#married to her axe? sounds like a spear wife to me

[amber-laughs]

they would make asha greyjoy Queen Beyond the Wall if she would just take a little journey

[sue-me-wright]

Been thinking about @flamboyant-prince 's S-support drama, and got permission to add to the universe, haven't written anything in a while but heehoo let's do it.

"Hmm... Well this isn't very helpful..." 

Oboro grimaced at the paper in her hand. She had been hoping to visit the accessory shop after greeting the Summoner and heading back home, but the hand-drawn map she received was rather vague. The Aether Resort had been easy enough to find but... whatever "main road" she was supposed to start at could have been any of the myriad of busy streets she'd already passed.

"Well, Styer has told me before that Summoners see things a little more simply that Heroes do," she murmured to herself before crumbling the paper in one hand. She'd just have to ask directions from the next person she saw, and she headed up the next road. Only walking a little, she came upon the dining hall to find another Hero sitting on the side steps. Hold on. Is that..?

"Lord Takumi?" She leaned over slightly and met his eyes as he glanced upwards at the sound of his name.

"Oboro?" He quirked an eyebrow at her, confused. There wasn't an Oboro in Kravice's army, was there? "Did you just get summoned here?"

"Oh, no. I'm actually here from an allied Askr to greet the Summoner. You know, just to say hello and give a gift of feathers. I was actually trying to find the accessory shop but..." She took a seat on the step next to him. "You looked trouble. Would you mind if I lent you an ear?"

Takumi looked down at his hands. Yes, having someone to spill his guts to about everything he was feeling right now sounded good but... Well, it wasn't that he didn't trust Oboro, there was just no real way of knowing if she was the same Oboro who pledged to protect him as his retainer so long ago in Hoshido, or if he was the same lord who accepted those vows. 

Finally he raised his head, stared off into the distance and said, "Do you...have an S Support?"

"Actually, I have two." She held her hands above her head, and there on each of her ring fingers sat a ring, twinkling in the evening light; one gold, the other rose gold, and though both were engraved with an S, the names upon each differed. "I've had these for so long, I sometimes forget they're there."

The faint smile, the look in her eye... they told Takumi plenty. "You must really love them both, huh? The two you have S supports with?"

Oboro took a deep breath. There was no short answer to that question. "Well, yes, but actually no." She traced her thumb over the rose gold ring, tracing the name "Styer" with her fingertip as she began to let her emotions take reign of the conversation.

"For Styer -- the Summoner of the Askr I'm from, that is -- I've been supported with her from the moment I was summoned. The first thing she said to me was... well she actually yelled 'MY WIFE!!' right there in front of everyone. When she came over and took my hand, there was suddenly a ring there. We had a C Support.

"And I was so angry at her. This is kind of embarrassing to tell you but... I was completely infatuated with, well, not you specifically, Lord Takumi, but the Lord Takumi I served. I only wanted a support with him, and I asked her to break our support, but she wouldn't do it. She said that she loved me too much.

"Time just kept going by and our support went up. Finally, we had gotten to S rank and I realized that somewhere along the way, I had fallen in love with her too. Honestly, I can't believe I ever wanted to break our support in the first place; the thought hasn't crossed my mind since. I'm really happy with her now.

"But... there was also the time when she showed up." A shadow seemed to fall over Oboro's face as she looked to the ground, her bangs falling to somewhat obscure her eyes. "The other me. The bride version of me. She was so beautiful in her bridal attire that I... well I..." She finally turned back to Takumi, the expression on her face pained -- her squeezed-shut eyes saying "I want to cry just thinking about it" and the forced smile upon her mouth saying "Not here. Not now."

"I was just so worried Styer'd want to break our support, y'know?"

Oboro looked away. She inhaled. Exhaled. Inhaled again and steadied her emotions. "I thought for sure she'd want that version of me over this one. I mean, who wouldn't want their wife as their bride. But... she never did. And I'm honestly not sure I could have handled it."

"You must feel the same way for your other S support, huh?" Takumi cut in, feeling it was the right time to ask.

"With Ike? Oh, no, of course not! We're really good friends and I'd trust him with my life, but there's nothing romantic between us. Besides, I'm pretty sure he has someone he's in love with already. We're... how did Styer put it... 'married for the tax break?' We're both tanks on the battlefield, so it made sense to give us that extra boost when fighting near each other. But otherwise, that's all we are to each other: just two members of Team Break Y'Face."

Looking like she was about to turn the conversation back to Takumi, Oboro began to speak when the cellphone in her pocket -- did she even have pockets? -- began to ring. Since Askr only had medieval-level technology, it was a flip-phone, of course. Excusing herself, she flipped open the phone.

"Hello?" 

"Hey, Oboro." -- from his spot next to her, Takumi could hear the voice on the other end of the line.

"Hi, Ike, what's up?" Ah. It was her other S support calling.

"It's Arvis, he's causing trouble again. He's still bitter about being kicked off the team and well... I'm just gonna put you on speaker phone..." The sounds around him made it obvious he was in battle just then, and finally, through the sounds of chaos came the unmistakable shout of a girl screaming "GET FUCKED BITCHES!"

Oboro's expression went dark as it twisted her face into its signature ugly expression, they one she wore when she came across Nohrians, the one that could give a child nightmares for a week. "By the Gods. Was that Lysithea?"

"Yeah."

"Isn't she, like, twelve? …Please, PLEASE tell me I didn't just hear Leanne say 'Hoes mad'."

"You did. I'm sorry, I would take care of him myself, but, y'know. Axe versus red tome ain't gonna get me far, plus my res isn't great."

"It's okay. I'll come back as fast as I can and beat his ass." With that, she ended the call and put her phone away and pulled her spear from the same pocket -- seriously, did she even HAVE pockets?? -- and stood abruptly.

"Sorry, Lord Takumi. I know I was supposed to hear you out, but looks like I ended up doing all the talking! But I really have to head out now. Maybe I'll see you around sometime?" With no time to wait for an answer, she ran off towards the castle gates. Though before she got too far, she turned back to him and called:

"Oh wait, I almost forgot to say two things! Lord Takumi, just know that, no matter what you're going through, even though I probably can physically help you, I'll be cheering you on! Also, I like your casual clothes! They look good on you!"

And with that, she finally hustled off, leaving Takumi to mull over everything that was going through his head.

