splitting axe

🐺 - Lamb, tell me a story..

🐑 - There was once a pale man with dark hair who was very lonely..

🐺 - Why was it lonely?

🐑 - All things must meet this man, so they shunned him.

🐺 - Did he chase them all?

🐑 - He took an axe, and split himself in two…

🐺 - So he will always have a friend..?

🐑 - So he will always have a friend.

Ok we are not nothing.
You know the evening sky
like a drunken mother in a nightgown, you know in the morning when she cracks like the axe split
the cherry tree and lies all cold
on the ground,
and the dog inside pawing
at your red toes, your pre-pubescent growth spurts aching
with the dawn.
Something haunting. Like the echo
of the rubber ball rolling
under the bed that your limbs
have outgrown but you can’t
afford much better, your room is tilted down on this side, lower sunk into the earth, punched and swallowed, but cursed all the same. like a loose tooth.
red dawn on your jam and toast, and your legs stop swinging,
you reach a hand in, and yank at that hanging chrysalis feeling, and lick it when it’s free,
and this is why they’ll call you
bucky butterfingers
you just don’t know it yet
Something ugly, and childish, and smeared around your gaping mouth like blood,
we can just
pretend it’s cherry popsicle.
I tried to cut my fingers off with
safety scissors, you left me all alone behind that fence, those great big sunflowers with moving heads and stiff necks, and yellow tongues, I used to run out back with
milky slopping glue in the corners of my eyes
and eat all the carrots and dirt and hedges I wanted, alone,
until a grown up found me,
and peeled me from the garden by scruff of my neck,
she closed the bathroom door behind me, told me to wash my face with blue dish soap,
and I cried when it stung, when it
made my tongue feel like a slug
in salt, but
I said ouch very quiet with
her wrinkly, rubber hands squeezing in under my
play-doh ribs, cartilaginous and still soft, like a tadpole in mud.
she turned her nose and
said I smelled like a wet dog and
plopped me covered in scrapes
and full of wriggling worms like
fly ridden fruit, her black skirts bit
away the feeding curl of ants I fed my
stale cookies to, she sat me with a towel to dry in the time out room to
be eaten by fat clowns with
clocks for faces, and half past midnight for teeth,
I buckled my mouth, I was brave,
crossed arms and wolf fur under
my armpits, wild thing screaming for her mother
the alphabet backwards
smashing doll houses in
velcro Mary Janes, the
sand box bully, the
monkey bar hog with
wood chip splintered knuckles and callouses to prove it,
covered in scrapes and
caved in and hollowed out
like an empty pint of ice cream,
I have spare band aids in my
pockets, like confetti to a cheap
why are those purple things under your eyes
so big? can’t you do something
about them? don’t you
want to be a better girl?
—  bees and their empty homes

theaceofwands  asked:

PQ, out of all of his uncles Theon seems to be the most fond of Euron. Why do you think that is?

I disagree there. Theon isn’t fond of Euron, he’s scared of him (as he should be):

Old men were cautious by nature. His father was old now, and so too his uncle Victarion, who commanded the Iron Fleet. His uncle Euron was a different song, to be sure, but the Silence did not seem to be in port.

“Euron Crowseye has no lack of cunning, though. I’ve heard men say terrible things of that one.”

Theon shifted his seat. “My uncle Euron has not been seen in the islands for close on two years. He may be dead.” If so, it might be for the best. Lord Balon’s eldest brother had never given up the Old Way, even for a day. His Silence, with its black sails and dark red hull, was infamous in every port from Ibben to Asshai, it was said.

“Euron Greyjoy is no man’s notion of a king, if half of what Theon said of him was true.”

Under it he wore a stained white leather eye patch that reminded Theon of his uncle Euron. He’d wanted to rip it off Umber’s face, to make certain that underneath was only an empty socket, not a black eye shining with malice. 

From what I can tell, the uncle Theon got along with best as a kid was Aeron, pre-Damphair…

The priest’s manner was chilly, most unlike the man Theon remembered. Aeron Greyjoy had been the most amiable of his uncles, feckless and quick to laugh, fond of songs, ale, and women.

…although like Asha with the Reader, Theon’s true father figure among the Ironborn wasn’t a kraken. 

