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Me and my infamy

chapter 3 - embarrassing

ser Duncan the tall x reader. fanfic.

author note -- English isn’t my first language so I apologise for any inconsistencies in punctuation, or spellings :) .find it on Wattpad. and i want to specify, this is any race and size reader, the only phyisical descriptions are of outfits, everyone is welcome here

AND if you want to be tagged in this story just let me know, 💕 if not: this is all uploaded on my wattpadd anyway so youll be notified whenever there's a new chapter

warnings- none, dunk being assaulted (jk), embarrassment, children being little devils in disguise, love at first sight for dunk

The four of you gathered around the fallen man.

Staring. Waiting. Occasionally poking.

If the giant happened to wake up at that very moment, the first thing he would have seen was three children and one deeply concerned farm girl hovering over him like crows inspecting roadkill.

It was not a very dignified sight.

"He's dead," Fran announced confidently as She reached down and poked his cheek with a stick she found on the road and Nothing happened.

"See? Dead." she confirmed

"He isn't dead," Fred argue, shocked and slightly smug that he might have caused the death of this grown man who seemed to be half giant

"Then why isn't he moving?" Freya said, genuinely concerned for the man, her hand going to feel his forehead.

"Because he's sleeping." Fred was obviously trying to convince himself as well as his sisters.

"People don't sleep on the roads." freya said, always the observer, Fred pointed at the unconscious giant.

"This one does” he confirmed.

You pinched the bridge of your nose. "Seven save me."  

Fran poked him with the stick again.

Harder this time.

The giant let out a low groan his head turning away from the insentient pocking, The triplets jumped back simultaneously.

"HE'S ALIVE!" Freya yelled.

"Of course he's alive." you said, voice fed up.

"Well how was I supposed to know?" Fran demanded.

"You just declared him dead." fred reminded “i was right, he was sleeping”

"I changed my mind." fran decided.

Fred crouched beside the giant and examined him thoughtfully, The way a maester might examine a rare illness. Or a child might examine a particularly interesting frog.

The man had dusty sand coloured hair, paired with a jawline that could cut stone, and was very very…big..in everyway.

"I still don't think it's my fault." Fred declared, snapping you out of your awed trance 

You stared at him.

"You shot him”

"Allegedly."

"Fred."

"He moved."

The giant had been riding calmly down a straight road.

"He moved into the rock."

You looked skyward.

Perhaps everyone was right. Perhaps your father's spirit truly had possessed each of his children.

"You three, calm down."

Immediately three pairs of identical blue eyes snapped toward you. Waiting. Expecting answers.

A mistake, really, You had absolutely none.

Still, as the eldest sibling present, pretending you knew what you were doing was part of the job.

You pointed at the horses.

"Take those into the barn."

The horses were standing nearby looking remarkably unconcerned about the situation, one had already started eating grass.

Apparently this sort of thing happened often.

The triplets nodded then paused.

"What about the giant?"

"We're going to drag him inside." A silence followed, You looked at the giant

You looked at his shoulders, then his arms, then his legs. The man was less a person and more a collection of large boulders stacked together and covered in skin.

You doubted a team of children and a young girl could drag him anywhere without at least dozen casualties.

"We're going to attempt to drag him inside," you corrected.

"Can we leave him here?" Freya asked.

"No."

"What if he wakes up angry?"

"He probably will."

"What if he kills us?"

"Then I'll be very upset." you said sarcastically.

With that they scampered off toward the horses.

Leaving you alone with the giant.

You looked down at him. For a brief moment you considered simply pretending none of this had happened, if you could just Leave him on the road, Let someone else discover him, Perhaps a passing septon, Or a hedge knight.

Or literally anyone else.

Unfortunately, your conscience chose that exact moment to become active.

"Damn it."

You crouched beside him and grabbed one arm.

Gods.

The arm alone weighed more than Fran.

You pulled.

Nothing happened.

You pulled harder.

The man remained exactly where he was.

Once the horses had been safely deposited in the barn and the triplets returned, you attempted to organise what could generously be described as a rescue. well…It was less of a rescue and more of a kidnapping, But your intentions were good.

You took hold of the giant's legs. While the triplets positioned themselves around his shoulders and arms.

The man remained completely limp.

"Ready?" you asked.

"No," Fran answered.

"Neither am I," Freya admitted.

Fred cracked his knuckles. "I'm ready."

Of course he was.

"1. 2 .3.Lift."

A collective grunt echoed through the garden.

Somehow, by a miracle granted by the Seven themselves, the giant actually moved.

Not gracefully nor quickly but it was progress.

The four of you shuffled backwards across the garden, dragging several hundred pounds of unconscious man behind you.

His boots carved trenches through the dirt and stone path.

At one point his arm flopped into one of the flower beds, promptly knocking it over. At another, his head bounced off a stone.

You chose not to acknowledge either incident.

Progress was progress.

