turnonmyheels | (no subject)

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Dear Fanfic Gods,

My dearest, truest, biggest wish in the world is for SOMEONE to write this woman aka Lagertha from Vikings:

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and this woman aka Saxa from Spartacus having a GRAND adventure where they travel around Europe, pillaging, plundering, and fucking.

Lots and lots of fucking
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I'd ask for some Naevia in there too but that woman is so broken it wouldn't be a fun adventure to read, it'd just be heart breaking.

I did all the housework in the world yesterday. You could eat off of my floor if you were inclined. Even the floor upstairs. Today: some grocery shopping, cooking, maybe some yarding, tv-ing, and some kitty-snuggling.

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Oh... my... God. That would be so fucking lovely.

You just blew my mind.

I can't stop thinking about it. After I force myself through this Teen Wolf fic -- seriously remind me to never write in that fandom again it pains me constantly -- I may have to write some Saxa/Lagertha pwp even if I don't manage to fit in the rest

If you add in Brienne Tarth from Game of Thrones, you'll have a threesome!

I can almost imagine the look on Brienne's face at how barbaric the other two are!

I do believe starting with that PWP would be a FINE first step :D.

they are so fucking fierce. and hot. and fiercely hot

AND MURDERESS!

Saxa was the daughter of a Northumbrian lord who got shipped off to a nunnery as punishment when she refused to marry the fat, red-nosed old slug her father found for her. So what if he was rich? He had a prick the size of a boy's, and about as useful. (She tried him out the night before the wedding. Or, to be more accurate, she tried to try him out, but nothing doing.)

They dragged her, just short of kicking and screaming to the altar. She punched him and the priest in the face, then hiked up her skirts and ran out the side door of the chapel and straight into the arms of a long-haired wild Celt named Gannicus. She tore the gold chain from around her neck and said in broken gaelic that he could have that, and more, if he got her the hell out of Monkchester.

He didn't hesitate.

The shire-reeve captured them a week later just outside Bere-wīc.

"Every night we drank like fish and fucked like rabbits." Saxa all but spat the words in her father's face when next she saw him. His fist found her mouth, splitting her lip, before she could tell them about the night they shared a farmer's daughter, or that it was her idea.

Gannicus, a trusted liege of the powerful and fearsome Lord of Alt Clut, Spartacus, offered to pay Saxa's father wergild and take her to wife. A good match, a better one, actually, than the stinky old goat that Saxa's father tried to wed her to.

Her father, damn him, would have none of it. She but caught a glimpse of her wild celt, bound and fettered, tied to the back of his horse like a sack of meal as the shire-reeve's men lead it towards the border between Northumbria and Alt Clut. Her father, the shire-reeve, and the local earl dared not kill him for fear of bringing the wrath of Spartacus down upon them. (And, if they were lucky enough to survive that, they'd then have to face the wrath of Aella for having provoked the mighty Lord of Alt Clut.) Saxa took some solace in knowing Gannicus would live to pleasure other women.

(She had many flaws, this she knew, but she was neither greedy nor selfish.)

The nuns at the abbey dressed her in a shapeless sack of itchy white novice wool and birched her for every transgression.

Every night in her cell, Saxa got on her knees and prayed to ... whoever might be out there, listening ... for deliverance and blood, to not die behind these walls, to know again the arms of lovers.

Deliverance did not come from the west, but from the east. Reavers in longships. Men much like the legendary Vandals she had heard mentioned some priests when she was a little girl.

She puzzled them a bit when she joined them, did not cower and run, but thanked them for coming and begged for an axe so she could help them split heads.

(No, she did not speak their tongue, but it was close enough that these reavers got the gist of her meaning.)

When she was done, her white smock was red and they called her beserkr and shieldmaiden and found her hose, boots, smock, and cloak to wear. They put her (and all the treasure of the abbey) in their dragonship and sailed east towards their lands. They talked to her of their gods: Odin, and Thor, and Sif, and Freya, of the Aesir and the Vanir, of Valhalla, of Loki and the rest of the Jotuns as the ship danced across the breaking waves.

Ragnar, their leader, a man as handsome and bold as Gannicus, proudly claimed her as his one prize -- though he did not call her "thrall" or put a rope around her neck -- when their sly snake of an Earl cheated them of rest their treasure.

"Trust me," Ragnar spoke under his breath, when Saxa first saw his wife, a blonde woman (hair even more flaxen than Saxa's) with eyes like a hawk's, named Lagertha. "Trust me," he repeated, before scooping Lagertha up in his arms, heading into his hall, and shutting the door behind him, leaving Saxa with his children ... who had too many questions. She stumbled over the words (damn this language of theirs! almost like Englisc, but just different enough to trip you up like a dog underfoot on a dark night) as she listened to the sound of them fucking.

Then, later, that night, after the children had gone to bed, they came to her and asked a question.

They didn't have to ask twice, or ever again, actually.

When summer came again, Ragnar only reluctantly went a-viking.

And Lagertha? Well, these were uncertain times, and the Earl (and his toadies) were not to be trusted. The stedding needed two shieldmaidens to defend it until Ragnar's return.

----

(Sorry this isn't more porny, but it would be "ikea erotica" if I tried to do that right now.)

Edited 2013-04-10 02:20 (UTC)

I shrieked when I saw this in email at 5:20 and patiently told myself, there is a reward waiting after Yoga, and after I finish my early morning bids.

This is AWESOME!!!!!!!!

Gratitude Jotun Fanfic Gods for this blessed gift,

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