[vikingsagine]

A Shield-Maiden’s Wrath - Bjorn x Reader - Part Two

Summary - After finding out Bjorn has cheated on you, the night that all the Ragnarsson’s were nervous about finally arrives. Time for your sweet revenge....

Warnings: SWEARING! ANGRY AND PREGNANT WIFE!! VIOLENCE! REVENGEEEE is a  bitch. Or is that Karma? Either way, it’s a bitch.

I did enjoy writing this, it was fun. Part One and Part Three if you want to read it. This is basically just something fluffy in a weird way. Hopefully, satisfying and justifying to the ex wives of Bjorn Ironside and just some brotherly love.

BONUS REACTIONS AT THE END!!

@soleil-dor​ @abonelessgod​ @sadbutatleastsassy​ @youbloodymadgenius​ @ivarthebloodyking​

Hvitserk is nervous. They were all nervous. 

He scanned the herd of people, tearing away at the piece of chicken in hopes to ease the rush of anxiety. If Bjorn knew he flapped his gums, breaking the promise he made, Hvitserk was sure his oldest brother would not be afraid to ‘settle’ things. Then of course, he could already imagine that you would stick up, biting into Bjorn to argue it wasn’t Hvitserk’s fault. Which would cause more strife, barking back from one another and ultimately, he would be to blame. 

Ubbe is more cautious.

He kept his light blue orbs from flickering between the oak wooden doors then to Bjorn, sitting innocently. Unaware of his targeted predicament. All four of them swore not to warn Bjorn of your knowledge because a, they would all remain out of their soon to be hurricane of a temper and b, none wanted to face yours or Bjorn’s wrath. Instead, Ubbe stood closely next to his older brother, not even thinking about drinking or eating. Too agitated and paranoid. 

“What is wrong brother?” Bjorn broke his chain of thoughts and caught him off guard. Quickly recovering from his momentary surprise, Ubbe forced a crooked smile to his lips. More so reassuring himself that everything is going to be fine. “You seem tense, relax. Drink. Eat.” 

“I’m not hungry.” Too quickly he answered, too fast. Bjorn stared at him skeptical as to why he seemed so stiff. Watching out for something. Then it dawned upon him.

“Oh I see.” This caused red flags to go off in his mind, the gears going crazy. Zooming and whirling. “You are looking for someone, aren’t you?” Ubbe clenched his jaw and squeezed the cup in hand. Clenched it so hard, he could feel it dent under the pressure. “That blonde girl, Margrethe. It is alright, I won’t tell your Mother.” He instantly relaxed in his seat and let out a skittish chuckle, quickly turning to the cup of mead for calm. 

“You could say that.”

Sigurd decided to remain ignorant. 

Instead indulged himself in his people, strumming away at the strings of his ute and filled the air of a joyous melody. He laughed and sang, finding pleasure in the company of friends and strangers. All seemingly serene, almost perfect. Yet, he could not ignore the arc of his stomach. Almost sickly as if he ate something bad or drank too much. Nauseous and sick. He knew deep down, even with hopes of peaceful tranquility for the rest of the night, it will soon be thrown to the air. Destroyed and burned. So, Sigurd kept dancing, grasping the last few moments of this bliss. 

Ivar is on edge.

He is not afraid, looking forward to the oncoming festivities that night. He could recall your last controversy. Bjorn verbally abused you over your pregnant state and how you shouldn’t be fighting or using a weapon however, your free-spirited morals did not take it so well. One thing led to another, things were thrown around by your hand. His brother’s voice boomed so loud, he was sure other town’s could hear. Which led to Bjorn’s departure and eventually, Ivar found him screwing one of the servants. Beautiful but rather, daft. Anyone stupid enough to even consider having sex with his older brother; a married man and soon-to-be Father, has a death wish. 

“Brother, are you sure-” 

“Ubbe, stop.” Bjorn cut him off, pressing the woman close to his side. He knew it was very dangerous to be playing around with the chance of his wife walking into those very doors. Of course he knew it would cause his possible death but something about the thought was exciting. “It is far too late, Y/N will not come. Hmm?” The great warrior leaned over his knees and nudged his little brother. 

“Sure.” Ubbe pressed his lips together and stood up. He knew he should’ve said something, hinted at least a little, warned Bjorn or even motioned that you knew. But there was the side that secretly wanted this, curse it be. 