"Keep lifting!" you ordered.

"We are lifting!" Fran complained.

"well..Lift harder!"

“I want to remind you that were only 7”

By the time you reached the cottage, everyone was panting.

Even the unconscious man somehow looked exhausted.

The doorway presented a new challenge.

Namely, the fact that the man and the triplets appeared to be wider than it.

"Turn him sideways," you instructed.

The triplets attempted to turn him sideways.

The large man stubbornly remained giant-shaped.

"More."

"We are!"

"More!"

With one final heave, his body shifted.

You all stumbled forward.

Unfortunately, his head did not clear the frame.

THUNK.

The sound echoed through the house.

The four of you froze as the man groaned just a little, it shouldn't have hurt much, his head was most likely full of rocks anyway

"Oh gods," Freya whispered. "I think we've broken him."

"He was already broken," Fred pointed out.

"Good point."

"Keep moving," you hissed through your teeth. The giant was dragged forward another foot. This time everyone paid careful attention to the doorway.

You watched his shoulders, You watched his arms, you watched his boots, You did not watch his head.

THUNK

The poor man's head had struck the opposite side of the frame.

For several seconds nobody spoke.

Then Fran quietly asked,

"Do you think that part of him is that important?"

You stared at her.

"His head?"

"Yes."

"Yes, Fran. I think his head is important." you said your tone vemonised with sarcasm

The giant let out another groan, A long, confused sort of sound, The sound of a man whose afternoon had consisted of being shot with a rock and then repeatedly used as a battering ram against a cottage.

You huffed and attempted to drag him over to the sitting area, once you were there, you looked at him. 

Then at the large seat. 

Then back at him. 

"Well..."

You looked down at the giant sprawled across your floor.

"I suppose he'll just have to stay there for now."

The giant remained unconscious.

(A model guest, really).

You crouched beside him, lifted his head a few inches, and shoved a pillow underneath it.

There.

Fixed. Surely the pillow would undo the effects of being struck in the head by a rock and then rammed repeatedly into a door frame.

"Let us just hope he isn't some sort of weirdo when he wakes up."

You dusted your hands against your dress.

The triplets nodded solemnly as if attracting strange men into the house was a common concern.

Twenty minutes passed.

He did not awaken.

The triplets, however, refused to leave his side. They hovered around him like flies around a honey cake.

Watching.

Waiting.

Staring.

It was becoming unsettling.

You were in the kitchen preparing supper when Freya's voice drifted through the doorway.

"He's pretty."

You glanced over.

Freya was brushing a lock of hair from the giant's face while studying him with great concentration.

A blush had spread across her round cheeks.

Gods help you

"Eww," Fred immediately announced.

"He is not pretty."

"He is."

"He isn't."

"He is."

"He's huge."

Fred pointed accusingly at the unconscious man.

"And he's a man- men can't be pretty."

Freya frowned.

"I think they can be."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because."

An excellent argument.

The sort only a seven-year-old boy could produce.

Fran leaned in closer.

"I think he's a knight."

"He has a horse," Freya agreed.

"Lots of people have horses."

“He has 3 so that's even better” freya countered

"He has a knights face." fred determined

"What does that even meannnn?" fran groaned

Fred opened his mouth.

Paused.

Then pointed.

"That. thats a knights face"

You decided not to get involved, but unfortunately for the man, the triplets had appointed themselves his personall  guards

Every tiny movement was immediately reported.

"His eyelids moved!"

A few minutes later—

"He groaned again!"

Then—

"I think his finger twitched!"

And—

"He breathed!"

"Fred, I think he's supposed to do that."

"Oh."

You attempted to ignore them.

You really did.

Then the shouting changed.

"HIS EYES ARE OPEN!"

You nearly dropped a spoon.

"What?"

The sound of scrambling feet followed.

Then three excited voices speaking over one another.

"They're blue!"

"Very blue."

"He's looking at us."

"He looks confused."

“He looks scared”

“Why isnt he saying anything?”

Well.

You couldn't exactly blame him.

The last thing he likely remembered was riding peacefully toward Ashford.

Now he was lying on the floor of a stranger's cottage with three children hovering over him so closely they could probably count his eyelashes.

The giant blinked slowly

His eyes wandered around the room, taking in the wooden beams overhead, the hearth, the table, the basket of fruit.

Then he spotted you.

And something very strange happened, His entire face softened.

The confusion remained, certainly.

But suddenly his expression looked oddly... pleased, his jaw dropped ever so slightly His cheeks flushed ever so dimly, and His eyes brightened to develop some sort of twinkle..

Gods..He looked like a right fool, he thought to himself.

"Hi," he said awkwardly.

The word came out almost like a question more than a genuine greeting.

Then his attention shifted to the triplets.

Three identical faces were currently staring at him from an alarmingly close distance.

The giant frowned.

"I think..." he rubbed his forehead. "I think I'm seeing double."

