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their boys

In the previous season, the Greens doubted their idea at every turn or even renounced the team, so I was pleasantly surprised by how, in their last moments, before their deaths, they maintained their audacity and refused to submit to the will of the queen of bastards.

They really said, "we light the way (in this dark, hopeless place called the show)".

The man who was an absolute asshole at first showed Criston more humanity in the end than anyone else ever did.

"The best and the worst." So one of us is like to live in song. "And a few who were a bit of both. Like him." He tapped the page he had been reading. "Who?" Ser Loras craned his head around to see. "Ten black pellets on a scarlet field. I do not know those arms." "They belonged to Criston Cole, who served the first Viserys and the second Aegon." Jamie closed the White Book. "They called him Kingmaker."

"The best and the worst." So one of us is like to live in song. "And a few who were a bit of both. Like him." – A Feast for Crows

Criston Cole: "If I strike my banners will you spare my men's lives"

Oscar Tully: "I promised the dead to build a Sept out of traitors' bones. I don't have enough bones yet"

THAT’S OSCAR FUCKING TULLY FOR YOU

will

D I E

but not his ideas.

i am so so sorry for the delay in lady arryn posts… i have been going through such a gnarly mental block and decided to write this to get out of my slump

whenever cregan has you spread out for him on your marital bed, writhing and moaning around him all cock drunk, you’ve noticed that he doesn’t hold back with his innate northern roughness, nor does he stray away from performing more… adventurous tasks.

more times than not, his big palms have eclipsed your wrists, holding them firmly together above your head as he thrusts menacingly into your heat. cregan’s lips never leave your skin, either being burrowed in your neck, pulsing down your chest and stomach, or hovering over your own mouth, panting perversely into the open cavity and spewing words of filth that would leave a maiden blushing.

“look at you, so needy around my cock.” cregan would grunt, gathering a decent ball of spit on his lips before slowly dropping it into your awaiting mouth. “a nasty girl you are. fucking filthy for her lord husband.”

in other moments, the mass of the northern brute would bend you over his knee, lifting up your woollen skirts and heavy furs so he could smack your ass raw. cregan would grin at the feeling of your trembling chin and the slick of your wet pussy, his one finger sliding through your folds while his other hand left harsh red hand prints on your ass cheeks, words as biting and chilled as the winds that blew around winterfell.

“such a tease you are,” he would say if your behaviour bordered on too tantalizing during a feast. “do you like seeing me angry? does it make you wet knowing i will punish you in secret?” cregan’s voice always held weight, a heavy feeling that left you sighing and squirming in pleasure.

cregan’s favourite punishment was to have you on your knees, eyes watering and wide as you choked on his cock. his hands would always be nestled in your hair, holding the strands in a firm fist so he could bob your head up and down to his liking. there was no soft kitten licks or dusting kisses when it came cregan. no, you would deep throat him until your lungs screamed for air, drool pooling around your lips in a mosaic of spit that left the man grinning. he always told you he had no time for southern pleasure, more rough and demanding than soft and coaxing.

in better words, if cregan could tie you to your bed and ravish you until your cunt was overfilled and dripping with his seed, he would. it would be surprising if he didn’t once keep you locked away for a days time, cursing at any servant who dared enter for he was too busy fucking his wife, too busy showing her the northern way of breeding.