#greggie c

[starsofjewels]

*slides over* heyaaaa how you doin? hope your doin great:], could i possibly ask for a gregor c fic maybe a smut maybe a fluff(possibly a continuation of the fic with the kids), okkkk now bye bye love ya!!❤

Warm Embraces and Warmer Beds

NSFW!!

Any and all characters depicted in NSFW pieces are of legal age. All characters are also consenting (Unless specificed by piece)

CONTENT: SMUT (underneath cut)- dub!con, Fingering, PinV, reunion! sex- Language, vague mentions of war + blood (it’s Westeros), discussions of SW

Big Greg… You know what you’re getting in to.

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Hey my pookies. Another day, another request, more regrets. Mistakes have been made, but I will do anything for my self-indulgent fics about a big ass man who’d probably turn me into a pavement pancake if we met irl (🤤)

Anyway…

Live long, prosper… I guess.

P.S. Als at some point (over) 50 of you silly geeses decided to drop a follow, so thank you sm my babies. I love you all.

I really need a Masterlist…

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To be married to a knight- Especially one who boasts his own keep- Is something most ladies of your standing can only dream of. Most low, noble girls are thrown off to a favoured squire, to old men and their older books, who couldn’t be bothered to find themselves a wife until it was much too late. But you? You are lucky. Your husband is feared, truly feared, you have no jealous lordlings come to take your land, and no threat to you, or your boys. Gregor Clegane is a name known across the Kingdoms, and you, as sweet Lady Clegane, are his responsibility. Not even the Lannister bannermen ask for voluntary contribution when they come for the tithes. You need nothing, and you are asked for even less.

But there are always sacrifices to be made. It is part of womanhood; the men hunt and drink and fuck as they see fit, and you are left to pick up the pieces, and tend to their wounds. You have never minded, though, Gregor is a sweetheart when he returns, like a kicked puppy, demanding a hot meal and a kiss to his cuts. His duty is to guard, and yours is to nurture, that is how it has always been.

It is not uncommon for he, Tywin’s greatest weapon, to spend months away from you. He is a knight, and that is how knights serve their lords. He leaves you with everything you could need and more in his absence: control over his land, his keep and, his prized possessions, your boys. Ronan and Finny are old enough to understand their expectations as the heir, and the spare, to the Clegane household. Armed with wooden swords and a promise to protect their lady mother, and the small, pink sack of flesh they call a baby brother. Something in you is glad they still idolise their father’s profession, that their heads are still filled with the notions of saving princesses and slaying dragons.

Still, even excitable little boys grow restless after so long without their father. There is a hush over the keep, and the land, and it is almost peaceful; not that it could truly manage it, with Gregor at its helm, but it is nice to see the pheasants running about, when the men are too busy fighting to hunt them down. One runs past, chased by a kitchen cat, in turn chased by Ronan. You grab him before he can reach the animals, he has a habit of staging races, and annoying the gamekeeper with the scratches across the lawns. The boy squeals, as he always does, caught in the act.

“Mama?”

Ronan is placated with a book and one of the very old, very fat cats he has no interest in racing. The thing, titled ‘lazy arse’ by Gregor, affectionately or not, sits across your son, with the bored expression you’d expect from the child himself. He, with his pages open at an illustration of the Valyrian dragons burning each other, is enjoying himself immensely. At least, you think, his studies are partially educational.

“Mh?"

“When’s Daddy coming back?”

You sigh, looking out the window as though the mustard banners would appear at any moment. You don’t know, in truth, Gregor could be a mile away, or halfway across the world, and it wouldn’t make that much of a difference. Dead, or alive, or turned into a beast of cool flesh and ice, the distance is about the same no matter how you think about it, and double so for your boys. 

“I don’t know, sweet boy,” That’s all you can find yourself able to tell him. He looks at you, shrugs, and goes back to his book. You are glad he is not a girl, a girl would ask more questions, Ronan has always been happy with the simple. 

It is relatively calm, it always is on nights like these. Finny is beyond himself, refusing to go to bed, as always, and the babe is unreasonably fussy for no particular reason. Still, it is near surreally quiet. You do not know much about war, but you know what it sounds like, and in your world, it sounds like silence. Something in you tells you to let the boys sleep in your bed, instead of forcing them into the room the clearly do not want to go in. Finny is light, easy enough for you to lift up and plop on Gregor’s side, Ronan, with slightly more stamina, follows along beside you. 

The night has no major disasters, the babe is taken off by the nursemaids, and you wake to the sunlight streaming in through the window, you must have forgotten to pull the curtains, the staff would not have come in this early. Or perhaps they did; there is a bundle of daffodils upon your dresser, which you are certain were not there when you retired for the evening. Erra, one of your few handmaidens, enjoys making little displays, you assume she has snuck in some time before dawn to place them.

And then you hear it, those footsteps. No man alive can imitate the heavy, dull thud of them, you know it all too well. It stirs the boys, or, more likely, they were already awake, you aren’t particularly sure. You see the shadows change as the door opens, and you can recognise from the size of it alone who stands before you. 

“You awake?”

The response you give is somewhere between a hum and a groan, not quite aware enough to answer him, yet enough to know he’s there. You can hardly move, both for sleep, and the fact that Finny has clambered across your chest at some point in the night, but he still knows. He always knows.

Gregor trundles in, washed and dressed in his nightshirt. You wonder where he slept, surely not beside you, you are certain he would have woken you, or the boys, getting himself into bed. The light blocks most of his face, but he moves with such power you assume he has no injuries. If he does, he is good at hiding them. When he reaches the bed, he pulls the quilts away from you, and you make a noise of complaint for the cold, even if the day itself is reasonably warm. Gregor pulls Finny from your chest, and Ronan from your side, and lifts them up, into his arms, and you are quickly reunited with your warm blankets. You hear one of the boys stir, though unsure which, and he is shushed by Gregor as they leave. For once, they may sleep in their own beds.

Your husband, your Mountain, returns to your side, and climbs into your bed. He is as warm as he left you, and just as willing to wrap you in his embraces. You feel the urge to go back to sleep, to rest in his arms as though he had never gone in the first place, and it is wonderful.

But of course, it is never that simple.

Big hands find your sides, sliding under your nightdress and scraping your bare thighs underneath. Gregor lifts you just slightly, enough so that when he bends his legs, you sit directly upon his lap. You make some sort of noise, some demonstration of complaint, but he has never listened, and he will not start now. 

