Ser Criston - Tumblr Posts

Couldn’t have said it better.

Hi, why do you hate Rhaenyra and why did you choose teem green? I'm not mean I'm just curious and want to read some different opinion :^

Hi!

I really appreciate you coming to ask my opinion kindly.

The short answer to your question is that I dislike Rhaenyra because I’ve found that she is quite entitled and that entitlement leads to her behaving irresponsibly and selfishly, to the detriment of others. And, I’m team green because generally despise/dislike almost everyone on team black (Daemon, Rhaenyra, Viserys, the Strong boys, etc.), and I empathize a lot with Alicent and her children and the abuse and neglect they’ve faced at the hands of Viserys and to a lesser extent Rhaenyra and her kids.

That’s the short answer; however, if you want the long, detailed answer then keep reading.

~

Disliking Rhaenyra

Throughout the season, Rhaenyra makes so many decisions for her own selfishness that have disastrous consequences for others. While her motivations are never explicitly stated, it becomes quite clear that Rhaenyra sees herself as exceptional and that any choices she make will not/should not affect her because she is the heir and because her father will bail her out.

She sneaks out with Daemon because she wants to and is ready to sleep with him in a compromising setting where she could be caught, and when consequences come, she tells half truths, deflects, and gets Alicent’s father fired leaving Alicent completely alone in court.

She coerces Criston, a person in a lower position to her who’s livelihood depends on her, to have sex and doesn’t take his “no” (twice!) for an answer. This leads to Criston being ready to commit suicide from his guilt.

She has three obvious bastards which put those children’s lives in danger and puts her own claim at risk. The question of their parentage could lead to a succession crisis when she ascends or after her death when Jace ascends. And that bastard issue also leads to a succession crisis for Driftmark and the murder of Vaemond Velaryon.

She never holds her children accountable for their mutilation of Aemond, and even takes it’s further by trying to have him tortured for information on who said the boys are bastards. Something she knows is a fact. She is literally ready to torture a young boy to cover up a lie she tells, but finds it unbelievable that her son, who gouged out another child’s eye, should be punished.

She doesn’t take any initiative to establish herself in court and gain the favor of Lords and Ladies who may have issue with her ascension (just look at how Rhaenyra is with the Lannisters vs Alicent in court settings). And this leads to a deep dislike of her from certain houses.

Despite Laenor reaffirming his devotion to her and “their” sons. She convinces him to fake his death and run away so that she can marry Daemon who was literally JUST widowed.

She runs off to dragonstone to be with Daemon. This is at a crucial time where she could be taking over more responsibilities as a ruler from her father, gaining the trust of the smallfolk and small council in her abilities to rule as well as learning on the job before taking over. However, she doesn’t want to do the work and leaves the ruling up to Alicent and Otto, a crucial and foolish mistake. Who leaves the ruling to people you perceive as a threat to your claim? And then complains that they are ruling when you haven’t?

And most of all, her perceived exceptionalism leads her to think that she is the exception to the male primogeniture rules. She is not against the sexist system, she’s only against the sexist system affecting her and her alone. She has no intentions of changing the laws to absolute primogeniture, and even passes over Baela as a candidate for driftmark, instead insisting she could rule as queen if she marries Jace.

Overall, Rhaenyra’s actions are all selfishly motivated and come from a place of her own perceived exceptionalism. And when consequences arise she runs to her father to bail her out (including when he’s literally on his death bed rotting away and she hasn’t seen him in years), or she lies and hurts others. Her actions and motivations are just not ones I can support.

I acknowledge she’s at a disadvantage. But she doesn’t put in the effort to counteract it, instead doing whatever she wants and expecting things to work out. I just don’t find that compelling.

~

Team Green

My reasons for liking and supporting team green are much more concise. I just don’t like the people on team black. And I do like the (most) of the people on team green.

I sympathize with Alicent most of all. She’s a child bride who was maritally raped and neglected by her pedophilic husband. I sympathize with the green kids because they’ve been neglected by their father and even mutilated and nobody cared.