A lesser man might have been afraid to show a smile as frightening as his, yet Dagmer grinned more often and more broadly than Lord Balon ever had.

Ugly as it was, that smile brought back a hundred memories. Theon had seen it often as a boy, when he’d jumped a horse over a mossy wall, or flung an axe and split a target square. He’d seen it when he blocked a blow from Dagmer’s sword, when he put an arrow through a seagull on the wing, when he took the tiller in hand and guided a longship safely through a snarl of foaming rocks. He gave me more smiles than my father and Eddard Stark together. 

anonymous asked:

Headcanons about Revali's s/o getting captured by an enemy, and what his reaction is?? (The enemy could be Ganon or any other monster, I'll leave it up to you!) I'm ready for some ANGST my dude...hit me with your best shot

TWOOT TWOOT MOTHERFUCKERS HERE COMES THE ANGST TRAIN (sorry about cursing, I don’t mean it literally, I love you all very much)

-Mod Pinks

S/o captured by enemy (Revali, angst version)

  • Yes, he is a warrior. And yes, he knows he need to stay calm in order to increase chances of saving them.
    • But mercy on the enemy? Not happening. 
  • When he spots them, the first thing he does is try to spot his love. 
  • And he does, he spots them
    • More accurately, he spots them as they look up to the sky to him, hope light up in their eyes as they whisper to him
    • And then the Moblin’s ax splits their head in two.
  • All the Rito warriors who went with him that day as friends, left there swearing to never say a word of the carnage that followed to a single soul. There is nothing left of the enemy that night.
  • Revali is inconsolable as he clutches their body close to him, the screaming sob that escapes him is said in later legends to be so loud that his Divine Beast cried out in it’s master’s shared pain. 
  • His people give s/o a proper Rito’s funeral, and Revali spreads their ashes to the sky.
  • He never loves again- the look in the eyes of interested remind him too much of their look, their eyes.
  • The Rito village as a whole mourn the loss, and their death is passed down as a story, long after Revali has joined them in the afterlife. 
  • It is a Rito tradition to kill the Moblins that live in the camp where the ancient Moblins had every blood red moon to honor their champion and his love’s tragedy
Dolorous Edd Appreciation Post.

I will write no meta or add any commentary. I will just compile quotes from the unappreciated wonder known as Dolorous Edd. Enjoy.

Jon was paired with dour Eddison Tollett, a squire grey of hair and thin as a pike, whom the other brothers called Dolorous Edd. “Bad enough when the dead come walking,” he said to Jon as they crossed the village, “Now the Old Bear wants them talking as well? No good will come of that, I’ll warrant. And who’s to say the bones wouldn’t lie? Why should death make a man truthful, or even clever? The dead are likely dull fellows, full of tedious complaints-the ground’s too cold, my gravestone should be larger, why does he get more worms than I do…”

A Clash of Kings.

Keep reading

Feed You the Sky: Chapter 12

In which Ivar presents Kára with her morning gift. Bear with us, I know Ivar is a little different than what we usually see in this fandom. @shesafreesoul and I have decided to take his kinks in a slightly different direction, but I don’t want to give too much away because it’s going to develop over time. We hope you guys enjoy this fic as much as we do!

Min elskede:my beloved

Min kjaerte: my dear (yeah, they finally use terms of endearment!)



Kára walked beside Ivar as he dragged himself over the ground, and she found herself admiring the graceful way he moved. She was unsure how a man could look magnificent crawling like a beast, and yet her husband managed. Maybe it was the easy confidence in his movements, like this was nothing to be ashamed of, or maybe it was the rippling strength in his arms and shoulders. Her eyes were drawn to the curve of his backside, and he looked back in time to catch her staring. A wolfish, teasing grin spread over his soft mouth, and she remembered the taste of his kiss. “See something you like, wild woman?”

She could feel the heat of a blush staining her cheeks crimson, but she met his eyes without shame. “Something I like very much.” She dropped her voice to a conspiratorial stage-whisper. “I found myself thinking of the feel of your skin under my hands, the way you moved against me in our bed last night.” She bit her lower lip before continuing, feeling her blush deepen. “I can still feel the memory of you inside me.”