The first kiss you receive, after months of doing without, goes softly to the plumped skin of your cheek. Warm, and smooth and uncharacteristically delicate, like something you would dream of. Part of you wonders if this is, truly, a dream, as Gregor rocks you back and forth, hands seeking grip on the flat surface of the meat of your thighs. And he does not stop there, he hasn’t stopped a day in his life. 

He grazes you, cool, rugged hands taking their place against soft, fattened skin. You wonder how many nights he has spent alone with his hands in the past months, just as you have. He would never take a whore, he tells you, he can’t be bothered with the effort. But you are no whore, you are soft, and delicate, and willing. 

It doesn’t much matter if the noise you make is of protest or of enjoyment. You are tired, and growing increasingly wet, and this seems to spur him even more. 

“Missed this…”

He murmurs against your skin, pinching fingers pulling up the skirts of your nightdress, so your bare arse rests upon those heavy, muscled thighs, sharp with a thousand tiny, black hairs. It shocks you, just enough for you to register it, but not so that you are fully awake.

You feel his cock immediately, of course you do. Its length, its width. He is a big man, and he has no lack of knowledge towards its usage. Even from within the confines of his nightshirt its outline is visible, and you are almost ashamed of the sudden desire which washes over you. At any other point you would feign shame, you would blush and whimper. But here, and now, there is only so much longing you can hold back. 

Gregor’s great hands come up to caress your face, and he almost laughs,

“You’re drooling, love,” His thumb swipes at your bottom lip, and you resist the urge to bite, to show him you are in no mood for teasing, but you are certain your reward will come soon.

And it does, as always. In his usual fashion, the hands come first. Pinches become long, deliberate waves of touch, and there is the understanding that all of his play, his teasing, has ceased. He wants what he wants, and he wants your cunt.

In your sleep-addled state, and probably in his fully lucid reality, it is gentle and sweeter than usual. Perhaps he is being deliberately gentle to aid your fragile mind, or, more likely, he knows you have forgotten just how big he truly is, and a broken wife is just about as good as no wife at all.

One hand keeps itself firmly upon your hip, in case you slip and slide away from him, as the other caresses your inner thighs, and, when he is satisfied you can handle it, to the true purpose of his invasions. 

He has never let you enjoy his hands solely for long, and this shall be no different. For such a big man, Gregor is shockingly agile in this regard, fumbling steps and harsh palms becoming light touches against your clit. At this time, in this situation, he doesn’t dare venture any further than the surface. From his grunts and, dare you say it, his whines, you can tell he may not last particularly long, the consequence of months away from you, you suppose. 

“Hey, hey- Sleepy girl,”

Gregor’s hands leave your body, and you find yourself pressed once again to the soft, inviting flesh of the mattress, still warm. The semi-shock you experience as your arse touches the cool air is dulled, instantly, as the big man pats it gently. Your hips are lifted, and he puts his own pillow beneath you, warm.

“Have you just the way you like, yeah?”

You affirm, face pushed into your own cushion. You can hardly breathe, but with the delicious tension, it doesn’t really matter. 

And it comes, just as you expected it, perhaps more than you expected it. You see only darkness, but you feel so much more. He moves with poorly veiled desire, a necessity to touch you as only he can. You are his and, more importantly, he is yours, all yours. After all, who else is he taking with such delicate fervour?

You are kissed, you are held, and you are loved. Gregor’s cock finds its way, with simple instinct, to your cunt, and you wince and whine. He had expected it, of course, and gets no more than the tip into you before he has to stop. Not the desired reaction, but the realistic one.

“Shh, shh…” It seems a foreign sound for such a harsh creature. To hush, to comfort, “That’s my girl…”

You keen, your hips shift upwards and you let him in further, despite the uncomfortable stretching. You have always loved his praise, always loved to be his sweet, good, wife. 

Gregor’s movements are gentle. When he takes you like this, after months apart, he allows himself to be gentle. He is your returned knight, your handsome, precious husband, and there is a time and a place for him to be the Mountain. Now, here, is not that place.

When he is certain you are comfortable, that it is not too much, he helps you sit yourself between his cock and your hand. Big fingers return to your clit, and he almost laughs as you squeal, the sudden stimulation, apparently, a shock to the system.

And, naturally, it does not take particularly long for him to reap the rewards of this uncharacteristic gentleness, as you let out your long, low moans, muffled by your face pressed into the cushions, and he feels you clench around him. It is something he has longed for, there is nothing quite like it, and it always brings forth his own finish.

So he does. Thick and hot, everything you might expect from a man of that stature, with such a glorious cock. The world does not give you many pleasures, nor does it anyone, but to be here, warm and filled, is certainly a pleasure worth noting. 

Gregor stays in you, he likes to stay in you. In his brooding moments he likes to say it helps a child come forth, but you aren’t quite sure of the legitimacy to that claim. Not that it matters. You see the sunlight again, staring out your bedroom window with a wall of flesh at your back. And it is beautiful. 

He has killed men, you know that, he will have rampaged through the Vale, or wherever it was he had been sent, destroying everything in his path and laughing as he did it. You see his great breastplate stained with blood, and the image turns you in some, not entirely unpleasant way. But you say nothing, you are too tired for a second round, and your Mountain seems to have spent his energy.

Later, once you are suitably cleaned of all remnants of your adventures, and Gregor is both awake and dressed, you sit around the table, the boys clinging to their father and desperate for tales of their father’s quests around Westeros. Not much of it is suitable for children, you gather.

They spend all day play-fighting, with their swords, and insist that you must watch, to referee, and you must give your favours to both of them, because every knight has their favours. They, as little knights-to-be, are satisfied by leaves you pick from the ground.

Finny wins, to everyone’s amazement, and as his reward is given first pick of pudding. Not substantial by any means, but enough to satisfy a small boy with a love of blackberries. Everyone is happy, all is content, and Gregor fits back into the family with no trouble, making your boys cringe as he kisses you before supper is served. You deserve your rewards too, after all.