My brother, I hope you are prepared, the Gods will not be on your side tonight nor will I. By the Gods, you brought this upon yourself.

~~~

Two shields of wood smashed wide, slamming against the walls and shook the hall like thunder had struck. Young men and women alike froze in their happy state and awed with wide, scared spectacles. Like a nightmare come to life, they stared. 

You stood, a raging and fuming beast. In all the glory of your shield and sword and arrows and bow. So dangerously true. Coated in leather wrapped around breasts and a bulging stomach; never a pregnant woman seen so chilling. To cause dread. Your eyes glowed vibrantly, black ink surrounded the skin and smeared the corners of your eyes. Paint ready for war. Hair is so beautiful, thick and heavy. Twisted in mending lace. A true shield-maiden ready to demolish their enemy. 

The hall in complete silence. 

You pulled an arrow back and pointed the tip of it towards your target, your prey, your next victim. Another face to tear into. 

“You.” Like a deep rumble of thunder, the sound of your voice bounced from the walls, calm and steady. But there were those that could hear the hot rage, pure and unfortunately real. “And you.” With a darting eye, you glared and aimed the weapon towards the slave girl who was pushed aside and shaking in fear. 

One, two, three steps. 

Bjorn did not budge, holding your gaze with as much passion. His pride and ego and name too much to set aside for the benefit of his wife. Instead he sat and analysed every move of your body, predator eyeing predator. Everyone else disappeared. He could do the obvious and apologize for his doings, beg for forgiveness, admit his wrong and fight for your favor. But, where would be the fun in that? 

“My love I have been waiting for you.” Bjorn smirked and poured a cup of mead to hand it over. “Drink.” The cup was knocked out of his grasp as you shot the first winged spear.

 ‘How dare he.’ You thought. Just the sight of your beloved husband made every cell in your body boil. And then to see the whore he so desperately fucked because of his lack of fulfillment, for his own pleasure. The next arrow landed right next to his head, almost slicing his pale flesh. 

“I see you found out.” Bjorn gripped the arrow planted, threw it to the ground and huffed. “So who told you? Ubbe? Sigurd? Hvitserk? Ivar?” He motioned towards his brother’s; who were now out of the way just like the rest of the people. They all backed up, leaning against the walls to be out of both of your range. Ivar sat in the perfect position, out of the way yet close enough to adore the sight. 

“Do not bring them into this.” You hissed and watched as he took slow steps down the few rows of stairs. “This is your fault. You. Bjorn Ironside. My loyal husband.” Words like venom, another arrow whirled through the air and stopped him in his tracks. 

“Please, we can talk about this.” Another arrow.

“Calm down.” Another.

“You have to understand that-” Arrow.

Bjorn lost all patience now, growling out of annoyance and bored into your being. Pregnant. Strong. And very, furious. Without warning you drew your sword out and dove it straight for his head, in hopes to decapitate that handsomely deviled face. “You cheated on me!” Another swing. “You filthy pig.” Stab. “You animal.” Following him up the steps, you kicked the table to knock him over. 

“I love you.” Bjorn muttered and ducked, dodging the oncoming fly of cutlery and food. Desperately searching for a shield. 

“You love me? You love me so much that you shove your cock into the cunt of a fucking whore!” Finally reaching his axe, he met your sword that buzzed with your fire. He could feel the emotion burn into his body but still, he did not fear it. Instead intrigued, guiltily enjoying your passionate emotion. “You shame me and you humiliate me and you betray me.” You kicked him over, knocking him on his ass and managed to scratch the surface of his chest. 

“I wanted sex and every time I tried, you were in pain.” This added more fuel to the fire, sparking up that heat that burned at your core. You were sure your child also fueled that pit of flames, angry at their Father. 

“Because I am pregnant.” He rolled over to his side and jumped to his feet, re-directing each one of your desperate attacks. “With your child. Tell me, did you fuck that slut before you fucked me?” There were so many questions that filled your head. So many emotions that stung your heart. “You aren’t a great warrior, not a man. You’re just a fat piece of meat thinking with the blunt tool dangling between his legs.” You grabbed a fistful of Bjorn’s hair, wrapping his braids around your hand like shackles trapped to you. Then dragged him and shoved his head against the pillar. “How many times did you screw that bitch?”

“Nine, maybe ten times, give or take.” He gave you a cheeky smirk, playing with your emotion. You heaved him back and smashed his head onto the floor. “It wasn’t my fault.”

“Not your fault! Think so much with your dick that you just fell in her loose lips.” With a fury you growled and punched him in the jaw, followed by a barrage of slaps and claws. “Couldn’t even wait for three months and deceive your own lover! Couldn’t control yourself longer than two minutes! And then you lie to me! All those late nights, you left me alone, cold, miserable while you get your fill!” You grabbed the ruffs of his head and slammed it against the ground. “Then you force your brothers to lie to me. Hide like a rat, a slimy sloppy snake. Drag them into this because you wanted sex!” All you could see is red, nothing else. You. Him. And red. “And humiliate me, making me look like a fool! I defended you, stood up for you, made excuses for your bullshit. And this is how you repay me?!” Bjorn caught your hands and gripped them so hard you thought they would bruise. 

“Now you know how I felt when you let that merchant’s son bury his tiny little cock in what is mine.” With one swift move, he flipped you over and drove his hips into you. It only pushed you that much further and you spat in his face. 

“I do not belong to you, I only belong to myself!” You wrapped your legs around his waist and drove him into you then snapped your elbow up, striking his face. “We weren’t married then either! I hardly knew you!” 

“Even still, you knew I wanted you. You fucking knew it!” With your form now on top, you tried to dig your nails into his eyes and gouge those pretty blue orbs out. The ones you love so much. So piercing and so hard to read. But now, clear as day. “And I know you saw me!” For a split second you were surprised, wavering you from your confident outburst. Bingo! Just like that Bjorn trapped you under his form, holding both your wrists in place. 

“That was five fucking years ago you piece of shit.” You growled, struggling against his hold. “Bringing things up like a bitch. I always knew you were a bitch, a weak, weak man.” You cooed, slithering your knee between his and dug it up. Bjorn groaned and rolled off of your body before collapsing. It would have been sweet that he still took note of your pregnant belly but, considering the situation you didn’t give a fuck. “Besides, he fucked me in ways you couldn’t. He pleasured me better than a weak man like you ever could.” You couldn’t help but smirk, a smugness filled your bones. 

Bjorn jumped to his feet, dragging the axe along with him and met your stance. Ready to unleash your storm of resentment. The clear primal glare behind his piercing orbs sent shivers down your body, now clearly ready to settle things. 

“You want me back Ironside, you better fight for it.” \

You tossed your weapon from left to right hand.

 “Earn me.”

~~~

“What do you think is going on in there?” Hvitserk broke the tension, drawing his knees to his chest and pushed himself into a more comfortable position. 

“Maybe they’re finished.” Sigurd shrugged, pulling at the stings of his ute while his brows furrowed. They all looked at each other, hopeful until they heard a loud cluttering sound followed by a loud groan of their older brother, cue a sigh. “Never mind.”

“Maybe we should-” 

“Don’t.” Ubbe cut Hvitserk off, knowing fully well where he was going. He did not want to lose a limb or an eye by stepping back into the hall, now a battlefield. Another crash sounded from behind them and he shivered, feeling pity for his older brother. Bjorn in an unfortunate predicament of not being able to fight back like he usually did because of their child, which made Y/N even more dangerous. A force to be reckoned with. “By all means go back in there and you try to break them apart but, I will not come to your aid.”

“Why did you have to drag me out of there? I was enjoying myself.” Ivar frowned a little, remembering how Ubbe and Hvitserk practically hauled him out. 

“I’m sure you were.” Ubbe spoke and folded his arms over his chest. “But I am not losing another brother tonight.”

“Don’t be absurd, Y/N wouldn’t have hurt me.” Ivar argued back.

“You would have hurt yourself. Wouldn’t be able to crawl away fast enough.” The crippled glared at Sigurd, who was now smirking. But, he did not get angry this time and just rolled his eyes, over his shit. “I think I won the bet.”

“No way, I said she would attack during the feast first. All of you owe me.” Hvitserk intervened, not really caring about the sack of silver or gold. But instead the glory of beating his brother’s at least once. For the one that started the bets most of the time, he didn’t seem to win a lot. 

“Everyone knew that, even the town’s people.” Sigurd intercepted and made Hvitserk huff. They all snapped towards the wooden door as they shook slightly, followed by the sound of your shouts and the sound of Bjorn’s voice, filled with as much passion. 

