things that attracts him to her.

“Alright, I accept,” she says, and he feels a pulse of victory inside him. “Let us begin.”

He goes first, as he always does. He situates himself on his stump, getting his shot lined up. He can feel her eyes on him. It makes an involuntary shiver skitter across his skin. Those doe-like eyes, how he wants them to stare at him with desire and need. He can feel a red stain creeping up the back of his neck. He mentally berates himself for getting distracted and lines up his shot. A few deep breaths, then he throws. It hits the centre of the target.

He cannot help but feel smug. “A perfect bullseye.” He turns to look at her. “Your turn.”

He watches her as she prepares. She is almost goddess like in his eyes, so tempting and alluring. He has wanted her since she grew out of being a child and became a woman. She can drink, she can fight, she takes his shit and gives it right back. And she is so, so beautiful. He must have her. He feels like he will die if he doesn’t.

She makes her throw, and of course it hits the middle. She will not let him win easily. He expected nothing less.

But he still grumbles.

“Hah!” She laughs, and he cannot help his heart faltering at the sound. “I may win yet, oh mighty prince.”

He just snorts at her confidence, and they continue on.

He’s doing well, but not as well as usual. He’s distracted. Every time she makes a throw he thinks of what he will ask of her if she loses, and he loses his grip on his concentration. He can almost taste her sweet lips, can almost feel the warmth of her body underneath his and it is driving him mad.

Still, he makes it to the final throw only a tiny pace behind. She needs to make a perfect shot to win. He feels confident he has this, and the excitement swells within him.

She steps up for her final throw……and hits the target dead on. He cannot believe it. His heart sinks into his boots.

“Yes!” She cries, throwing her hands into the air. “I am victorious!”

His chance is lost. He feels an overwhelming frustration creep into his bones. “I cannot believe this,” he groans, rubbing his face in his hands. “I never lose!”

“Well, Ivar, today you have,” she says, walking towards him. “Now you have to pay up! Hmm, what shall your penalty be?”

He cannot have this. His frustration reaches a boiling point, and on pure instinct he reaches out and grabs her by her shirt and pulls her towards him. She lets out a gasp of surprise as they collide. He grasps her hip in one hand, the other takes hold of her chin and holds her face up. Big eyes stare back into his, confusion written in them. He can see every tiny mark on her skin, could count every eyelash, he is that close. He thinks of what he has let slip through his fingers and he nearly shakes in rage.

“I do not like to lose,” he growls at her, his hand slipping from her chin and sliding down to her throat. His fingers flex, revelling in the feel of the creamy flesh underneath them.

“Too bad,” she says, and her weapon-worn hands come to rest on his chest. “I won fair and square. You have to pay.”

He cannot help but squeeze her throat gently, momentarily transfixed by the way his hand looks there. “What is your penalty?” He finally says, voice odd and somewhat raspy. It’s her closeness. It makes him crazy, her warmth and scent so close but still out of reach.

She looks up at him from under thick lashes. “You have to kiss me,” she whispers. “Hard.”

He blinks. Did she just say she wants him to kiss her? Is he getting so delusional over her that he is imagining things now? What he has wanted but has always been too afraid to ask for, did she really just propose it?

“What?” He asks, confused.

Her face falls, her brows drawing together in an almost forlorn expression. She begins to babble. “I mean, no, that is silly, you do not, not unless you want-”

He can’t hold it in any longer. Of course he wants. He always wants. And maybe, this means she wants it just as badly. He leans in and cuts her off by pressing his lips to hers.

She tastes divine. Her lips are soft and sweet and he thinks he’s an idiot for waiting this long to claim them. He devours her with a ferocious hunger, like a man denied a meal for far too long. It’s too much and too little all at once.

And she kisses him back. She moans softy into his mouth and works her lips against his like she is just as hungry for him as he is for her. Her hands are running all over him and he feels a heat spreading over his body. Instinctively, the hand on her throat tightens. She presses herself closer to him, the kiss they are sharing deepening at his actions. Surprise runs through him.

She likes it. She likes his hand squeezing her throat. He groans in desperate pleasure at the realization. What else will she let him do to her, the wicked little vixen? Will she let him put his silver blade to her skin? Will she let him bind her wrists with rope? He reaches up and grabs her hair in his excitement. Again, she does not shy away, and he could cry with the delight of it.

He tears his mouth from hers and moves to the skin of her jaw, leaving sucking kisses as he explores.

“Some penalty this is,” he growls, needing her to know his intents, "when it is all I have ached for since you grew into a woman.”

She sucks an breath. "Really?” She sounds surprised. It makes him want to roll his eyes. Instead, he gives her earlobe a sharp nip.

“Do not be daft, woman,” he says. “Why do you think I spend so much time with you?” He traces his tongue up over her ear and is rewarded with a deep shudder.

"I thought you just liked to bother me.” She replies, voice unsteady.

“Hmmm, well you are rather delicious when you are angry,” he hums, tugging her hair so he can expose the lovely expanse of her throat. He moves his hand so he can explore the tempting new area with his mouth. Her skin is so warm and soft, he wants to sink his teeth into every inch he can reach. He starts by raking his teeth across her skittering pulse.

“Are you as good at handling a woman as you are with an axe?” Her voice is whiny, and it nearly breaks him. He pulls back to examine her. She looks utterly delicious, cheeks flushed red, pupils dilated and lips kiss-stung. She’s looking at him like she cannot wait for him to pounce. He knows for certain now, this is not and has never been one sided. He lets his desire for her show all over his face. She shivers under his gaze, and he thrills at the thought of what he is about to finally, finally do.

“Wouldn’t you like to find out,” He growls, inching a hand up under her shirt.

He knows he’s just as good with a woman as he is with a weapon. Judging by her dazed and satisfied expression when he’s finished with her, she now knows it too.

And he’s pretty sure his bed is going to be quite nice and warm for many, many nights to come.

I just enjoy some good ol’ axe throwing way too much.

Ivar Imagine #3 | Ivar Is Afraid

Originally posted by whenimaunicorn


“I can’t see you anymore. We have to stop - whatever this is.” 

Ivar sat rigid in his chair, eyes darting anywhere but your face. He knew that there would be hurt in your features and if he dared to look, he would surely crack under the pressure. He heard you sigh and braced himself for your anger, but it never came. Instead, he felt gentle hands cupping his cheeks and soft lips pressing into his forehead. 

“I understand.” 

Oh no…

He had prepared himself for you to be upset, to scream and shout your frustration and then leave him alone. That he could handle, Ivar was familiar with anger, but this… he was lost. He could feel you leaving kisses all over his face, your eyelashes fluttering against his skin as you made your way down. Something inside of him was screaming to push you away, to tell you that you shouldn’t love a monster like him, but he didn’t move. You paused just in front of his mouth, close enough that he could feel your lips move as you spoke but too far away to steal a kiss.

“Ivar, can you let me love you one last time?” 

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My name is: a great time.

My age is: just a little bit of a little bit of a little bit.

I live in: this cemetery.

My body is: ready.

I am looking for: someone who is going to be strong and deceptively submissive.

I enjoy: working the expanse fandom and I don’t want you guys to come.

My ideal partner is: a great thing to imagine.

My turn ons are: good for you!