[gregoftom]

I support jealous greg hc because even in canon he's already Jealous with capital J, like getting agitated that tom has other greggies? Bih you're the one who asked to not be his assistant anymore! But he's still pressed about that

And don't even talk about his reaction to the tom's divorce talk like that laugh meant he has very Big Feelings about it aka he can't wait for it to be over with shiv so he can get tom all for himself pffffft

OH YEAH ABSOLUTELYYYY PLEASE OH my god. i love that shit so much i LOVE love love it like. greg is like um? what? someone else is looking after you? yeah no that's MY fucking job. that's what I do??? who are these fucking. greggies? huh? and YEAH LMFAO it's so funny he and tom are similar like that like they're like, bye felicia, and then the second the other is like "okay" they're like huh? wait what? you took me seriously? no, wait-- hey! you not rockin wit me?! i'm gonna kms!!!!!!

AHAHAAAAAAA YEAH djslkdsaljd honestly i can't think of another reason for that, unless greg was sucking up to matsson i guess? like hahaaa wow what a really funny joke! like schmoozing the guy a little. but there def could be that aspect to it and the wayyy tom was looking at greg afterwards!!! so affectionate, eyes sparkling, little c: smile that's only really for him. ugh. uuuuugh.

[stewy]

yes!!! i rly love the pacing of early house in the same way i love the first few seasons of grey's when they're studying for their medical exams + sharing meredith's mom's house. it's comfy tv! the vogler and tritter plots keep greggy in check; and the stacy arc & even the s4 weeding out of new fellows let more characters shine. then it all goes kind of off the rails. plus when grey's goes big it goes BIG (denny's heart. the plane crash. bomb in the guy. and etc.) those are the eps i live for even though they can be ridiculous. i think they work bc they're more cast-focused and don't revolve around one guy's genius/torment like the major house episodes tend to? not that that's always the case with house, especially earlier on. like when foreman gave cameron that brain parasite. besties ❤️

exactlyy like in the early seasons of house the ensemble really gets to shine! i agree with rsl when he says that, actually, the watson to house's holmes isn't wilson: it's the fellows. cuddy & wilson simply aren't interesting enough TO ME to limit all of house's emotional involvement to the two of them. i WISH he cared about 13, kutner & taub the way he does for the first 3 but he doesn't (no, not even 13 lol he kind of didn't give a shit when she left in s7 because he was too wrapped up into not pissing cuddy off). or the ones from s8. the vogler arc kind of brings s1 down but i LOVE the tritter arc, for multiple reasons (save for the ending which was lazy and kind of signed a death sentence for house's character).

also YES to grey's going BIG!!! and ALWAYS excelling at it! but that's another thing i think house did better because since it was afraid to go Too Big, all the episodes are the same tone narratively speaking. the whiplash i just got from As We Know It -> Yesterday was MASSIVE lol. but, again, that's network television, it's not a grey's thing. and again why Euphoria is one of the best episodes on television, because it doesn't feel as Big as a plane crash but it's also incredibly well-paced, everyone is on character and it relies not just on house but on 3 main characters (my favorites too)! the show just lost all the faith on its ensemble as it went on, at least for things that weren't annoying C plots.

[shinysparklesapphires]

im gonna buy a bunch of fish for a school project and name them craiggy g greggy c chubby z deep Chris boo boo allen griffin and matt

[manilafm]

Most wanted from gravity falls and the owl house, please? Thank you! And do you accept anonymous reservations?

Anonymous reserves require the first name of the character, and the last name of the character, and the FULL name of the fandom ( without nicknames or abbreviations ), and your O.O.C. alias / your O.O.C. name, but yes, we do allow anonymous reserves !! And they will last for twelve hours if sent anonymously.

And our most wanted characters from Gravity Falls are Bill Cipher, Stanley Pines, Stanford Pines, Jesus ‘Soos’ Ramírez, Grenda Grendinator, Priscilla Northwest, Pacifica Northwest, Fiddleford 'Old Man’ McGucket, Gompers The Goat, Sheriff Blubs, Deputy Durland, Tambry, Robert 'Robbie’ Valentino, Buddy 'Bud’ Gleeful, Preston Northwest, Lee, Nate, Xyler, Craz, Thompson, 'Lazy’ Susan Wentworth, Tobias 'Toby’ Determined, Sir Lord Quentin Trembley, III, Esquire, Blendin Blandin, The Time Baby, Daniel 'Manly Dan’ Corduroy, Tyler Cutebiker, Free Pizza Guy, Tate McGucket, Mr. Poolcheck, Mrs. Gleeful, Reginald, Rosanna, Shandra Jimenez, Shmipper, Smabble, Tad Strange, Mayor Eustace 'Huckabone’ Befufftlefumpter, Lolph, Dundgren, 8-Ball, Kryptos, Zanthar, Teeth, Keyhole, Hectorgon, Amorphous Shape, Pyronica, Paci-Fire, Lava Lamp Guy, Eye Bats, The Horrifying Sweaty One-Armed Monstrosity, The Creature With Eighty-Eight Different Faces, Rumble McSkirmish, Giffany, or ’.GIFfany’, Celestabellebethabelle, The clones of Dipper Pines, Ma Duskerton, Pa Duskerton, Tyrone Pines, Creggy G., Greggy C., Leggy P., Chubby Z. and Deep Chris of Sev'ral Timez, Mermando, 'Blind’ Ivan Wexler, and Darlene !!

And our most wanted characters from The Owl House are Luz Noceda, Willow Park, Boscha, Amity Blight, Odalia Blight, Amelia, Cat, Hunter / The Golden Guard, Lilith Clawthorne, Emira 'Em’ Blight, Edalyn ‘Eda’ Clawthorne, King Clawthorne, Hooty, Augustus 'Gus’ Porter, Principal Hieronymus Bump, Camila Noceda, Philip Wittebane / Emperor Belos, Kikimora, The Collector, Warden Wrath, Tibblet-Tibblie 'Tibbles’ Grimmhammer, III, Gwendolyn Clawthorne, Katya, Tinella 'Tiny Nose’ Nosa, Snaggleback, Steve, Morton, Alador Blight, Braxas, Vee / 'Number 5’, Perry Porter, Gilbert Park, Harvey Park, Captain Salty, Jean-Luc, Malphas, Amber, Derwin, Dell Clawthorne, Flora D'esplora, Masha, Professor Hermonculus, Faust, Edric 'Ed’ Blight, Matt Tholomule, Viney, Jerbo, Barcus, Skara, Eileen, Selene, Bo, Bria, Angmar, Gavin, The Bat Queen, Raine Whispers, Darius Deamonne, Eberwolf, Terra Snapdragon, Adrian Graye Vernworth, Jacob Hopkins, Bill, and Tarak !!