“I predicted all of it.” Ivar seethed, halting their bickering. “I said all of that, so I win.” 

“No, you also bet that they were going to end up fucking. That does not sound like pleasure.” Sigurd quickly corrected, pointing to the hall. “I should get all of your money.” 

“No.” Hvitserk denied.

“Yes, I claimed she was going to arrive in battle armor. Not anyone could have predicted that.” 

“Yes but, I bet what all three of you said. It’s me.” Ivar hissed.

“I’m older than both of you, the money is mine.” Hvitserk attempted to pull all of the bags of coins but Sigurd and Ivar were on him, pulling and thrashing. Ubbe rolled his eyes and clearly was over their bullshit, always the one fixing things. But this time, he did so differently.

“Be quiet. Shut up. Stop!” The four boys all froze and listened intently to a soft sound whispering amongst the wind. Coming from inside the hall, less violent or brash. Then their faces fell,  knowing what the hell was happening and sunk on their asses.

“See, I win.” Ivar hummed in victory, snatching each one of their filled pouches of gold and silver. For once, thankful to both yours and Bjorn’s endless cycle. Tiresome and annoying but at least, consistent and committed. 

“Where do you think that thrall went?” Sigurd raised his eyes in curiosity, the only one seemingly interested. Hvitserk shrugged and Ubbe just stared at the sky.

“Do you have to ask stupid questions?” 

“She probably ran away.” Ubbe concluded lazily. “I don’t blame her, I would too.”

~ PROMISED BONUS ~

“I should tell him but, he doesn’t deserve it.”

“If Bjorn finds out I told her, I’m so dead. I’m too young to die. I’m still a virgin. I don’t wanna die a virgin. Why? WHY? Maybe she won’t come, maybe she’ll just forget about. MAYBE SHE - oh nvm.”

“I’m just gonna pretend I know nothing. Ignore my problems. Yeh, this is better. ”

“Oh yeah, he’s screwed.”

“oh.......fuck. I’m too sober for this shit”

[technicallycleverdetective]

Inspired by the outsider POV fic prompts by @mewbotz. On this occasion I have written a fic based on this one: -people at a market that the immortals frequent who gossip about the strange group of travellers and have betting pools on who’s together. people fight over their favorite ships. the blacksmith thinks andy and nicky are together. the baker is set on andy and quynh. homophobia does not exist.

It’s not exactly as the prompt says...but close enough :D I hope you enjoy.

Iliana glanced across the room, ducking her head upon noticing that the Greek man was looking around.

 “I tell you, they came into the jewellery shop together,” she whispered to her companions. “He complimented her on every piece she tried. When I asked about the bracelet on her arm, she told me that it was a gift from her beloved.”

 “Why do you assume that he is her beloved? Because they bought jewellery together?” Markos asked, irritably tossing a few coins into the centre of the table. “I saw her with the other girl in the weapon smith’s shop. Tell me why two women would be looking for axes and spears if they had men to do it for them.”

 Iliana scoffed and rolled her eyes. “It is not so far-fetched. Between the two of us, I am the better at wielding a knife. Why shouldn’t the same be true of them?”

 Markos glared at her from beneath his thick eyebrows as Katina put a hand over her mouth, concealing a smile.

 “I must say,” Giannis piped up. “When they booked into the guest house, the two Greeks did take a room together. I thought the other woman was their maid.”

 Markos blew air between his lips. “She must be a highly trusted maid, very close to her mistress, from what I saw. I doubt she is the sort who cleans and sews.”

 “That has been established, Markos,” Iliana remarked, sarcasm dripping from her tongue. “They are all evidently warriors. The matter at hand is the exact nature of their relationships to each other.”

 “And you think the two Greeks are a couple? How original, Iliana. Do you suppose the other two make a second pair?” “I’ve never seen them together so I’m not sure” she retorted with dignity.

 “I actually think the Greek man and the…” Katina paused and looked over her shoulder, her head turning back swiftly and her cheeks pinking. “And the dark-haired woman may be a couple. They were in the wood-carver’s shop together and seemed to enjoy one another’s company greatly. They were like a pair of children exploring the wooden horses and the board games.”

 “That speaks to friendship” Markos muttered.

 “You’re only saying that because you don’t want to lose” Antonios accused. Markos gasped aloud at his insolence.

 “My sister and I would play with toys. I would not embrace anyone but my wife” he declared, a little loudly considering the need to be clandestine.

 “Did you see them embrace?” Antonios asked, leaning forward with interest. This was new information and he was glad that he had held off on placing his money into the pool.

 “I did” Markos said proudly.

 “What was the nature of it?” Christos asked, speaking up for the first time.

 “Well,” Markos screwed his face up as he sought to recall. “They were looking at the axes. The Greek one was testing the weight of them and her companion said something…I don’t know, I was far away and I think she spoke in another language. Anyway the Greek one laughed and put an arm around her shoulders. I think she kissed her.” “Really?” Christos asked, alarmed. His money had been placed elsewhere.

 “Where? Cheek, head, lips?” Antonios demanded.

 Markos typically liked to be the centre of attention, and even more so to be right, but he was uncomfortable with this interrogation.

 “They were turned away from me,” he protested. “It was on the face somewhere.”

 “It could be sisterhood” Christos said. Markos fixed his dark eyes on him.

 “That is nonsense. Why would you say such a thing?”

 “Because,” Christos declared triumphantly. “I saw her embrace the other man, the one with curly hair.”

 He smiled at the thrill that went around the table. The only news of the second man had come from Giannis, who saw him tending the horses in the stable by the guest house, and Antonios who sold him leather coats and shoes. He was alone on both occasions and so no-one else had yet factored him into their bets.

 “Do you think…?” Katina began, her voice trailing off.

 “I knew it,” Giannis interrupted. “Even when the Greek was speaking, I could tell she was the power behind the throne. He kept looking for her approval.”

 “You think she has…All of them in her bed?” Markos spluttered.

 “It would explain why they took the younger girl to the room with them. The man was taking care of the horses, but he could have joined them later” Giannis replied confidently.

 Iliana allowed her eyes to wander across the room, running her gaze across the table of visitors. The older man had the dark skin of an outdoorsman, the kind she had always been attracted to, and a head of dark curls that she would love to run her fingers through. The younger one had the most impeccable manners she’d ever encountered in a man, endlessly generous to his companion and polite to her. The girl had a wicked smile and an air of mischief that Iliana was endeared to. And the tall, elegant woman held the attention of them all. What a woman, she thought, travelling the world with three lovers. It was the stuff of dreams.