“Kára,” his voice was half a moan and half a growl. “If you do not stop talking like that, I swear I will pull you to the grass and take you right here.”

“Did I not satisfy you well enough before breakfast?” Her voice was shy, and she refused to meet his eyes for a moment.

He laughed, warm and tender. “I think I could love you all night, and yet still want nothing more than to keep loving you all day. Think of this morning as only a promise of things to come tonight.” A sudden heat jolted through her at those words, and she ached to have him follow through on his earlier threat.

Ivar stopped suddenly, motioning her toward the door of the bladesmith’s forge. She shot him a puzzled look, but opened the door and followed him inside. He pulled himself into a chair that had been set out, and she looked at him with open curiosity. He pointed toward the wall, the racks where the newly made weapons hung until their proud new owners came to collect them. “Do you see that battle-ax, with the golden inlays and the runes burned into the handle?” She nodded. “It is yours, part of your morning-gift. I saw that you carry a sword and a small throwing ax that you are very skilled with,” he smiled, remembering with surprising fondness the time she had barely missed his face. “But I noticed you do not have a battle-ax. I do not care if you never carry it into battle, but my Valkyrie deserves a weapon as beautiful and strong as she is.”

The ax was indeed beautiful, and she traced her pointer finger lightly over the glistening of the gold knotwork inlay. The knots depicted the shape of a howling wolf, the single eye a small green stone set into it. She took the weapon, hefting it in both hands, and sighed in delight. It felt good in her hands, heavier than her sword, but light enough for her to swing with a fair amount of ease. She had trained with a large battle-ax, but never carried one into battle. This was certainly a weapon that could split skulls, but speed was her greatest weapon, and this ax would slow her.

“I will use this ax to split the skulls of the men who betrayed me,” she promised, meeting his glinting blue eyes as she kissed the sharp edge of the ax.

Ivar nodded, his voice husky, “come here, my wild woman. Bring your ax. It must be blooded.” Kára was compelled to obey, and she knelt beside him, cradling the ax on her lap like a child. Ivar ran his palm along the edge of the ax, creating a shallow cut. He took Kára’s hand and ran her palm along the blade, too; she hissed at the burning sensation the sharp edge cutting her skin. Ivar pressed their palms together, mixing their blood, then kissed her knuckles. “Blood my blood,” he whispered.

“Blood of my blood,” Kára echoed, a chill running up her spine at the hungry look in her husband’s eyes. He cupped her cheek, smearing his blood on her pale skin, and guided her lips to his in an eager kiss. After a few moments, Ivar drew back, head tilted to one side, looking at her.

“Now you have a choice, my Valkyrie. Would you prefer to go on our raid first, or hunt down the men who betrayed you?”

The choice was easy. “First we raid. I want to see Northumbria, tales of your great army there reached us even here. I want to see the place of your victory, to spill even more blood on that green land.” She paused, something akin to bloodlust smoldering in her hazel eyes. “And then when we return, we deal with the traitors. By then they will probably be better organized. It will be a much more satisfying fight.”

Ivar laughed. “If it’s Saxon blood you wish for first, Saxon blood you will have. I told you already that I will deny you nothing. I have thought ahead already, preparing for both options so there will be no delay. Our forces are gathered, and the ships are in the harbor, ready to sail. We can leave with the tide tomorrow morning. We will be gone for probably two months. It is risky to leave a newly conquered kingdom so soon after establishing control, but our marriage should quell most of the unrest. I will leave Ubbe here in command of a small force of my men. Do you wish to leave some of yours behind, too?”

She snorted, looking at him as if that were the stupidest question she had ever heard. “Of course. Magnhild will command my men, she knows the people here. Shall we grant them joint power to settle any disputes that arise in our absence? They must reach a decision acceptable to both of them in order to pass a judgment. If they cannot, no decisions will be made until our return.”

Pride glistened in Ivar’s striking blue eyes, the corners of them crinkling in a smile. “You were shaped by the gods to rule with me, min elskede.” He pressed another kiss to her sweet lips, sighing against them in contentment before he pulled away. Her hazel eyes begged him to kiss her again, and he was only too happy to oblige her. “We should spend the day preparing. I have ordered most of our supplies packed already, but there is always much to do the day before a raid.”