You’re welcome, ‘nonnie !!

[the-frostiest-of-flakes]

You're laughing. You see me as Creggy G, Greggy C, Leggy P, Chubby Z, and Deep Chris, and you're laughing

Jared Padalecki voice: I'm gutted

HUYEDCHHUCWDUBHCDUHH this is what you deserve /JOKEJEOJEOEJEOEKELEOKEOEJE

[anna-scribbles]

I just watched the new owl house episode and hunter literally looks like a rejected member of sev'ral timez

[glambytes]

@fazdrum​ sent a transmission!

      ❛ well, you never know. maybe there’s something amazing to discover just around the corner. ❜  ( @ gregory ! )

⇒ Barbie of Swan Lake sentence starters | accepting!

      ☆ ◦  “Like finding say, I don’t know, imminent death?”

      Ah Gregory, back at it again with the sass. Perhaps he’s being a bit too cautious — old habits die hard and Her Majesty doesn’t seem off... then again, look at what happened after Freddy talked of DJ’s kindness. And he did instruct him to stay near her for the time being.

      If all else fails, the boy could maybe play along until Rani drops the act. The King themself is convincing so far, though maybe she’s more like Freddy than he thinks?

      Gregory needs time. Most won’t give him the time of day.

      “It’s hard to look up,” he admits, and not just because the boy is more than three feet shorter than the tiger in question. “Do you ever feel like that? That no one really gets you?”

[leekiings]

Sev’ral Timez: The Revival

[king-kwazy]

“And now . . . I wish I could just forget about them forever.”

~Mabel Pines (from “Society of the Blind Eye”)

[starsofjewels]

hi i love your gregor fic!!! i have a request if that’s cool, so ya know how rhaenyra and daemon snuck out and went to flea bottom and to the brothel in hotd, welll i was thinking princess!reader and gregor her guard they sneak off and go into a brothel and ykyk!! then like the next day, someone goes to the queen and small council to tell them the rumors and sandor is just like in the corner 🤨🫢🫨

Tarnishment

Gregor Clegane x Baratheon Princess! Reader

NSFW!!

Any and all characters depicted in NSFW pieces are of legal age.All characters are also consenting (Unless specificed by piece)

CONTENT: SMUT- Nudity, fingering, climbing the Mountain (obviously), assumed! Murder, canon compliant! Sex work (prostitutes, brothels etc), mentions of alcohol (mostly wine), implied! Infidelity (Baratheon Princess does it Nyra style)

Delicious smut underneath the cut

Greggie C, Big Bob and the Lannisters are all their own individual warnings.

Word Count: 3.6K

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Holy frickle frackle mackrel I genuinely loved writing this so much- WHY do you all how so many good ideas OH MY LORD.

Thank you so much for this, we are all sluts for Greggie now. Gods be good.

I'm trying to get through my requests, but soon we'll have lil sprinklings of things- I've got another Ramsay and a very special surprise fic (hold your excitement) lined up for y'all once I'm done my requests.

Live, Laugh, Gregor Clegane.

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Tarish (verb): To compromise, damage, soil or sully.

When your mother bears you a little brother, at the grand age of seven, you are old enough to understand that your importance has dropped significantly. You were never going to be heir to the throne, not whilst your father has two living brothers, but there is still a general sense that you are no longer as necessary to the Baratheon lineage, not now little baby Joffrey has a golden cradle, with yellow hair to match. 

Your father doesn’t care much for Joffrey, or Tommen, or Myrcella. You don’t think he cares for much besides wine and whores and hunting down animals in the Godswood. He calls your siblings the ‘Lion Pups’, a secret joke between the two of you. They could pass as pure Lannisters, with their slim figures and golden hair, but you? You are your father’s Baratheon princess, and you are his most favourite. 

After your first blood, and, coincidentally enough, Joffrey’s fourth nameday, your father decides you should each have a member of the Kingsguard to take care of you. The crown prince is now too old to need a nurse, and you are a fertile little lady- The phrasing makes you cringe- You need protection from debauchery, as your mother says. You wonder if the world is truly so terrible that a man could desire you.  

Cersei wants to give you the Hound, but you are far too good for Sandor Clegane, the Burned Knight. So you get his brother, the Mountain, and already you know why the men shiver when they see him, and why women hide their babies. Joffrey is given over to Sandor, to your mother’s dismay. 

And so, it begins. You attend your lessons on the back of a Mountain, you watch him fight and train as you sew, and when you go into town you are permitted to stray into the markets and shops, with your personal guard barely a foot behind. You remind yourself you have more freedoms than any princess when you receive another scolding from your mother, when you long to attend the hunts. 

You are an affectionate person, Cersei knows that, but even she grows suspicious at how close Gregor has gotten to you. He carries you places as though you are his bride, as though you could not walk without him, and whispers begin of your behaviour in private being far less innocent. But, there is no evidence.  

Summer is a privilege and a pain all at the same time. The palace is hot, and sticky, as are you. Even with the soft breezes of night, the warmth hides not so far away. If anyone were to see you, they’d find you most indecent. Your nightdress is short, and covers just enough of your cleavage that your nipples are not exposed. If you jumped, or did anything other than walk a few slow paces, you aren’t sure they wouldn’t be. 

“Alright, Princess?”

You hadn’t realised Gregor was standing there. You are too hot and too bored to do anything more than feel a bit sorry for yourself. He knows that. 

The response you give is somewhere between a groan and a grunt, it makes him laugh. You like to make him laugh, it reminds you he isn’t just the big, scary Mountain you see in his armour. Which you suddenly realise he isn’t wearing. 

Your Mountain is dressed in a tunic, a red one- Lannister, obviously- And you aren’t sure you’ve ever seen him without his armour. But then, you suppose he isn’t off duty very much, his duties are very much full-time.

“Mh- What are you wearing?”

Gregor moves closer, throwing something light upon your bed,

“Goin’ out. Get dressed.”

He pulls you out of bed, an action which reminds you of your nurses doing the same. The man pulls your nightdress up for you, pulling a simple dress more suited for one of the staff over you, and a cloak on the top. 

“Thank Dana downstairs, she’s letting you borrow it.”

“Did you steal a dress?”

You are granted a shrug in response, you assume that means a yes. 

Though Gregor is not easily disguised, there are plenty of ladies in the Keep with your hair colour and figure. You could just as easily be a whore as you are a princess, and that delights you. 