And also, I sympathize with them politically to an extent. I recognize Viserys said Rhaenyra is heir. But the laws haven’t changed so they do have a basis for their claim. And while Rhaenyra is heir, Alicent is the one who has been ruling for years in Viserys’s stead. The Targ-Hightowers are the ones who have been in charge for most of the season. They have gained the support of the people and Alicent dedicates most of her decisions to their well-being.

I just struggle to not support team green when they’ve been the most victimized group and they are the ones who have put in the work when Rhaenyra and co haven’t.

~

So yeah. Those are my quickly explained reasons. I hope they are sufficient enough to explain my side, but I’ll be happy to answer any other questions you may have.

aemond, to helaena, while lying face down on his bed and regretting everything: and then i called him dad.

criston, to alicent, crying tears of joy: and then he called me dad!

so NOW you want to be a whore huh?

"My Lord" - Criston Cole x Targaryen!Reader

A/N: first time writing for mr krispy kreme ig

TW: uses she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, profanity, innuendo, corruption kink kinda ig? idk, p in v sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it kids)

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Word Count: 2,783 words

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

HOTD Taglist (BOLD means it did not allow me to tag you): @jamespotterismydaddy @ietss @michaelcliffordbrokeintomyhouse @its-halleys-comet @ur-local-asseater @ad-astra-again @revory @not-a-glad-gladiator @clara02 @hedahobbit98 @babyblue-chaos @fairysluna

Ser Criston Cole is a man of honor, at least that’s what he likes to tell himself. So, when he sees you dancing with your twin brother Aegon at the feast celebrating both of your eight and tenth namedays, he doesn’t feel any jealousy. Why should he? Why should it bother him that Aegon’s hand is on your waist, that you’re laughing at all of Aegon’s jokes, burying your head in his chest and giggling? Why should it bother him when his protege, your younger brother Aemond, eyes you with what looks like desire?

Ser Criston is above such things. He’s above feeling lust now, all women are reflections of the Mother, of course, and he is a member of the Kingsguard. His amorous tendencies died when your older sister refused his offer to run away together. There is no way he wants you, the sweet young princess he’s sworn to protect.

But then, why does his blood boil as Prince Jacaerys takes his turn dancing with you, gazing into your eyes? Why does he feel tempted to lop off his bastard hands with one swing of his sword, to ensure that Rhaenyra’s son never again touches you?

He watches as you finally take a break from dancing with your brothers and nephew, taking a seat at the feasting table, smiling serenely. Tonight is your night and you shine like a star, your eyes sparkling under the light from the torches.

Then, the breath leaves his body as you approach him and ask, “Aren’t you going to ask me to dance, Ser Criston. It’s my nameday, after all!”

Your smile is sweet and altogether demure as you gaze up at him expectantly. How can he ever be expected to say no to you?

“I’m meant to be a silent observer of the festivities, milady,” he gives you a somewhat dejected smile, “Protecting your lady mother, your sisters, and you.”

“Come dance with me,” you grab him by the hand, “Your princess orders it!”

Criston can’t help the laugh that spills from his lips as you pull him onto the dance floor, setting your hands on his shoulders, “Well, Princess, if it’s a command, who am I to deny you?”

You smile at him again and he swears his heart stops beating for a moment. He wonders if you know the effect you have on him. You seem so innocent, but he can’t help but think that there may be more to you than this sweet little princess act you put forth. He’s known you since you were a babe, of course, but something in you has changed over the last year. Your figure, of course, has filled out to one of a woman grown, he’d have to be blind not to notice that. But your mannerisms have changed as well. You’ve always been a light-hearted, playful young lady, but there’s something more than that now.

“How are you finding the feast, my lord?” you ask him as the two of you dance, standing so close to him that your chest brushes against his with every breath you take.

Oh, you cheeky thing, he thinks to himself, I’m a mere knight, I’m no lord. You only say this to rile me up.