"Triple," Freya corrected.

"Actually in 6ths," Fran added, pointing at you.

Gods, these children couldn't count if numbers ran them over.

The giant looked even more confused.

You crossed the room before the triplets could make things worse, Which was a race you were increasingly losing.

"Slowly, ser." you insisted as He attempted to sit upright.

He immediately regretted it, Judging by the look on his face, his skull was currently trying to escape his body.

You crouched beside him and placed a steadying hand on his arm.

"And you're not seeing double."

The giant blinked. "No?"

"No."

You pointed towards the children.

"There are three of them."

Three little heads nodded proudly.

"So at least we know your eyes are working."

The man stared at the triplets.

The triplets stared back.

An uncomfortable silence followed.

"W-what happened exactly?" the man asked.

His hand instinctively rose to the back of his head.

A mistake.

The moment his fingers found the lump forming there, he winced.

"You got hit in the head," Fran explained confidently and Without an ounce of guilt.

"Three times," Freya added helpfully.

The man's expression shifted.

"Three?"

"And it had absolutely nothing to do with me," Fred declared.

Far too quickly.

Far too loudly.

The room fell silent.

The man slowly turned to look at him.

Fred smiled, that cheeky, all teeth smile that only children could pull off. 

You sighed.

"Fred…Stop talking."

"I was helping."

"You rarely are."

The man looked between the three children.

"The last thing I remember was..."

He trailed off.

The last thing he remembered wasn't the road.

Or his horse.

Or much of anything.

It was you.

Standing beside the fence with your sleeves rolled to your elbows, sunlight catching in your hair as you cleaned something that looked like fruit, your eyes not on him but on the 3 children,  that unbeknownst to him were about to give him some possible brain damage.

He remembered noticing you as he rode past.

Remembered thinking that he'd never seen anyone quite so pretty.

And remembered staring a little longer than was considered polite.

Then—

Everything in slow motion..

He heard the sound of a string snapping, and saw the rock flying through the air with incredible speed, just to hit him right in the middle of the forehead..then Darkness.

Followed, apparently, by several impacts to the head.

How embarrassing.

He might have just met the most beautiful woman in the Realm and had immediately been rendered unconscious by one of her seven-year-old siblings.

Not exactly the sort of heroic first impression songs of love were written about.

"The road," he finished weakly.

"The last thing I remember is the road."

You nodded.

"That sounds about right."

The man glanced at you again.

Then quickly away.

Me and my infamy

chapter 2- bad luck

ser Duncan the tall x reader. fanfic pilot.

author note -- English isn’t my first language so I apologise for any inconsistencies in punctuation, or spellings :) .find it on Wattpad. pls leave comments and notes if you want the next part lol so i know if i should write it

warnings- sibling life, reader being a mother, children being menaces to society, dunk being incredibly unlucky

The days leading up to the Ashford tourney were the busiest your little stretch of road had ever seen.

From dawn until dusk, travellers passed by the farm. Knights rode beneath fluttering banners. Merchants guided wagons piled high with silks, spices, and goods worth more coin than your family would likely see in a lifetime.

Highborn ladies travelled in painted wheelhouses, their curtains drawn against the dust. Every road in the Reach seemed to lead to Ashford. And all of them passed your front gate.

Whenever your chores allowed it, you found yourself watching. Leaning on a fence. Sitting atop a stone wall. Pretending to gather eggs while staring shamelessly at passing horses.

You watched polished lords ride by in gleaming armour and velvet cloaks.

The sort of men who probably looked at your cottage and saw little more than a muddy inconvenience beside the road.

You doubted half of them could tell a horse from a donkey. They'd likely never milked a cow, mended a fence, or cleaned a pig pen in their lives. Their hands were probably softer than fresh bread.

And don't even get started on the ladies.

Silks.

Jewels.

Perfumes.

Dresses worn once and discarded.

Handmaidens following behind them like obedient ducklings.

You told yourself they looked ridiculous. You told yourself they seemed spoiled. You told yourself you'd hate living that sort of life.

Unfortunately, you were a terrible liar.

The truth was that you were jealous, painfully jealous.

Sometimes you caught your reflection in a bucket of water and wondered whether things might have been different if you were prettier.

Perhaps some handsome knight would have spotted you beside the road, perhaps he'd have fallen desperately in love, Perhaps he'd have swept you onto the back of his horse and carried you away to a castle somewhere.

A proper castle.

One without leaking roofs or wandering chickens.

One where flowers smelled sweeter than manure.

One where someone else cleaned the pig pens.

Was that truly so much to ask?

Apparently it was.

Because at that very moment, instead of strolling through a castle garden in a pretty dress, you were knee-deep in pig shit. You stabbed your shovel into the muck with considerably more force than necessary.

Usually this was Joeyn's chore.

Unfortunately, Joeyn was in the city trying to sell his latest blacksmithing work to anyone with enough coin and enough sense to appreciate it. Which meant the pigs had become your problem.