The courtyard is dark and empty, no-one wants to venture out this late, not anyone who cares about their reputation, at least. The Street of Silk, and her sister streets, will all be bustling with off-duty guards, and whoever else feels the need for company. The guards stationed at the gates assume the same of Gregor when he passes, you think.

“Who’s watching the princess?”

Your heart jumps, you cling onto him almost suspiciously tightly, and you know that they notice.

“Do you think I care about the fucking duty board? Check yourself if you’re that bothered.”

The other scoffs at that, and you feel him jab your shoulder,

“Something wrong with your whore?”

“Don’t know, just taking her back.”

Gregor lifts you up, you hide your face in his shoulder. The guards let you pass, and once you are reasonably away from the Keep, he puts you back down.

“Arseholes.” The man looks back, keeping you close, “let’s have some fun, eh? I know the place.”

King's Landing is a seedy place, you know that even in the day, but at night, it ignites. The streets are filled with lust and shamelessness, you wonder if your septa might die at the sight of it. Whores line the streets, and you can tell which are the newer, poorer ones, and which of the women come from ‘respectable’ houses. He leads you through the Street of Silk, you know it even without any markers, from the drunk men lying against the walls, or on the ground, and you are frightened. 

You see no silk, you see blood and piss and far too much of other women, but that is all.  

The place he leads you to is clean, at least, and reasonably unassuming. There are candles and flowers outside, you wonder if this brothel is one of the higher-end ones, or if inside it is double as bad as the streets. 

You are sat neatly on a cushioned bench, and ladies bring you drink. Wines, and ales and other alcohols you have neither heard about nor tasted. You see them giggle to themselves, and you realise that your disguise is poor. They all know the Baratheon princess has graced their presence. It will have some impact on you later, the thought crosses your mind as Gregor tilts your third cup of wine down your throat, when one of them is offered a pretty gold coin in exchange for all of your secrets. 

But, you do not care. You are allowed to have fun, even if your idea of fun stems past the gossiping, and the sewing your mother would like you to do. 

“Gods-”

You are drawn from your thoughts by Gregor, who sets another cup down on the table,

“You Baratheons really can drink, Princess, that’s your fifth tonight.”

Sure enough, the cup in your hand has four identical siblings, strewn about in various positions across the table, and one on the floor. The man shakes his head.

“Well, how many have you had?”

“Don’t take wine. Woman’s drink.”

When the music begins, you aren’t truly sure if it’s real, or if your alcohol-addled mind has simply hallucinated it to entertain you; but Gregor shuffles his huge form over, and puts an arm around your waist, glancing occasionally to the platform in front of you, so you assume it to be real. 

The women who wear any clothes wear barely any at all. They dance with feathers, and pretty shiny things- Baubles and bells, which jingle with every step they take. Some have silver hair, Targaryen hair, and you are reminded that even though their fiery blood has faded out, given your father’s proclivity for murdering them, some men still want to tame the dragon. They wink, and they gasp, and they moan, as though their dancing is the most exciting thing they could have ever done. Some of the men- For it is all men- Jeer, they call them whores, and other words you can’t imagine anyone else repeating. It makes Gregor laugh, and for once you aren’t so sure if you like that. He notices, pressing a comforting kiss to your forehead.

“We’ll go to our room in a bit, yeah? You’ll like that.”

Not entirely sure what he means, you nod anyway. 

The dancers end in a puff of smoke and incense, you pretend not to notice as they slip away, with one, or two, or even three men chasing after them. You wonder if three men could even fit inside the one woman, and your mind brings you to unsavoury places. 

You don’t feel particularly drunk, the wine must have been watered down, but still, Gregor lifts you up to take you further into the brothel. The noises are no less than sinful- Groans, and cries and the screams of men as they finish themselves off. You hear names, whispered into the night, and the whores run to and from their entertainment rooms, in various states of blush and undress. Most are nude. 

The room you are brought to is right at the top of the brothel, where the Madame keeps her office, and her favourite pets. It is clean, and scented by the flowers about the place. The bed itself, for there is always a bed, is covered in soft pink curtains, pulled back and tied with silver ribbon. There are no windows, and no fireplace. 

“Only the best for the princess, eh? You’re lucky I did the Madame a favour.”

He has already pulled off his tunic, and sits upon the bed, pulling you onto him so your legs wrap around his waist,

“What did you do?”

“Killed her husband.”

You look up at him, pouting slightly.

“Why?”

“Because-” In an instant, his great body is atop of you, and you are slammed against the fabric of the bed. The thing itself creaks. “Your grandfather told me to.”

Gregor’s lips find your neck, his facial hair tickles against the skin, and you let yourself laugh,

“And you do everything the great Lord Tywin tells you to?”

The response you get is a grunt, and a squeal from your own lips when he pulls you closer toward him. You gain a kiss upon the lips for this intrusion. 

“I do whilst I’ve his pretty granddaughter in a whorehouse.”

As he continues to put kisses on your exposed skin, travelling almost as low as your breast, you suddenly realise you’ve found yourself in an unusual position of power. In a whorehouse, on your back, with a man double your weight and at least a foot taller than you upon you. This is the power your mother has told you a woman holds. 

“His pretty granddaughter, your princess. You should be serving me.”

You tilt your head away so he cannot see the smile which graces your face. He merely hums, near thoughtfully. Once again, you are lifted from below him, and put back on the throne you’ve made from his thighs. 

“How does my princess want served, then?”

His free hand finds yours, and you play with it like a child might a shiny thing they find upon the pavement. 

“Your fingers.”

“Aye, that’s a good plan,” He shakes his hand free from yours with little effort, it joins with the other at the small of your back, and poor Dana’s dress is torn to rags, leaving you in your little nightdress, the front having been pulled down completely, exposing your breasts to him. He says nothing. “Better get you prepared first, can’t bring you back split like a chicken, can I?” 

“Are you… that big?”

Your eyes widen at your own speech, how utterly unashamed you can be. There is little more you can do to sully your reputation at this point than to actually have the man inside of you, and you aren’t completely sure you won’t. But he finds some amusement in your words, grasping you gently, pulling you closer toward him.

“All of me is big, Princess.”

He is right, his hands are each the size of your face, if not bigger. His height is something known and feared by every man, woman and child in the Seven Kingdoms, and you sit delicately on his lap, growing increasingly excited by the ideas of what he might do to you.