 “Don’t look so admiring” Markos remarked. She turned away from the scene and smiled at him. Her life might be boring in comparison to the mysterious strangers, but at least it was steady and comfortable. It was a good exchange.

 “Does this mean you win the bet, dear?” she asked.

 “There’s no proof,” Christos stepped in quickly. “It’s just a theory. Why would the Greeks pretend to be a couple when they arrived if they’re all together?”

 “Travelling so much, I’m sure they must have encountered areas less welcoming to their lifestyle,” Iliana said. “I too would be cautious when entering a new place.”

 Christos grumbled and took a swig from his mug, his frown growing at the discovery that it was empty.

 “Giannis, be a good host” he requested, pushing it towards him. Giannis dutifully gathered the mugs and brought them to the bar, setting about the task of refilling them.

 “We should ask Eva,” Iliana suggested. “The men were working with her today. She might have more information."

 “I hope so, because with how much they bought today, I think they’re preparing to leave,” Antonios warned. “This is the last night that the bet can be won.”

 Markos tapped his fingers on the table and then turned. “The nature of this embrace you saw, Christos, what was it?”

 “He picked her up off the ground and spun her around.”

 “That is not an embrace. That is a game I play with my children. None of you have seen anything more compelling than I have, and since this is the last night of our bet…”

 Markos grinned and started to pull the money towards him.

 “The men are kissing” Giannis reported, coming back with two mugs in each hand.

 The group of six looked, careless of subtlety, and saw that Giannis had spoken true. The curly-haired man had moved around the table to sit beside the Greek, kissing him on the mouth. The two women were standing to leave, talking in their strange language and laughing as they said goodbye. The Greek woman slipped an arm around her companion’s shoulders as they walked past the table and disappeared upstairs.

 “Does that count?” Markos asked hopefully.

 “Oh, that is not proof,” Christos said, clearly enjoying having the sandal on the other foot. “Did anyone bet on the men?”

 A guilty silence followed and Markos groaned, burying his face in his hands.

 “I’ll take this to cover the drinks” Giannis said mischievously, pulling the pile of coins towards him.

 Iliana reached over and petted her husband’s arm. “Never mind, dear, you were closer than I was” she said comfortingly.

 They finished their drinks and the married couples bid their friends goodnight. Giannis rested his head against Antonios’ shoulder as he waited for his last guests to go to bed and let him do the same, his partner idly playing with his fingers.

 Markos kindly held the door open for Katina and Christos, and Iliana followed them, joining them on the street for farewell embraces and turning to find that her husband hadn’t quite made it out after them. She was about to inquire about his whereabouts when he appeared, face flushed with pleasure as he embraced their friends.

 “They told me that my bet was correct” he said as he and his wife took their leave.

 “Who did?”

 “The two men. They must have heard us. They said I was right and the women are a couple.”

 He sounded so happy and Iliana smiled. Her husband always liked to be the most intelligent man in the room.

 “I’m glad for you, my love,” she said, looping her arm through his. “But I’m afraid that glory will be your only prize on this occasion.”

 **

 “You told them?” Andromache asked incredulously, laughing as she passed the wine to Quynh.

 “What harm does it do?” Yusuf asked. “We’re leaving tomorrow. And he was so invested in it. I don’t want him to lose his house over it.” “If he loses his house over a bet, he had it coming” Andromache replied, with her usual brand of tough love.

 “Did you hear them? They took it so seriously,” Quynh said, pressing a hand to her chest. “My heart! It was adorable.”

 “They’re good people,” Nicolo said sincerely. “They have been so kind to us, even if they do treat us like horses.”

 That raised a laugh from his companions.

 “Speaking of horses,” Andromache said, levering herself up from the semi-horizontal position she found herself in and fixing the boys with a slightly bleary warning look. “We have to set off early tomorrow so do not stay up late.”

 “We won’t if you won’t” Yusuf said cheerfully.

 “We haven’t been missing anything” Nicolo added, sticking the knife in further.

 Andromache sighed and looked between the three people she loved most in the world. “You were all sent to torture me,” she declared. “Quynh, come on. Time to go.”

 Her partner lifted herself off the floor in one elegant move that made Andromache’s stomach flip a little. Despite her steadily growing desire to get to bed and not sleep, Quynh saw fit to prolong the torture by kissing the boys’ heads and wishing them a good night before following Andromache. She practically pulled her beloved across the hall by her arm.

 Quynh was laughing when the door of their room finally closed behind them.

 “You are a terror” Andromache accused, pushing her against the wood and caging Quynh between her arms.

 “I know” she said unapologetically.

 “I cannot believe you forbid me to touch you for an entire week just to stop some peasants from winning a bet.”

 “You went along with it, dear,” Quynh pointed out. “Besides, I’m all yours now.”

 Andromache growled without meaning to, the last of her already thin restraint snapping.

 “You’re damn right” she said, pulling Quynh over to the bed as her lover’s giggles filled the air.

 Despite her stern warnings of the previous night, it was the girls who were subjected to the embarrassing knocks on the door and the calls of “Wake up, we have to go” come morning.

  Andromache thought it was worth the price.

[writinanon]

Gods and Monsters

I’ve been watching/playing God of War 2018. I love Dad of Boy. It’s great. I never really liked the originals because I didn’t like the very dark tone it took with no only the Mythology but with Kratos. He’s forced to kill/lose everyone he loves and cares for. I like how it’s made him jaded, and you can clearly see how deeply he loves Atreus but he’s almost afraid to care about him. It’s just great. And he’s always been a very loving father because while he was a Spartan he and his wife chose to risk everything for their sickly daughter instead of abandoning her.

Anyway @wafflii has Dakota, who will grow over the course of the story

@yanderedad has Ben, who is the twin Brother of Mercy in this story.

and @azm0n has August, who is still young and growing

  Hope was a land of many Deities, it had started simply as a stopping point between Realms before growing and becoming something more. The blend of different types of Gods was what gave it strength. Those Native to the Lands had been justifiably wary when the First Two came. But the pair had been seeking quiet, solitude, they did not look to take the place of the Native Gods or conquer. They merely wished for a place to rest. Hope acted as a stop, a resting place with few choosing to stay. It wasn’t until much later that the pair would actively seek refuge within the mountains and fields of Hope. So, when the Seeds arrived in the heart of Winter, Hope was expecting them to move on once the heavy snows have passed. But they didn’t. They were like those that didn’t belong in the Valley. They came to take and conquer.