Kára nodded, hazel eyes glinting. “But nothing so important as this.” Her voice was a breathy whisper, and Ivar widened his eyes in a question. She laid back on the floor of the empty bladesmith shop, pulling Ivar forcefully onto her, “You will make love to me. You will spill your seed in me. You will show all men that I am yours, and you will let me conquer you as we will conquer our enemies.”

Her commanding tone had him quickly hardening, and he gasped as her hand plunged into his trousers to stroke him. His hands were already lowering her pants, and his wandering fingers found her already wet and warm and eager, writhing against his hand. She tore his trousers down from his hips, her hands like iron on his backside, pushing him into her core in one smooth stroke. They both moaned at the overwhelming pleasure of their joining, and Ivar bit sucked hard enough on her neck to bruise the tender skin. He then bit it to seal the mark, and she bucked her hips against him, her nails drawing light lines down his lower back and buttocks, even down to the tops of his thighs.

“Yes, Ivar, gods, the feel of your cock within me is the sweetest thing I’ve ever imagined.”

He pumped harder into her, growling in her ear, “tell me more. Praise me, min elskede. Tell me exactly how good of a lover I am to you.”

“When you move your hips that way,” he repeated his movement, gyrating his hips against her, almost questioningly, and she moaned, “yes, just that way, gods, Ivar, min kjaere.” She could barely continue through her gasping, but the his blue eyes, glinting with need, tore at her heartstrings. “When you move in me, I feel like I must be a goddess. Surely I will burst from the sweetness of your cock stretching me.” Her next words were sharp, almost a keen, “you hit some spot inside me, oh Ivar. Find it again.” Her hands dug into his scalp, gently pulling at his hair, and he sucked on her neck again, just below the junction below her ear.

She threw her head back, screaming, as her hips arched against him, beyond her control. The waves of her pleasure caught him, pulled him into the ocean storm of her orgasm, and all he could do was gasp and cling to her to stay afloat. He lingered inside her after they had both finished, and Kára, feeling strangely vulnerable after feeling so powerful, burrowed her head shyly into the warm, solid strength of his chest.

He kissed her hair, then cupped her chin and raised her face to gaze into her eyes. “Min elskede, you have no idea of the power you have over me.” Now it was Ivar’s turn to feel shy, and to distract himself he ran his fingers through the soft red waves of her hair. “Everyone always thinks, because I am a king and have led armies for many years now, that I always like to be in control. But in submitting to your desires, I find no shame.” He struggled to put into words the strange feelings swirling within him, but he had never been gifted at this type of thing. “Having you so confident and bold, Kára,” he paused, again, still trying to find the words, “hearing you tell me how I make you feel, I loved it.” He smiled at the shining in her eyes. “My wild, strong woman. It is your strength that first drew me to you. That is my favorite part of you: you are indomitable.”

This drew a warm giggle from her. “My favorite part of you, I think, is your honesty. I feared you because of your reputation, but you are a man whose actions matches his words.” She paused to kiss him, grinning. “That mouth of yours is my second favorite part of you.” He gently bit her lip before she drew back. The moment of weakness passed, Kára kissed his lips one last time before standing and tugging her clothing back into place. “Now we can go prepare for the raid.”


Dear anon,

I LOVE HALSEY AND THIS SONG IS BEYOND AMAZING! I seriously hope you like it, theres no smut but hopefully it isn’t a disappointment. I’m sorry I took so long to post something, I didn’t know how this one would end, but anyways enjoy!