Criston gives you a soft smile, one that he reserves only for you, your mother, and your younger sister Helaena, “It is wonderful, milady. The hall is full of laughter and joy,” he lowers his voice ever so slightly before adding, “But the Princess stands out like a diamond among silver.”

He sees your eyes come alight with mischief as you grin at him, “Why thank you, my lord, how kind of you to say.”

And she says it again, he muses, and again it sends a thrill through me that I cannot describe.

The dance comes to an end and you give him a deep curtsy; the knight before you cannot help but sneak a peek down the bodice of your dress, admiring the curves of your body as you speak, “Thank you for the dance, my lord.”

You give him a coy little grin before returning to sit with your family.

Ser Criston Cole has never felt this kind of torment in his life. Your smile is like a cat playing with a mouse before claiming it for its meal. It’s hungry and mischievous and he’s quite sure it’s only meant to torment him. And his heart burns for you, as does his entire body.

Everything comes to a head the next day as you take your evening bath before joining your family for dinner. It’s a culmination of the months of yearning on Criston’s part and the teasing on yours. He is standing guard outside of your chambers as you bathe. Then, he hears you call him, your voice like a songbird cooing.

“Ser Criston? My handmaiden seems to have disappeared, would you mind very much fetching me some more hot water?”

He is addicted to you, he thinks, like one of the smallfolk who rely on milk of the poppy to numb the pain they feel. But, again, he cannot deny you anything. He is yours to command.

“Of course, Princess.”

He returns several minutes later with a jug of hot water. Criston opens the door slightly to place it down on the floor, only to hear you giggle.

“Ser Criston, I’m quite sure you can enter my bathing room. I am entirely covered by the bubbles they placed in the water.”

Your voice is like honey in his ears and he nods, stepping into the bathroom. He sees your bare shoulders and arms before anything, as well as part of your back. Your hair is up, keeping it out of the water until you wish to wash it. Even the sight of this little bare skin tantalizes him. His mouth feels dry and, he despises admitting it, but he feels his cock stiffen in his breeches. You are the epitome of everything he desires.

Criston continues to move forward, one foot after the other, and finally is standing before you, beside the tub. As you said, your body is covered by bubbles, but he can still see your pretty collarbones, your bare neck, part of your chest… He shakes himself out of his trance and begins pouring the hot water in for you, almost dropping the jug at the positively sinful moan you let out as the water warms.

“Oh, thank you, Ser Criston,” you smile at him, “You’re a lifesaver. But, I fear your princess must ask one more thing of her devoted knight.”

He feels his chest puff out with pride at your words. Yes, milady, he thinks, I am your devoted knight, a slave to your desires.

“Anything, Princess.”

“Would you help me wash my hair?”

You gaze up at him through your lashes, your eyes deceptively innocent. You know exactly what you’re doing, he’s sure of it. He swallows thickly and nods.

“Of course.”

He picks up some soap and moves to sit on his knees behind where you laze in the tub. Criston takes a shaky breath and asks.

“Might I undo your hair, my lady?”

“Please do.”

He does, watching as your hair falls free, the sight mesmerizing to him. You are the very picture of youthful beauty, of what a princess is meant to be. He begins massaging some soap into your hair, holding back a moan of his own as you whine softly, leaning into his touch.

“You have such strong hands, Ser Criston,” he visibly preens at your compliment, “I quite prefer your touch to my handmaiden’s.”

He chuckles nervously, “I am glad my touch is pleasing to you, milady.”

He continues washing your hair, his hands lingering on your scalp as he massages the soap in, enjoying the sound of every little breath you take, every soft little whimper that escapes your pretty lips.

“Shall I wash your back next, Princess?”

He doesn’t know what possessed him to offer to wash your back. He feels like a lustful deviant, but he is in too deep, too under your spell to care at this point. And when you voice your assent, stating that you would be ever so grateful, he enthusiastically begins to rub soap onto your bare back.