  Ben looked up from his place in the fields with some of his followers. He had been granted the titled of God of Wisdom when the seat was left open. Lately however, his followers were being attacked. Those attacking called his patrons false and claimed him a false idol. They had never been in the area before. Some of his patrons had turned to this new emerging God as they found comfort in his talk of destruction and rebirth. It concerned him that they would seek out such a message but he wouldn’t put it passed this new God to poison the minds of others.

 “Benjamin.” Joseph smiled from his place on the edge of the field. “I wondered if perhaps we might speak? I assure you I do not wish us enemies.” But Ben’s hackles were raised. He was the twin brother of the God of War, he knew when someone intended to harm him. Joseph might not see it as harm, the three Brothers taking to calling themselves the Seeds and Joseph was the Seed of Knowledge, but whatever he planned would hurt Ben. He stood and brushed himself off, his dark auburn hair falling around his ears. Mercy had cut it recently, remarking that it looked better shorter. A few strands fell into his cinnamon colored eyes. Some of his followers looked greatly unsettled.

 “If you wanted to speak, why not seek me in the House?” That was where he spent a good deal of time when not with his Sister or with his followers. He weighed on the laws and rules governing them and their land with Earl, Joey, and a few lesser gods and goddesses of law and morals and ethics. “Why have you come here?” It has been a long time since Ben had been in a fight. Along time since he felt the weight of his spear and shield in his hands. But he felt their press easily. He was sure that Joseph could see their outline. He continued to smile that hollow smile.

 “I simply wished to speak to you, away from those that might seek to influence you against me. I am new.”

 “Then ask for a privet audience.” That clearly bristled Joseph; he was used to his commands being listened to, used to being in charge. “I will ask you to leave at once.” His voice crackled with power and the sky above them churned, threatening to poor rain. Joseph nodded, bowing his head and turned to leave.

 “Very well Benjamin. I shall see you later.” He left turning his back fully to Ben.

 “My Lord?” He looked down at Kim. She was soon to be married and they were looking for the right kinds of flowers to offer blessings. “Is it wise to just let him go?”

 “Perhaps not. But for now, let’s not think of him. Let’s think of you and Nick.” He smiled and she looked worried but nodded slowly.

 “Nick doesn’t like the youngest of them? John. He says he has come to the fields where Dakota and August fly and ‘shows off’. He didn’t make it sound playful.” Nick would be a patron of Dakota is the messenger goddess had patrons or higher standing. Nick had petitioned many times that she should be a Full God but Dakota had not matured enough, had not come into enough power to be a True God yet.

 “I shall speak with Earl, he’ll cool John’s heels. Or he’ll send Joey after him.” The Goddess of Justice and Vindication was not someone to mess with. And she did not appreciate a new ‘law’ god arriving and just taking residence in Hope without even asking permission to stay from the Counsel like all others had.

  News of Jacob Seed’s challenges to the Attendants of the God of War has spread like wild fire. Ben looked in on Eli and Jess, they were healing slowly. The challenge, more like a barely legal assault, has been meant to maim and brutalize, to humiliate, but not to kill. If he killed them, he would be exiled. Or be forced to take their place.

 “I’m gonna stick an arrow through both his eye sockets.” Jess seethed, flinching as she tried to sit up.

 “You’re not going anywhere. The Lord has commanded it.” Eli frowned at her and then looked to Ben. “Don’t let our Lord do anything rash.” As he finished a bell was wrong. It was the one signaling a challenge.

 “The God of Strength has challenged the Hermit God of Healing!” The three looked in horror before Jess pushed herself up.

 “I’m going.” She stated and Ben nodded, lifting her easily.

 “I’m afraid I can’t carry you both.”

 “Hey! Someone need a lift?” Dakota asked as she appeared, swift as the wind. August was on her heels. The Wind God helping to speed up her travels.

 “I’ve been summoned to bare witness.” She murmured tensely.

  The pair stood in the square. Despite the chill of Spring, Jacob as without a shirt and had his large knife in hand. His leather trousers had some stains of blood on them that had darkened to black and his heavy boots seemed to stomp into the ground. His pack of wolves were seated around his siblings.

 “I, the God of Strength, challenge you, the God of Healing in Battle.” Mercy had shifted her cloak to hang behind her as he spoke.

 “I accept your challenge.” She pulled the cloak fully from her shoulders. She wore a black tunic with herbs stitched in red around the collar. They were healing herbs from their Home. The sleeves reached her elbows. Her leather trousers were tucked carefully into her boots and both were lashed with cords. Her Axe rested upon her back gleaming bright in the sun.

 “Birgir, Brother of Bóthildr, you are called to bare witness for her.” Earl called. Ben settled Jess into Mary May’s arms, the mortal baring the weight of the goddess easily, and stepped forward.

 “I agree to bare witness.”

 “Joseph, Brother of Jacob, you are called to bare witness for him.” The Lord of Law and Protection was frowning harshly at the new comers.

 “I agree to bare witness.” Joseph stepped forward as well.

 “Quetzalli, God of Winds, you are called forth to witness and declare the end.” Earl looked to August and she shifted Eli’s weight to Dakota before stepping up to take her place. Her short black hair was ruffled and her eyes turned a bright turquoise before settling back into their deep cocoa color.

 “I will witness and declare the victor.” She said firmly. Ben took Mercy’s cloak and frowned at her in concern but she gave a soft smile.

 “It cannot be denied forever, my Brother.” She mused to him before she stepped forward. The leader of her ‘pride’ of Cougars and Lynx nudged at Ben’s hip and he stepped back. One blue eye and one green eye looked up at him before focusing on her Mistress.

  Mercy had not been called Bóthildr in a long time. The warmth of her True name curled low in her belly and she palmed the handle of her Axe. This would be a short fight.

  Jacob dodged another swing of the Axe, electricity sizzling in the air and causing him to be shocked. He stumbled back. A simple God of Healing, no matter the type of healing, should not have been this strong. She had a few minor nicks in her tunic from where he had managed to graze the clothe with his blade but she remained completely calm.