You suspected they were enjoying it far more than you were, and it took all your effort not to gag on the smell. 

After you were done you treaded out of the pen, tried your best to slip off your raggedy shoes without touching the muck and threw them in a barrel of water. You needed to get the stink off them. 

You tiptoed on the grass and pebbled path ways and into the back entrance of the house, it was still early, the triplets still asleep, with the morning fog still lingering over the fields like a blanket.

You creaked up the stairs, seeing all the chips and cracks on them, most of them caused by the triplets' irresponsibleness. 

Once you reached your chambers you slipped off your dress, and splashed water on yourself, usually you would bathe in the lake, but you were not going to risk catching the chills this early in your life.

After you were clean enough to fit your standards you searched for another dress. The one you found was a faded green 

with tight corset laces around the waist 

and a surprisingly clean and white collar. It used to be your mothers but she doesn't wear it nowadays.

It fits you perfectly, slightly loose around the chest and only an inch too long on your ankles but it fits either way.

Then the peace of the morning was shattered by the sound of thundering footsteps whic was Followed immediately by shrieking laughter.

The triplets.

Who else?

They raced down the hallway like a bloody cavalry charge. Or even a stampede of horses

"No running!" you called from your room.

"We're not!" one of them shouted back. A heartbeat later came a loud crash.

Then:

"OW!"

A pause.

"I'm alright!"

You sighed.

The reassuring thing about the triplets was that they were remarkably difficult to kill.

The worrying thing about the triplets was that they tested this theory every single day.

By the time you made it downstairs, Fran was attempting to scale the kitchen counter.

Apparently breakfast was taking too long for her liking.

"Fran."

She froze.

Slowly turned.

One hand still clutching the edge of the table.

"Get down before you crack your head open."

"I was helping."

"You were climbing and dirtying my counter."

You grabbed her beneath the arms and deposited her back onto the floor of which huffed dramatically to

Outside, Fred had somehow escaped, could could have swore you bolted the door before you came back in

You spotted him sprinting across the garden barefoot and still wearing his sleeping clothes while chasing the poor chickens out of their coop, speaking of which the chickens seemed just as confused as you were.

"Fred!" you shouted through the open doorway.

He stopped.

"What?" he tilted his head confused at why he was getting scolded, the chicken in his hold pecked at his fingers, not in pain but not exactly grateful to be picked up by a tiny but massive 7 year old giant.

"You'll catch a chill." you said like it was obvious

"I won't."

"You absolutely will." you insisted "Come inside and put proper clothes on."

With the speed of a boy who had heard absolutely none of the words after inside, he turned and bolted towards the house.

Moments later you heard him racing upstairs.

Then another crash. Then someone yelled. Then laughter.

 Freya, meanwhile, had found a different method of causing problems, and tethering your patience. She was tugging on your dress.

Relentlessly.

Literally pulling at your skirt while firing questions at you faster than your brain could comprehend

"Where's Joeyn?"

"In town."

"Why?"

"Working."

"Isn't it early?"

"very."

"What's for breakfast?"

"Bread."

"Did you see all the people on the road?"

"Yes."

"Fred says Lord Lyonel Baratheon is at the tourney."

"Most likely."

"Can we go?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Because tourneys cost coin."

"Oh."

A pause.

"We really are that poor?"

You pinched the bridge of your nose.

"Hush your rambling and get dressed."

Freya opened her mouth.

Thought better of it.

Then immediately opened it again.

"But—"

"Freya." you said in that motherly tone the kids were scared of.

She groaned as though you had personally ruined her life, You shepherded both girls upstairs before they could devise a new disaster.

Breakfast wasn't much lately, because of the tourney, stocks had been running low so a loaf from the market and Fresh milk from the cow was the only option.

 It was enough to fill stomachs, if not satisfy them. A few minutes later they came tumbling down the stairs in a tangled heap of limbs, complaints, and accusations.

"Fred said I look like a frog," Fran tattled immediately.

"I said you jump like a frog," Fred corrected.

"That's worse."

"It isn't."

"It is."

"It isn't."

You breathed a long tired sigh, morning dew was still on the windows, it was far too early for this.

"Well, you all look exactly the same to me."

Three horrified faces turned towards you.

The reaction was immediate.

And deeply offended.

"We do not."

"Do too."

"No we don't."

"Fran's hair is different."

"It is not."

"its longer."

"By this much." Fred held two fingers barely apart.

"It's still longer."

You ignored them and pointed towards the table.

"Eat."

The argument ceased instantly.

Once they had settled down, you folded your arms.

"After breakfast, chores."

Three groans echoed through the kitchen.

For a brief moment, you considered feeling guilty. Then you remembered Fred had tried to liberate the chickens before sunrise.

The feeling passed.

By midday, you were convinced your feet were plotting a mutiny.

Back and forth.

Back and forth.