Caged Hummingbirds

His eyes are dark. Threaded, coded with an emotion that tightens your throat and dries your lips. Willow green eyes watch you wet them.  
His face is hard, rigid like the line of his back, spine steeled and shoulders squared.
You’ve been driving along the desert edge for hours, watching the sun fade and the place you once called home become a speck of dust in the review mirror. With a pang of regret, you silently understand why you can’t go back.
There’s a building that emerges from the horizon, growing with every breath. The construct rises like an appendage, red brown sand coating like skin. It reaches out with the miles, and the car pulls into its grasp, curling around its closed fists.
The motel is dirty, caked with desert dust and heat haze. It glows with neon signs and setting sun, the light clings to the corners of marred surface, seeping into the cracks of skin to make it seem like it radiated from the inside out.
You follow his long legs, watching the muscles of his broad back shift beneath stained cotton. The sun glides over his flesh, tracing the fine lines of his face and illuminating the grey in his green eyes. He looks white, bathed in the glow of the setting sun, he’s an angel, incandescent with wings of sun rays. He isn’t like the motel, his glow isn’t an illusion. It clings to his cracked skin like prayers from your lips. Salvation is what you asked for, and they sent him, neon light eyes and blood caked fingertips. You still can’t tell who answered you, God or the Devil. 

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

If they build that weapons testing rage I need videos of Trevor testing all of them. Throwing knives, firing the crossbow, splitting something with the axes, hitting stuff with the swords. I've wanted to see him throw a knife since he did in the ah pumpkin carving stream (but the camera wasn't on him at the time😭😭) @ ah let it happen

I’d love to see some bow and arrow Trevor, but honestly he’d probably just stand behind the camera like this and let everyone else hurt themselves. 

Lamb, tell me a story!
There was once a pale man with dark hair who was very lonely.
Why was it lonely?
All things must meet this man. So, they shunned him.
Did he chase them all?
He took an axe and split himself in two.
So he would always have a friend?
So he would always have a friend.
- Kindred (League of Legends)


Wolf: “Lamb, tell me a story!”

Lamb: “There was once a pale man with dark hair who was very lonely.”

Wolf: “Why was it lonely?”

Lamb: “All things must meet this man. So, they shunned him.”

Wolf: “Did he chase them all?”

Lamb: “He took an axe and split himself in two.”

Wolf: “So he would always have a friend?”

Lamb: “So he would always have a friend.”


                               KINDRED, THE ETERNAL HUNTERS.

                          so he took an axe & split himself  in two. 

                               so he would always  have a friend.


Wolf: Lamb, tell me a story!
Lamb: There was once a pale man with dark hair who was very lonely…
Wolf: Why was it lonely?
Lamb: All things must meet this man. So, they shunned him…
Wolf: Did he chase them all?
Lamb: He took an axe and split himself in two…
Wolf: …So he would always have a friend?
Lamb: So he would always have a friend…


Kindred Seeker 

There was once a pale man with dark hair who was very lonely. 

All things must meet this man, so they shunned him.

 He took an axe and split himself in two right down the middle

So he would always have a friend

Yelling during periods of intense physical exertion, like using an axe to split wood or while bench pressing, has been shown to increase output compared to doing it in silence, and cursing and screaming during pain actually makes us feel less of it. So next time you’re doing anything, scream bloody murder the entire time & you’ll probably do better. Science


“Fly or die!” cried the three-eyed crow as it pecked at him. He wept and pleaded but the crow had no pity. It put out his left eye and then his right, and when he was blind in the dark it pecked at his brow, driving its terrible sharp beak deep into his skull. He screamed until he was certain his lungs must burst. The pain was an axe splitting his head apart, but when the crow wrenched out its beak all slimy with bits of bone and brain, Bran could see again. What he saw it made him gasp in fear. He was clinging to a tower miles high, and his fingers were slipping, nails scrabbling at the stone, his legs dragging him down, stupid useless dead legs. “Help me!” he cried. A golden man appeared in the sky above him and pulled him up. “The things I do for love,” he murmured softly as he tossed him out kicking into empty air. 

A Clash of Kings → Bran II

“Lamb, tell me a story.”

   “There was once a pale man with dark hair who was very lonely.”

        “Why was it lonely?”

             “All things must meet this man, so they shunned him.”

                  “Did he chase them all?”

                      “He took an axe and split himself in two right down the middle.”

                           “So he would always have a friend?”

                      “So he would always have a friend.”

i n d e p e n d e n t K i n d r e d a s k & r o l e - p l a y  b l o g

Singleverse, does not ship, oc friendly, accepts M!As

Both muns are 18+

NSFW allowed, blood, gore, language,no smut allowed.

Lamb asks will be answered by h2stickman / Wolf asks will be answered by ren-xiv

Occasionally posts art/answers asks with art

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gif made by pilt0ver