One of those big hands grazes your bare arse underneath your nightdress, even the gentlest squeeze, with his strength, turns into a reasonably harsh pinch. You squeak, 

“Ow!”

Gregor tuts, 

“If that hurts you, Princess, I doubt you’re ready for the next bit.”

It travels back down, across your thigh, and sets itself, with the amount of grace you expect from Gregor, just shy of your cunt. He helps you settle in a more comfortable position, and pushes his middle finger into you. It hurts, even his fingers are enormous, far greater than your own, but it feels wonderful. You must be whimpering, because he shushes you with kisses, moving slowly and carefully, not daring to give you another one.

A second has you sobbing, quietly begging for him to stop. He won’t, you know that, and most of you doesn’t want him to.

By the time he considers you ‘adequately prepared’, you are hardly sure of your own name, let alone anything more complicated. You are covered in sweat, a scarlet blush across your whole face, and an overwhelming sense that you should probably be quite ashamed of yourself.

Gregor sets you down from his lap, onto the bed. You hope the night’s activities aren’t over, you do so want what you were certain he’d give you. He seems to notice, a smile graces his face.

“Just a minute, Princess,” He sounds almost scolding, like a schoolmaster, “Can’t fuck you dressed, can I?”

“I… Suppose not, no.”

Whilst you still have some shred of dignity, even if your nightdress clings to the sweat on your skin, and leaves next to nothing to anyone’s imagination, Gregor strips himself down to his entirety. Every scar, every muscle of his is completely visible, and something about it completely delights you. 

He almost laughs at how you gawk at him, eyes flicking between his legs, trying desperately not to show him you are, in fact, staring.

“Never seen a cock before?”

“Not… One I’m not directly related to, no.”

You are scooped back into his arms, onto your throne of flesh. Your Mountain bounces you just slightly, and you recall a nurse of yours doing the exact same thing at some point in your life. There is something oddly comforting about it.

He expects you to squeal and cry when it begins, when he pushes himself into you. And you do, just a little. There is a pressure you cannot quite explain, something eats at you from inside out, and your eyes fill up with pretty tears. He is there to make it better, of course, it is his duty to protect you.

Gregor is not the type of man to praise his woman, and he doesn’t. Not in words, at least. You cling to him, wrapped around his neck and whimpering into his shoulder, and he runs a hand up your clothed back in long, soothing motions. It does little to actually comfort you, but the thought behind it is nice. You are glad it’s this, and not the horror stories you’ve heard about your sworn guardian.

You know, in very limited detail, how a woman is supposed to give herself up to a man. You had thought it would hurt- That he would be rough, and you look down to see no blood, nor much of anything, his cock is hidden by the skirts of your nightdress. You wonder if that is enough to hide your sin from the gods.

“Alright, Princess?”

You cannot even look up to see his face, and you don’t know he’d want you to. Tears stream freely from your eyes, and all of you feels heavy, tired. You hope he’ll carry you back home. 

“Nearly.”

The break in his voice does not escape you. At least you know what’s to happen.

And slowly, carefully, his hand on your back finds your thigh, and the one on your thigh crawls between your legs. You are already prepared, already overwhelmed, and just the slightest touch is enough to set you off again,

“Hold off, Princess,” Had you the strength, you would beg him not to stop. Thankfully, he doesn’t, “Just one minute.”

And you try, but it is just too much for you to handle. You attempt to tell him, to give him some warning, but he knows.

He comes with a great roar, something that makes you jump. Gregor holds you tight enough to bruise, a reminder of his power, of how vulnerable you actually are, but you hardly care. 

Despite the very obvious plug between your legs, his seed still seeps out of you, onto your nice nightdress, onto him. You hadn’t thought it’d be so messy, but it does make some sense. You mutter something unintelligible, and he kisses your forehead. The world is good, and you wonder if anyone would find out should you make this a regular occurrence.

You awake the next morning in a different, more sensible nightdress. You smell clean, like lavender soap, like he’s had one of your ladies bathe you at some point. One enters with a breakfast tray, as per usual, and you pretend not to notice how she avoids your gaze. The two who help you dress are as chatty as usual. The older woman is as bubbly as ever, and her little assistant couldn’t frighten a sparrow if she wanted.

Gregor is usually standing outside when you emerge in the mornings. Today, it is Ser Meryn Trant. Not unusual, and nothing for concern; you assume Gregor has come down with a headache again. He suffers from them quite frequently, especially so in the hottest months.

Neither of you say anything, not until you’ve crawled down the steps and gotten to the throne room. Your muscles still ache, and your legs feel strange to walk upon, a night of being bent and thrown in any direction.

Tywin and Cersei are on either side of the throne; your mother sits, your grandfather stands. Your brother is tactfully in the corner, with his dog behind him. And the way Sandor looks at you, with undisguised disgust, you realise- they know.

Tywin’s face is still, your mother looks as though she might boil up at any given moment. The throne is empty, and you wonder where your father has gone.

“Princess,” It is Varys who speaks. Your mother’s little songbird, with nothing better to do than scour the kingdom for rumour, “We had heard some… rumours regarding your activities last night with Ser Gregor.”

You realise, this is your time to shine. You have always been dramatic, always good at making up little stories. You can fool your grandfather, you’ve always been able to. And if Lord Tywin is convinced, the rest of them shall follow; no-one doubts the Hand.

“W-What rumours, my lord?”

Cersei rolls her eyes. Your mother stands, moving down from the raised steps of the throne, facing you,

“You know what rumours. You were seen in a brothel last night, far past the time you should have been abed, and he carried you back half-naked. Do you deny it, Daughter?”

“I…”

You look between those in the throne room: your brother in the corner, his dog avoiding your gaze; Varys, and Littlefinger, your mother. Your gaze lands on Ser Meryn.

“Ser Gregor does not guard me at night.” You look at your grandfather, a sudden realisation coming upon you. “He is my personal guard, Grandfather, the Kingsguard have night duty. He needs to be rested for the day.”

Cersei flicks her head to Tywin, who appears to be thinking quite deeply,

“That is true, Ser Gregor has yet to be granted the white cloak.”

“Do you doubt my virtue, Grandfather? You know I would not lie on such matters, I am a princess, not a tavern wench.”

And he sighs, and you know that you’ve won him over,

“It is possible Ser Gregor entertained a woman of a- Similar appearance. The princess is not so foolish as to risk rumours of her purity, unlike some.”