Bucket after bucket of water hauled from the stream to the well for filtering.

It sounded simple when Joeyn explained it.

Most things did.

Then you actually had to do them.

By the time you finished, the sun was hanging high overhead and your arms felt as though they'd been stretched three inches longer.

The triplets had better have finished their chores.

They'd only been tasked with:

Feeding the chickens.

Feeding the horses.

Clearing cobwebs from the stable and house.

Picking ripe fruit from the orchard.

Four simple jobs.

Four jobs that should have taken half the morning.

Four jobs that somehow would still end in catastrophe.

You walked into the kitchen and immediately spotted a basket of freshly picked fruit on the table.

You blinked.

Well.

That was unexpected.

Apparently they had managed to complete at least one thing.

A new family record.

You grabbed the basket and headed back outside.

The fruit was deposited beside the rain barrel where you began washing it thoroughly.

You had eaten enough worms, bugs, and mystery creatures in your lifetime to know better than to trust fruit straight from a tree. As you worked, your gaze drifted across the garden.

And there they were. The triplets. Huddled suspiciously behind a low stone wall. The universal posture of children doing something they absolutely should not be doing.

Your eyes narrowed. Fred was holding a slingshot.

Of course he was.

You followed the direction they were aiming. One lone rider and three horses were making their way down the road toward Ashford.

The rider immediately caught your attention.

Gods above.

The man was enormous. Not merely tall. Not merely large.

Enormous.

He looked as though he was carved from an oak tree and taught to walk. His horse looked normal-sized until he sat on it. Then the poor animal appeared to be carrying a siege tower.

Your mouth fell open slightly.

Surely no man was naturally that big.

Perhaps he'd been dropped in a barrel of miracle-growing potion as a child. Perhaps he was half giant. Was all of him truly that big? Was he all proportional…everywhere?

Perhaps—

Your thoughts stopped.

Because out of the corner of your eye you saw movement.

Slowly.

Terribly.

Horribly.

You turned.

Fred was reloading the slingshot.

Oh No.

He pulled back the leather.

Oh no

He took aim.

Oh No no no.

Time slowed. The birds seemed to stop singing, The wind stopped blowing. The Seven themselves leaned down from the heavens to watch what happened next.

"Fred sto—"

Too late.

Thunk.

The stone launched.

For one glorious moment, it flew through the air with impossible accuracy.

Like an arrow shot by some legendary hero from the Age of Heroes.

Straight. True. Perfect.

Of all the road. Of all the people. Of all the places it could possibly have landed.

The stone struck the giant directly in the forehead.

The sound echoed. Silence followed.

Then he toppled sideways off his horse.

Not gracefully. Not heroically.

Like a sack of potatoes being pushed off a cart.

He hit the ground with enough force to shake the road.

The horses kept walking for another few steps before noticing it had misplaced its rider.

You stared.

The triplets stared. 

The giant remained flat on his back.

A horrifying silence settled over the farm.

You wanted to scream.

Instead you closed your eyes.

Because somehow, despite every mistake you'd ever made in your life—

falling into lakes,

setting houses on fire,

accidentally stealing from lords,

shooting strangers with arrows—

Me and my infamy

ser Duncan the tall x reader. fanfic pilot.

author note -- English isn’t my first language so I apologise for any inconsistencies in punctuation, or spellings :) .find it on Wattpad. pls leave me notes and comments if you enjoyed thins start lol, duncan will appear in the next chapter lol, this was just for the backstory lol

warnings- man on fire, half orphaned children, prostitution (not done by reader) chind abuse (if you squint.) alcoholism, woman abuse (not done to reader) , reader being a fiona gallagher varient.

Who in the Seven Hells sleeps beneath a tree during a thunderstorm? In the middle of the countryside no less?

Your father. That's who.

Looking back, it was rather a lot for a fifteen-year-old to witness.

You still remember the wind chimes hanging beside the front door, clattering wildly against rain-soaked wood as the storm rolled overhead. The thunder seemed to shake the very bones of the house, and each flash of lightning landed closer than the last.

Then there was your father.

A blazing ball of fire sprinting across a distant field.

To his credit, he ran remarkably fast and coordinated for a man who was actively on fire.

Your twin brother, Joeyn, chased after him with a bucket of lake water, shouting all the while as most sane people would do. Unfortunately, one bucket of water proved somewhat inadequate against a fully burning man.

It ended about as well as anyone might expect.

One corpse.

One widow.

Five half-orphaned children.

And not a single copper to the family's name.

You sometimes wondered if that day cursed the rest of your life.

Your neighbours and family had plenty of explanations of course.

Most insisted your father had trapped his soul inside your body when he died.

An unsettling thing for a fifteen-year-old to hear, certainly.

You never put much stock in such tales. If your father truly was living inside you, then apparently his fitting death had done nothing to improve his judgement.

Since your father died, you had:

Fallen into a lake in front of a suitor.