 “Do tell, Jacob.” Her voice had an odd lilt to it. “Are you even trying to hit me?” He bristled, felt his pack bristle with him. They could no aid him in this challenge. His Judges were unable to be used as the proper tools they were in this provenance. Once he had control of the God of War, he would fix that. And the poor excuses for soldiers. He needed to lure him out though. He hadn’t come when the first two attendants fell, but this one. Oh, he might come out when this one fell.

 “It’s only polite to let a lady have her hits.” He called back and her amusement turned to irritation.

 “Kick his ass Mercy!” The tiny one that John seemed fascinated with called out. The God, Mercy, chuckled and nodded.

 “Yes, I think I shall.” And then the air shifted. It felt like the breath had been pulled from his lungs. The Healing God ceased to be and in her place was a completely different one. “Allow me to correct you upon my Nature, boy. I am Bóthildr, God of War and Healing. I hail from far across the bright ocean. This has become my home. And you shall not take my Throne.” Her eyes shifted from a piercing blue into a blazing vermilion.

  The wounds inflicted by her Axe burned and dug deep. She used both the blade and the hilt, her aggression wouldn’t be satisfied with merely slicing him to ribbons. By the time she had him on his knees he was covered in their color. She scoffed and readied her blade. His head would look nice mounted upon her mantle.

 “Enough!” August called out sharply. “He is beaten. Bóthildr is the victor!” Mercy stilled and looked down at the defeated God of Strength. She leaned closer, letting the blade bite into his neck just slightly.

 “You might have the strength of Youth. But I am Old and Learned. Never challenge me or mine again. Or I will kill you. And your brothers should they attempt to enact revenge for your deserved death.” She pulled back and hooked her Axe onto the mount on her back. Her Brother settled her cloak over her shoulders and she smiled, hand touching his shoulder before settling on the head of Peaches. Her companion gave a warm purr and they walked away. The Gods and people gave her wide birth, she had always been a stranger, a thing to fear, but now they knew she was a Monster. She nodded to the Whitehorse before taking her attendants and leaving.

  August and Dakota followed Ben to Mercy’s cabin. Jerome and Grace the God of Shelter and Written Knowledge and the Goddess of Swift Justice and Vengeance were already there and waiting for them.

 “You could have let her cut his head off.” Grace muttered once they were all settled. Mercy was wrapping bandages around Jess’ thigh.

 “As much as I would have relished in starting a New War it would not have been in Hope’s best interest.” The God admitted. Her eyes had not returned to their usual winter blue, remaining a bright almost pulsing red. She tied off the bandage and moved to look over her ribs.

 “Why didn’t you tell us you were the God of War?” August ignored the jab at her and the disapproval radiating off Grace and Jess. They had both come to hate the God of Strength in their territory but knew that they couldn’t challenge him outright because he was a Strength God and going at him head on was not something they could do.

 “He wouldn’t last a day out in the woods without those beasts of his.” Jess hissed and flinched as Mercy pressed healing magic into the bruises along her lower ribs. “My Lord, really all of this is unnecessary.”

 “Hush and let me do my work.” Mercy murmured, never lifting her eyes from the wounds. Her hands were steady.

 “How are you so calm? And why didn’t you come help Eli and Jess sooner if you’re such a powerful God?” August didn’t like not knowing. She didn’t like to think that she had become attached to something fake.

 “August.” Ben chided her softly.

 “No, it’s fine Brother.” Mercy rose and turned to face August. “Quetzalli, you come from a land of many Gods, your Father is the Great Feathered Serpent. Do you brag of the things you did? Do you recall the path that lead you to coming to Hope?” August felt her throat close. She didn’t like to think on it but she accepted what she had done.

 “I never hid my True Nature.”

 “Nor have I. My secondary Nature is to Heal those in Battle. My Brother and I came here for peace. Long, long ago I was forced to make a decision. I chose a bloody path, I chose a War against my own Kin. All that remain are my attendants and my Brother.”

 “But you’re not that way anymore… Right?” Dakota asked softly. Mercy didn’t look away from August.

 “I am what I am. God of War.” She turned and Jess pushed her towards Eli and she nodded, beginning to attend once again to his wounds.

  Grace looked at the dark forest.

 “They’ll be gunning for her and you. Not that they weren’t already.”

 “John is getting closer and closer to Earl with each passing day. Are you and Joey going to challenge him together?”

 “If it comes to it. I don’t like his oily nature.”

 “Joseph has made plays to speak with me. I believe, especially now, after seeing this minor extent of Lord Mercy’s power that he’ll target more of your Patrons and those of us who have similar but different Nature.” Jerome said with a soft sigh. Ben nodded and looked at the other two Gods.

 “Be safe my friends.” They nodded departing. They were easily surrounded by the large cats that were Mercy’s Animal. One thing was certain, there was going to be a battle for Hope soon. Everyone needed to be ready.

[dialux]

gentle mother, strength of women

I’ll be adding the links to the stories as they’re posted, but until then y’all get the teasers for each of them.

Summary: Stories for the mothers of Westeros- who are broken, demanding, loving, protective, angry, and grieving; who are imperfect, and still deserve a moment to tell their stories. 

Gentle Mother, strength of women/ help our daughters through this fray/ soothe the wrath and tame the fury/ teach us all a kinder way

- The Mother’s Hymn

CROWNLANDS: 

do you know what it is like to be sold?

[a tribute to iron queens; dragons, mothers, broken, and beautiful]

Shaera Targaryen:

When Shaera was six, her mother braided raven feathers into her pale hair and called her a Blackwood. When she was eleven, her mother handed her a gilded rose and told her to start wearing green gowns for her future husband. When she was fourteen, she ran away with her brother.

When she hadn’t yet seen three decades, Shaera died.

Rhaella Targaryen:

Rhaella was born tired.

Her mother laughed when she said it, but she also worried for her daughter: Rhaella was so delicate, always shivering from the cold or flushed with fever. When her father declared that she must marry Aerys, her mother raged louder than a storm. Rhaella wept and wept, but her father was determined.

She never quite forgave him for it.

RIVERLANDS:

i’m so tired of being strong

[a tribute to riverland ladies; villainous, erased, or hated]

Minisa Whent:

Minisa was terrified of rivers, and for the daughter of a prominent Riverlander lord, that was right near sacrilege. She hadn’t been looking for trouble, not really; but then racing after smallfolk, trying to play in their summer festival-dances, wasn’t proper behavior either. She hadn’t been looking for trouble, and yet here she was: thrashing in the river, panicked, drowning.