A comment about your mother. You see Sandor smirk at it.

You are returned back to your bedchamber, and go about your day. The rumours are put aside, and it is decided that Gregor entertained a whore that night, no matter what anyone claims. There are plenty of men who take silver-haired whores as Targaryens, after all, there is hardly a difference with the new line of regency. 

Later, you are put in front of your father after supper. He’s heard, of course, through Varys, or Tywin or Cersei, or all of the above. Not that it matters.

Robert is arse-deep in his cups, and he doesn’t show any sign of stopping. Your father wraps one of his great hands around your shoulders,

“Did you fuck him, then?”

And there is no answer you can give him but the truth.

“Aye, Father, I did.”

Robert spends the rest of the evening laughing uncontrollably, getting suitably drunk. Your nights with Gregor confine themselves to your rooms, or to a variety of places where a princess would not be so out of place. Everyone knows, and no one says a word. And one day, when your husband of a cushy, lordly house gives you child after child, no one shall say a word when they each emerge taller than the next, when their resemblance is shockingly similar to your personal guard, and not their supposed father.

[newtonsheffield]

Also, on a note of corgis, we have two different types of corgis. Pembroke Welsh c Corgi aka what Austin aka Newton and Gregory (and Queen Elisabeth's corgis) are. Cardigan Welsh Corgi is the other: it has darker brown fur and is often bigger and longer than a pembroke would be, they are more often used as working dogs (in farms I believe) than pembrokes would be. Also, before it was totally normal to chop off a corgis tail, it was not that common on cardigans.

This is all correct!

Greggy is a Pembroke Corgi (and Most of the ones you see are and I think they’re a little cuter personally but that’s just me.)

Cardigans have more of a Merle sort of pattern and are slightly bigger.

It’s no longer breed standard in Australia to dock tails (docking is actually outlawed for non medical reasons and I think the US is actually the only major western country that still allows it 🫥) So Greggy has his full swisher, which is very majestic. Though natural bobtail corgis do exist they’re a little more rare!

[ladyjune]

Bridgerton Aunts and Uncles

I'm a sucker for the Bridgerton sibling dynamic and them as aunt/uncles so here are some of my headcanons:

I picture the next generation of Bridgertons being raised very communally, especially when the last five get married and start having kids. Like no aunt or uncle is afraid to scold you when you had been naughty but they also are fiercely protective of all of the kids

While Anthony loves all his nieces and nephews equally, he gets particular enjoyment out of spoiling H,G, and C kids. Hyacinth and Gregory because he’s never felt more old than when his two youngest siblings started having kids. He never thought he was going to see it. Kate likes to joke sometimes and call him grandpa, he just rolls his eyes but secretly loves it. Anthony gives off major grandpa vibes and you cannot convince me otherwise lol  Colin because out all his siblings, Anthony worried the most about Colin’s happiness. He could tell his brother was lost and not fulfilled with his wayward lifestyle. So when Colin married Penelope, they started having a family, and Anthony could see how truly content Colin was, Anthony relished getting to spoil his nieces and nephews.

 Aunt Sophie and Uncle Benedict host all the cousins for two weeks during the summer at My Cottage.  There’s jokes, reading lots of books, painting, playing outside, swimming, and lots of learning by doing. Essentially it’s Bridgerton family summer camp

Uncle Colin tells the best stories. They are usually about his travels or ones he just makes up on the spot. He often gets convinced to tell a few by his many nieces and nephews at every family gathering. Colin’s favorite to tell is how the beautiful wallflower fooled the ton and was the heroine all along. Smiling at Aunt Penelope through the whole story.

Aunt Daphne constantly has one of the babies in her arms. Since all of them are quite younger than her oldest three, she misses the baby stage

Aunt Eloise is notorious for helping her nieces and nephews prank their parents. Especially if those parents are her brothers

Aunt Francesca is everyone's favorite Aunt. When she gets to the family gatherings every other Aunt or Uncle cant compare to the treats she brings and the tales of Scotland she tells 

Little George’s favorite aunt ended up being Lucy much to Hyacinths horror. George was constantly toddling over to Lucy and forcing interaction between the two women. He became one of the reasons Hyacinths anger towards Lucy settled and Hyacinth came around to Lucy. Much to Gregory and Gareths amusement

The Bridgerton bros are affectionately known by their nieces and nephews as Uncle Anty, Uncle Benny, Uncle Colly, and Uncle Greggy. 

[onisiondrama]

Find it interesting that Onision is attempting to return to YouTube. Why od you think that is? Do you think he doesn't have a job or college to go to anymore so he's desperately retreating to his safe space? Or do you think he anticipates the documentary episode coming out soon, so he wants to clear up his image and name online before this happens?

I’m gunna use this as an opportunity to list all my theories on why he’s doing what he’s been doing since I get asked stuff like this often.

Why is he making forums:

- He wants to continue to run a business/LLC so he can continue to write off video games and computer equipment and parts.

- He purposefully wants his income to be low so he can blame the Chris Hansen situation as the reason. (He has said several times he can’t get a normal job because of the situation but I doubt he tried.) Several reasons for this. He thinks he could potentially sue for damages against Discovery/Hansen one day, if he is sued he can say there is no money to be claimed from him, if he goes through a divorce he won’t be the breadwinner- we all know how much he hates alimony.

- It’s an excuse to stay in contact and play online games with his online friend/s. Lucas can’t complain about him playing video games and chatting online if he’s getting paid to do it through his forum memberships.

- He keeps recreating the forum because that’s what he always does when his forums die. People are more likely to try a new forum than a dead one.

Why did he return to YouTube:

- Mainly because the Jonny Depp vs Amber Heard trial. He’s been comparing his exes to Amber Heard in these videos and at one point changed his name on Twitter to “Greggy Depp.”

- He wants the public to see him as Johnny Depp and his exes as Amber Heard. He wants to come back from being canceled, have his name cleared, and have his enemies/exes destroyed.

- I believe the legal threat he received that he’s mentioned a few times was either some sort of C&D or they let it go for the time being because he wiped out most of his videos about Sarah, his website pages about her, and stopped uploading to YouTube. I believe he is purposefully rocking the boat now because either he believes they were bluffing and won’t take legal action and/or if they do he will “decimate” then in court with his receipts and evidence.