Punched a girl during a sept service.

Fallen out of ten different trees while rescuing the triplets.

Set the farmhouse on fire.

Shot a stranger with an arrow you never meant to loose.

Earned the displeasure of your lord after accidentally stealing from him.

Been cheated out of your only cow by an old woman who looked old enough to be meeting the Stranger any day now.

And that was all only a month or so after his demise.

Your siblings, meanwhile, could best be described as three terrors and one law-abiding citizen.

The law-abiding citizen was Joeyn.

Being your twin brother, he ought to have been getting into trouble beside you, but somehow he'd been born forty years old.

 You couldn't remember a time when he'd ever acted like a proper child. While you were climbing trees or chasing frogs through streams, Joeyn was chopping wood, hunting rabbits, repairing fences, and slaughtering chickens.

In short, he spent his days doing all the filthy, exhausting work that you preferred to avoid.

Then there were the triplets. Born barely a month before your father died.

Fran, Fred, and Freya.

Your mother, it seemed, had a particular fondness for alliteration.

The three of them looked so alike that you often suspected that the gods had sent them to punish you for actions in a past life.

You also were sure 99% that most of their conversations were just them conspiring against the rest of the realm. You often heard their fantasies about what they would do if they were kings or queens.. And well.. We all best pray that they don't come up with some way to overthrow the monarchy.

Two girls and a boy they may have been, but they shared the same muddy-brown hair, the same faces, the same voices, and even the same way of walking.

Most days you couldn't tell them apart.

The only reliable method was their jewellery.

Fran wore a red woven necklace she'd stolen from a travelling salesman.

Fred wore a leather cord with a carved hammer hanging upside down from it.

And Freya, determined to be different, wore neither necklace at all. Instead, she sported a purple woven bracelet around her wrist and acted as though that made her unique from her siblings, even though you called her Fran or Fred by accident most days.

Your mother had been like any other mother, once.

She spent her mornings feeding chickens and her evenings mending clothes by candlelight. The house always smelled of broth, fresh bread, or whatever herbs she happened to be drying that week.

She wouldn't allow a drop of ale inside the home.

Called it sinful.

Your father called it wasteful.

She called him an idiot.

That was the woman who raised you. The woman who birthed you. The woman you remember.

But somewhere along the way, she disappeared.

When your father died, she fought with all she had to keep you all afloat.

She reclaimed what remained of her dowry. She sold her wedding jewellery piece by piece. She bartered, begged, borrowed, and occasionally stole when there was no other choice.

You never asked where some of the food came from.

You suspected you already knew.

For a while, it was enough, Then winter came. Or a bad harvest. Or an unpaid debt that your father just so happened to not tell her. It hardly mattered which. Poverty always found its way back eventually.

A lone woman with five children did not have many choices.

So she turned to one of the few trades available to her.

At first, she hid it. As far as you could tell, nothing changed.

She still woke before sunrise. Still made broth. Still scolded you for muddy boots on clean floors. Still kissed the triplets goodnight. She was still your mother.

Until her first trip to the city. You had just turned twenty when she made her first trip there.

Normally she would stay close to home, strictly serving men from nearby villages. Men who knew her name. Men who knew she had children to feed and a house to keep.

Men who felt bad…or maybe men who just wanted to fuck your fathers widow

But coin had grown scarce that month. She told herself it would only be once.

The city was not like the countryside. The men were not like the men she knew.

She came home after dark.

You remember hearing the door before you saw her. The slow scrape of wood against wood. The silence.

Blood was trickling down her lip, Bruises darkened her arms. And red hand marks on the nape of her neck. For a long moment nobody spoke.

Not you.

Not Joeyn.

Not her. 

The whole house fell silent.

She simply stood in the doorway, swaying gently from side to side.

Her hair was a mess, One eye was swollen, A half-empty bottle of wine dangled from her hand, the cork long gone.

"Mother?" you finally said.

You had only just put the triplets to bed. You were barely halfway down the stairs when she stumbled through the door.

At the sound of your voice, she slowly raised her head. Then she laughed. Not kindly. Not happily.

But it was A bitter little scoff.

"Gods..." she slurred. "Look at you."

You frowned.

She pointed the neck of the bottle towards you as though accusing you of some terrible crime.

"You think you're so good, don't you?" she hiccupped. "Huh? You do."

She turned to shut the door and nearly fell over doing it. Joeyn stepped forward instinctively.

"Mother-"

"Get your hands off me."

The words cracked through the room. She shoved him away hard enough that he stumbled back a step.

For a moment, nobody even breathed, you and joeyn just looking between eachother. Then she lurched towards the kitchen.

"Both of you..." she muttered.

The bottle knocked against a chair as she passed.

"You look nothing like me."

Another bitter laugh.

"Look just like him."

She mentioned him like he was the knots in her hair, the shit on her shoes, the elephant in the room.

