"Fata Viam Invenient"
jungeohneherz:

DEJAHOE. 

 personifizierteattrappe

this is how youre supposed to make koolaid
white people be puttin like 3 spoonfuls in
shit taste like water with batteries in it
if you cant taste the diabetes, you aint doin it right

this is how youre supposed to make koolaid

white people be puttin like 3 spoonfuls in

shit taste like water with batteries in it

if you cant taste the diabetes, you aint doin it right

ultrafacts:

Source For more posts like this, follow Ultrafacts

What the Seven Hells, Game of Thrones?

whovianfeminism:

image

Yes, I know this is supposed to be a Feminism+Doctor Who blog. But my feminism cannot be contained to one fandom, and Game of Thrones royally pissed me off last night. So below the jump is a brief discussion of last night’s episode of GoT and the show’s history of gratuitous violence against women. Trigger warnings for rape, incest, and violence all apply.

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timelordandsaviour:

I’d read it.

timelordandsaviour:

I’d read it.

She touched his face. “I was lost without you, Jaime. I was afraid the Starks would send me your head. I could not have borne that.” She kissed him. A light kiss, the merest brush of her lips on his, but he could feel her tremble as he slid his arms around her. “I am not whole without you.”
There was no tenderness in the kiss he returned to her, only hunger. Her mouth opened for his tongue. “No,” she said weakly when his lips moved down her neck, “not here. The septons…”
“The Others can take the septons.” He kissed her again, kissed her silent, kissed her until she moaned. Then he knocked the candles aside and lifted her up onto the Mother’s altar, pushing up her skirts and the silken shift beneath. She pounded on his chest with feeble fists, murmuring about the risk, the danger, about their father, about the septons, about the wrath of gods. He never heard her. He undid his breeches and climbed up and pushed her bare white legs apart.
One hand slid up her thigh and underneath her smallclothes. When he tore them away, he saw that her moon’s blood was on her, but it made no difference.
“Hurry,” she was whispering now, “quickly, quickly, now, do it now, do me now. Jaime Jaime Jaime.” Her hands helped guide him. “Yes,” Cersei said as he thrust, “my brother, sweet brother, yes, like that, yes, I have you, you’re home now, you’re home now, you’re home.” She kissed his ear and stroked his short bristly hair. Jaime lost himself in her flesh. He could feel Cersei’s heart beating in time with his own, and the wetness of blood and seed where they were joined.
George R.R. Martin, A storm fo swords (via queencersei)

tommen-baratheon:

What they really thought

suicidewatch:

80s Boston Hardcore Scene.