Later, they’d say that Hoster Tully hadn’t hesitated to leap in and save her. All Minisa knew was that, for the rest of her life, Hoster was there beside her.

Lysa Tully:

Lysa fell, for miles, to her death.

Before that, she climbed.

NORTH

let him be scared of me

[a tribute to northern mothers; forgotten, unnamed or maligned]

Lyarra Stark:

Lyarra Stark is a sister, a daughter, and a woman of the North. She is a Flint and a Stark; the daughter of Arya Fleetfoot and the Wandering Wolf. When her sister goes south to marry and never once sends a raven, Lyarra does not accept it quietly.

Thirty years before Rickard Stark dies in the Red Keep, he meets a girl named Lyarra.

Or: Rickard’s southern ambitions were never solely his.

Lyanna Stark:

Lyanna was a girl who was as brave as one older brother and as quiet as another. She was as lovely as she was selfish, she was as loving as she was bitter, she was as wise as she was impulsive.

But more than anything, Lyanna was a child.

DORNE

you will not rob me of my birthright 

[a tribute to dornish women; sainted, besmirched, or misunderstood]

Ellaria Sand:

Ellaria hadn’t decided to love Oberyn, but one morning she’d woken with the knowledge of it comfortable in her mind, like a well-worn slipper. Still, there was an old saying the Ullers had: those who sleep too close to Martells get spears shoved up their ass. Ellaria loved Oberyn, but- in the end- she was an Uller. She wished she could say she was surprised when Oberyn got his head crushed by a Lannister’s pet guard.

She wasn’t.

(There was a small part of her that had been waiting for this for years.)

Elia Martell:

Doran went still, cold, steady as the mountain passes in the moments before lightning struck. Oberyn raged, louder than any storm.

Elia smiled, thin and small, and struck.

IRON ISLANDS

i am your queen, not your wife 

[a tribute to ironborn wives; angry, flawed, and mourning]

Alannys Harlaw:

There was little enough reason to laugh in Alannys’ life, but laugh she did; every morning, even when her breaths sawed the inside of her chest, even when she thought the pain of it all might end her. All four of her children had inherited Balon’s dark features, as well as his pride- and Balon thought that made them his.

Alannys saw the sharp curve of Asha’s smile and grinned; tasted the salt ringing her teeth, sown into her skin and sinew. Down to her bones, Asha was Alannys’ daughter, and a Harlaw bred true.

Esgred Pyke:

“If you touch my sister again,” Esgred had said, once, the weight of an axe comfortable in her callused little seven-year-old palms, “I’ll kill you.”

He had. Esgred had followed through, and then they’d run, Esgred and her sister, from the father who would’ve sold them both to any man with a wineskin in his hand. Her sister had been afraid, but still beautiful; she found a sailor who talked pretty and ran off with him.

Esgred raised their son as her own. When the boy named his first ship after her, she didn’t cry, not even a bit.

VALE

i won’t fall 

[a tribute to vale women; tired, honorable, unshaken]

Alys Arryn:

Alys didn’t love her brother, but she hadn’t thought that the gods would punish her for that like this. Her daughter was dead, her lovely, beautiful daughter- the one she married off to Denys Arryn at Jon’s behest despite all her doubts.

If Jon returned to the Vale for the next seven years, she’d throw him out of the Moon Door herself.

Anya Waynwood:

Love, Anya thought, her dark hair hanging loose to her waist. What use had a girl for love? Better to have pride, and strength, and a glint in one eye that challenged the world to break them.

(Years later, she sees the pale-faced bastard daughter of Petyr Baelish, and she thinks, oh, yes, this one isn’t going to break.)

WESTERLANDS

they think this will break my pride 

[a tribute to westerland girls; brilliant, ambitious, and unforgettable]

Jeyne Marbrand:

Jeyne didn’t ever lower herself to look Ellyn in the eye. Let the other woman think it was because Jeyne was meek; Jeyne knew the truth. Ellyn had just handed Jeyne the keys to Casterly Rock, to the Westerlands, and in reality, Jeyne ought to thank her.

(It wasn’t so simple, in the end, but these things never are.)

Joanna Lannister:

Her greatest triumph was not her children, or her iron-fisted rule of the Westerlands in her husband’s absence, or even her steady, graceful entrance into Rhaella’s court; it was that she fixed her gaze on Tywin Lannister and decided that she would not settle for anything else. It was every time Tywin smiled at her, laughed with her. It was the life that Joanna carved for herself, out of nothing but her own abilities.

STORMLANDS

win only bones and blood and ashes 

[a tribute to stormladies; unbent, steady, and grieving]

Cassana Estermont:

Steffon wasn’t considered very handsome, and he knew it, the poor man. Robert had inherited Cassana’s features, and so had Renly; but Stannis had his father’s habit of grinding his teeth, of looking as grim and fierce as the roiling dark clouds above Storm’s End in the rainy season. It had taken Cassana years to draw her husband out of his rages and griefs, and each was hard won.

When Stannis married, Cassana had decided, he’d need a woman who lived life just as hard as Stannis fought it.

Marya Seaworth:

Marya couldn’t read or write; she spoke with the rough accent of fisherfolk from the Stormlands. Her father had been a blacksmith, and his father had been one before him, and so on, stretching as far back as they could remember. Her mother had been a farmer’s daughter, and she’d taught Marya how to tend to the land, and it was those skills that Marya used to work Davos’ lands.

It was with her father’s hands that she buried each son that died in Stannis’ name.

REACH

this must be answered fiercely 

[a tribute to reach women; cunning, dutiful, and overlooked]

Olenna Redwyne:

The first memory Olenna had of her husband, they were lost in the woods, and Luthor was crying from the fear. It was Olenna who had swallowed, thrown her shoulders back, and strode forward, waving her bright pink scarf as high as she could so they could be found.

She hadn’t known, all those years ago, that it would be an omen for many things to come; but then, Olenna hadn’t been a terribly bright child either.

Alerie Hightower:

Alerie was a sweet girl, everyone always said. The girl whose laugh sounded like rose milk tasted, whose eyes were the fresh brown of tilled earth. Her sweetness didn’t mean that she was deaf, however: Alerie knew, exactly, how much Olenna disliked her.

But in the end, it was Alerie who had three sons and one daughter, and she who had raised them to be sweet, kind, honorable. It was Alerie who was the Lady of Hightower.