"That cunt took everything from me. My dignity. My innocence. My youth."

She drank deeply from the bottle.

"And what did he leave me?"

Her laugh echoed through the house.

"A life of sin and debauchery."

The word sounded strange coming from her, it belonged in somebody else's mouth.

She brushed past you on the stairs, smelling of wine, rainwater and the smoke from the city.

For a moment you considered following her.

You didn't.

"I'm done," she said almost giddily

Then she slammed the bedroom door, the sound shook dust from the rafters.

That was two years ago.

The next night she came home drunk again, then the night after that. Then the one after.

Soon it became routine.

Some mornings she remembered none of it, Other mornings she just remembered enough to avoid looking anyone in the eye.

But she never apologised.

And eventually, she stopped trying to be the woman she once was.

The broth disappeared first. Then the herb bundles hanging from the ceiling. The chickens stopped being fed. The mending piled up untouched beside her chair. One task at a time, she abandoned the life she'd spent years building.

So you picked it up.

You fed the chickens. You cooked the meals. You watched the triplets. You kept the house standing while Joeyn kept the rest moving

And your mother...

Your mother became a ghost.

A woman who wandered the halls without purpose, spoke only when necessary, and spent most days staring through windows as though waiting for something that had already come and gone.

Some nights you almost convinced yourself she would wake up and become your mother again.

She never did.

As much as you loved your family, there were days when the desire for freedom sat in your chest like a stone.

Every time you carried Fran upstairs after she'd fallen asleep beside the hearth.

Every time you scrubbed soot from the cooking pots.

Every time you watched Joeyn leave before dawn and return after sunset looking twice his age.

You found yourself dreaming. Not of riches. Not of castles.

Just escape.

You imagined a knight appearing one day, clad in shining armour and riding a magnificent horse. He would sweep you away from muddy fields and leaky roofs, take you wandering across the realm, marry you with a septon's blessing, fill a grand house with children.

The sort of foolish dreams every girl swears she does not have.

A handsome knight.

A grand adventure.

A happy ending.

The man you eventually got of course.. Well, kind of..

He was certainly a knight.

(Technically.)

The horse situation was..questionable.

His clothes smelt faintly of wet dog.

And his armour didn't exactly fit him quite right.

And as for the happy ending—

Can you do how they would…yk… because I can’t find any works of them ANYWHERE!! Can you include, bjorn, ubbe, hvitserk, ivar and Ragnar!

please and thank youuuuu 🥲🫶

𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐟𝐜𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮

(Minors do not interact)

Master list

Including: bjorn, Ubbe, ivar, hvitserk and ragnar.

Warnings: SMUT, no use of the words 'length' we use proper autonomy here 🙂‍↕️, vulgar language.

Summary: how the Ragnarsons would fuck you. This is a FULL assessment, including positions, cock x-ray and there fuck rating.

A/N: Omg yessss of course I can!! Im always happy for new ideas and my ‘asks’ will always be a safe space for peoples ideas :) and I think i should just start a ragnarsons series tbh 🫣.

Peaky blinders fanfic.

Thomas Shelby x reader.

Whispers and whiskey

I just wanted to apologise for any mistakes, English isn’t my first language and i am happy to learn more in the comments.but i have tried to edit as best i could. If something doesnt make sence just ignore it. ☻︎

“Dalia you're on!” The stagehand yelled once again, from outside the girls dressing room, tapping his pencil against the freshly drawn up timetable.

Dalia let out an exasperated groan as she slipped on her red feathered headband and finished lacing up her kitten heals before opening the dressing room door.

“Yeah, yeah I’m coming” Dalila sighed over dramatically, already starting to speed walk to the performance door, the stagehand trailing after her.

“It’s song 6, with no backing vocals-“ the stagehand, travis, said, moving the timetable into Dalia’s face as they kept walking. “We are busy today- the bars flowing, and fat Sam’s already pissy” Travis continued.

“I got it travis” dalila said trying not to raise her voice. As she stood in-front of the door, putting on her well-trained fake smile.

She hated this part.

the anticipation, the stomach dropping feeling, waiting for those doors to open and to reveal the ugly faces of rich men, fat men, even poor men, who paid to gawk at her instead of feeding their children.

Holding droopy cigarettes in their right hand and a glass of the finest Irish whiskey in the other.

but she put on the best smile she could muster and smoothed out her red sequinned dress (that was too short for her liking).

The door opened and the words “everyone please welcome the Birmingham angel” boomed out from the pianist.

she stepped out earring an array of whistles and cheers. She blew a kiss out to the crowd earning a round of wolf whistles “this is the last song” she thought to herself, as if it would make time go faster.

Smoke from cigars and cigarettes covered the air in ghosts of grey that cupped the low wall lights. The paint on the red walls was cracking but at the same time neat and elegant.

the lights on the walls were a dimmed orange and maroon, except the stage light that was on her and the dancers.

the smell of whiskey and alcohol from the bar in the centre of the speakeasy spiked her nostrils harshly.