Tbh I’d love to see that. All of his evidence so flimsy and easily disproven or explained. It also doesn’t help he literally told on himself in past videos and text messages. Especially his claim that he wanted nothing to do with Sarah and she blackmailed him into a relationship. Whew, there is mountains of evidence that prove that was not true in the slightest just available on the internet alone. I could imagine what private messages show.

[dawsonscreekwasalwaysbad]

cool pet names for your significant other

s. s. cool dude

toot toot mcbumbersnazzle

tyrone

THOMPSON

bill dipper (bipper)

old fifteen-poundy

judge kitty kitty meow meow face schwartzstein

nearly almost dead but not quite

pituitaur

dippyfresh

mr. catface

gold chains for old men magazine

carla “hot pants” mccorkle

the man with no taste

blendin blenjamin blandin

creggy g

greggy c

leggy p

chubby z

deep chris

normal man norman

GRAPPLING HOOK!

mr. adequate bar

chief justice num num

big henry

dr. medicine

homework: the candy

probabilitor the annoying

stuffed creature of indeterminate species

grenda 2: the sequel

wendy borduroy

celestabellebethabelle

winky frown

shmebulock

[campionaridiparoleeumori]

Storia di due uomini e otto pecore è un film nudo, crudo, quasi privo di conversazioni. Eppure al contempo ricco di poesia, di spietata meraviglia ed essenzialità. La linearità della storia, ambientata in un Islanda rurale, rispecchia uno stile di vita che il regista è riuscito a fotografare e descrivere minimalmente, senza mai esagerare o falsificare. Racconta di due vite, di due uomini, di due fratelli la cui vita, o meglio sopravvivenza, è strettamente vincolata a quelle dei loro greggi di pecore. L’avvento di una epidemia mortale sarà dunque la modalità utilizzata dal regista per aprirci una finestra sulle vicende di questi due uomini; fratelli eppure capaci di odiarsi, di non risentire del cumulo di solitudine che accompagna le loro vite, le mura delle loro case - vicine solo dieci metri per guardarsi ma troppe lontane per cercare un confronto. I silenzi e gli sguardi che si scambiano da casa a casa si mischiano, da una parte, di ferocia, rabbia, angustia ma pure di una forma di dolore che non conosce adattamenti terminologici in grado di descriverne la misura, la quantità. Il dolore c’è come anche le note di solitudine - così come ogni altra forma di emozione - ma tutto sotto l'abile descrizione dei paesaggi, delle carte da parato, dei vestiari, dei venti, dei gesti minimali eppure essenziali, accorti.

Il loro, è un silenzio che dura da quarant'anni. Un silenzio che li porta a farsi torti e dispetti proprio come succede tipicamente tra fratelli e proprio come succede a uno dei due protagonisti - Gummi - il quale, scoprendo che uno dei montoni del fratello Kiddi è affetto da una malattia incurabile e contagiosa, denuncia tempestivamente il fatto alle autorità sanitarie che ordinano di abbattere entrambi i greggi e di conseguenza inasprendo ancora di più l'astio che corre tra loro.

Suddetta epidemia costringe i due a privarsi non solo dei rispettivi greggi ma anche di quella che è l'unica fonte di nutrimento e sopravvivenza. Sembra quasi che rivivano una situazione non dissimile da quella che sperimentano normalmente tutti i figli quando ad un certo punto, per dar spazio al nuovo arrivato, devono rinunciare a qualcosa - penso alla relazione primaria con la madre - che fino ad allora era stato ad uso esclusivo. Per i bambini infatti è comune sentirsi turbati quando, alla nascita di un/una fratellino/sorellina, devono rinunciare, fantasmaticamente, alle gratificazioni materne e a tutte le attenzioni. L'arrivo di un/una fratellino/sorellina è infatti la conclamata causa di come nulla sarà più come prima. Il bambino, che fino ad allora è stato robusto e sano, può diventare magro e pallido. Può contrarre enuresi, collera, nausea e stitichezza in un lasso di tempo che può anche protrarsi più del normale. Da un punto di vista psicologico invece può succedere che i sentimenti disforici lo portino a vedere le cose, gli eventi e le persone staticamente con la conseguenza di non riuscire più a capire dove o chi sia.

In questi casi, da una parte, il fratello maggiore sente di perdere la madre come precedente l'aveva conosciuta - quella che onnipotentemente riusciva a soddisfare i suoi bisogni d'affetto, fiducia, gratificazione ecc. Dall'altra però - ancora più pericolosamente - rischia di perdere pezzi del suo Sè, della sua identità, diventando quasi un'ombra del fratello che sta per arrivare. Lo shock del trauma del fratello può anche ripetersi nel corso degli anni, anche quando questi oramai sono adulti, proprio come succede tra i due fratelli del film che, privati di un bene comune, riattivano dinamiche arrugginite del tempo ma mai dimenticate. Deve così essere elaborato di nuovo l'ennesimo evento traumatico che sposta e disloca il bambino, ormai adulto, dal chi e dal dove aveva pensato di essere.

Se dunque la relazione che questi due fratelli sembrano avere è basata sulla negazione dell'esistenza dell'altro come risultato finale di fantasie di aggressive, omicide e di vendetta che non si son potute arginare o scaricare, diversamente esistono altri reazioni alla nascita di un/una fratello/ sorella:

- accettazione del/la fratello/sorella con superamento delle ostilità

- compiacenza come difesa contro le proprie angosce ma anche contro le temute azioni aggressioni del fratello/sorella

- regressione alla situazione neonatale in competizione col neonato.

Infine, come ricorda lo psicoanalista Luis Kancyper, l'importanza delle relazioni fraterne è tale anche nel quadro dello sviluppo del sé sociale. Il fratello rappresenta al contempo un oggetto straordinariamente somigliante, una sorta di "doppio" e la prima odiosa comparsa dell'estraneo, dell'altro e del diverso-da-me. Nell'Islanda tetra, inaccessibile, pericolosa descritta in questo film lo sviluppo di questo Sé sociale sembra atrofizzato in entrambi i protagonisti. Il fratello però come descrive Kancyper può assolvere una (a) funzione sostitutiva laddove ci sia un ruolo parentale deficitario; (b) una funzione difensiva rispetto ad una qualunque difficolta personale; (c) una funzione strutturante capace di sviluppare le abilità relazionali e sociali; una (d) funzione elaborativa in grado di sbrogliare dinamiche genitoriali conflittuali e narcisistiche.