You would think Dalia was used to the preying eyes on her and the foul smells of the speakeasy by now, but it never got any easier doing something you hated for 2 pound a month to try and keep yourself and your child alive.

On either side of the main stage there was ‘gold’ encrusted dark stairs leading up to a balcony type platform where she sung and the flapper girls danced below, trying keep the fake smiles on there dolled up faces.

A piano sat in the corner, its keys worn yellow, played by a man with a cigarette drooping from his lips and a tune in his fingers. It was not fair that he got payed more than the girls for just siting there and smoking.

Dalila wasn’t even focused the prying eyes, nor the uncomfortable itching of the sequins on her ruby dress or even the pins in her brunette hair that were stabbing at her scalp. She was just trying to remember the correct lyrics of the song and the movements she was ordered to do that caused the men to wolf whistle and holler at her.

The crowed was full of the same usual faces that were drinking and snogging their whores, apart from three who had just entered. One looked old, one looked young, and one was…short.

they looked serious except the fact that one of them, with a toothpick stationed in his mouth, was staring at the dancers a bit longer than he should have, earning and smack on the back of the the head.

They didn’t sit, they didn’t drink

they just walked straight ahead and backstage, dalila’s eyes followed one of them that was leading the way, he shoved the backstage doors opened and no one even tried to stop him.

He wore a flat cap, with something that shined slightly in the lights hidden inside it, he also wore a gorgeous, well tailored suit with a coat that reminded her of a vampires. with a red silk lining on the inside.

“i could stab myself on those cheekbones” she suddenly thought before feeling disgusted with herself. “What the hell am i talking about?, I’m not that desperate” she shook the thought away.

Dalila was so in her head that she didn’t even realise the song ended until a few seconds later but played it off and blew kisses to the crowd before walking off backstage and ripping off her uncomfortable red headband.

Backstage was a chaotic maze of narrow corridors and dimly lit rooms, the air thick with the scent of powder, perfume, and cigarette smoke that gave her a throbbing headache.

The wooden floorboards creaked under hurried footsteps, they were almost worn smooth by years of dancers, singers, and stagehands running back and forth. She narrowly avoided the traffic the of dancers and headed to the one place of peace

She pushed past the feathered headbands and barely skipped over the scattered dressed that were resting on the floor.

Before pushing the door to the dressing door open and was met with the drunken singin- no. Yelling of her co-singers.

It was usually quieter in the dressing room at this time, but payday caused the girls to start drinking at 10pm while still on there shift.

The dressing room had beige walls covered in mirrors, paintings even certificates and always seemed to have a gramophone playing music in the background.

“Dalila!” One of the girls named Samantha or ‘Sammy’ for short, yelled and stumbled her way over to her almost breaking her ankles in her silver heals.

“Come sing with usssss” the girl pleaded like a puppy begging for food.

“Sammy.. should you be drinking in those heels?” Dalila chuckled and gently sat her on the sofa with the other girls, Sammy’s body draping over their laps.

“Sorry mum” the girls said sarcastically causing dalila to playfully roll her eyes and move to her designated dresser, slipping off her red kitten heals while walking over to it.

She stood in-front of the dresser and saw the envelope on top

“Payday” dalila said to herself,today was the only day that working this shitty job payed off.

Now, don’t get it twisted, she loved singing and performing, but here? For men to gawk at like they were entitled to her.

No thanks.

She picked up the envelope with one hand while the other was picking the hair pins from her hair. She Dropped the pins and pried open the envelope to find half of her pay missing.

“What the...” she muttered and looked around her dresser for other envelopes but found nothing. “He can’t be serious” she spoke, feeling anger bubbling up in her stomach.

She took out the £1 note and shoved it into her hand

Anonymous: ”Hello! I’ve read your Ivar short and I was wondering if you could do an ivar smut? I don’t really have any ideas for it but i was thinking a puplic thing… if your up for it. Because ivar is so abjfcbtscb 😫🤭”

Ivar x partner!reader

Warnings: SMUT, fingering, public fingering. No orgasm

Description: you started flirting with Hvitserk to make ivar jealous and it wasn’t well received.

P.s: Idk what point it the series this is set so just go with it.

Michael x partner!reader

Warnings: smoking, polly trying to be a wingman, reader trying alcohol.

Description: ain’t it obvious? :)

King!jacaerys x wife!reader

Warnings: smut, ‘heir making’, p in v , cowgirl, AU no dance of dragons. Teasing, slight humiliation ig, slightly dark Jace. Conception.

Description: riding the most powerful man on the most powerful seat.

Arthur Shelby x partner!reader

Warnings: none, Arthur in love

Description: you know why your here

John Shelby x partner!reader

Warnings: none

Description: isn’t it obvious?

Thomas Shelby x cute!reader

Warnings: none

Description: obvious