Your skin is soft, like a baby’s, smooth and unblemished. A benefit of growing up a princess in the Red Keep. His touch lingers longer than propriety dictates. He can’t help it. He feels guilty, of course, for touching his princess, the woman he’s sworn to protect, like this. How can he protect her from his own lustful desires? This feels so different to how it was with Rhaenyra. He doesn’t understand it.

You turn in the tub to thank him as he finishes, the top of your breasts barely peaking over the water. It’s as though time stands still. He sees the barest hint of your nipples and forgets how to breathe.

“My princess-”

“Thank you, Ser Criston,” you smile at him again, standing to exit the tub, baring your entire form to him.

He lets out an audible gasp. Your neck, your breasts, your hips, your stomach, your legs. Everything… Everything about you is perfect. He knows he should look away. He feels like he’s breaking his vows just by even looking at you. But you just smile at him and ask if he’d be kind enough to fetch you a towel, a request he readily obliges.

You move behind your changing screen and he sees your silhouette. Your perfect silhouette as you change into your dress for the evening. And then, you call for him again.

“Ser Criston? My handmaiden has still not returned and I need some help with lacing my corset. Won’t you come here?”

He is at your side in an instant, moving with trembling hands to help you with your corset. You gaze up at him as his fingers move deftly, tightening it.

“Is that acceptable, Princess?”

His eyes are fixed on your cleavage, darting between that and your lips.

“Tighter.”

And so it goes on, he tightens the corset for you to the point your breasts are almost spilling over the top. You smirk to yourself at how the black of his eyes seem to have taken over.

“Thank you, Ser Criston,” you press a kiss to his cheek and sashay out of the room.

He follows you into your chambers like the loyal knight that he is, awaiting your next command. You begin to brush out your hair, humming to yourself. You see him gazing at you through the mirror and smile to yourself.

“Do you think I’m pretty, Ser Criston?”

“You know you’re pretty, Your Grace.”

You decide to play dirty with your next words, “I wonder if Prince Jacaerys thinks I’m pretty.”

And with that, the levy breaks. Criston is pulling you toward him, one hand in your hair, the other gripping your waist tightly, and he’s kissing you. He’s far from being the first man you’ve kissed, but oh gods, this is certainly the one you’ve had to work the hardest for. You moan against his lips as he unlaces the corset you’d had him lace up for you only minutes ago. And once again, you’re laid bare before him. The man you’ve desired since you first started having amorous thoughts about men. Your dedicated protector with his dark hair, his tanned skin, his brown eyes. You quickly help him out of his Kingsguard armor, keeping your lips pressed to his for every second possible. His tongue dances against yours hesitantly, slowly gaining confidence the longer you kiss.

Once he is finished disrobing, you push him onto the bed, climbing on top of him, letting your warm, wet cunt graze his cock. He lets out a low groan, bucking his hips up, begging you without words to let him fuck you.

You giggle and whisper in his ear, “May I use my mouth on your pretty cock first, my lord?”

“Fuck,” he murmurs, pressing a sloppy kiss to your neck, “Yes, Princess, please…”

You kiss a trail down his chest all the way to his already achingly hard cock. You give it one quick pump, enjoying the way he tenses up at your touch. Before taking him into your mouth, you gaze up at him from your spot, seated on your knees between his legs.

“Do you want this, Ser Criston?”

He nods eagerly, “Yes, Princess. I don’t just want this… I need you…”

And you take him into your mouth. Criston has never felt like this before. He gazes down at you in awe as you bob your head up and down on his cock, your pretty lips wrapped around him in a way he knows is going to haunt his dreams forever. And you never once take your eyes off of him, intent on drinking in every one of his pleasure-filled gasps, the way he throws his head back in ecstasy.

When he reaches his peak and is about to spill himself, you move your mouth off of him, letting him cum all over your breasts. His eyes are wide at the side as you grin at him, simultaneously demure and obscene.

You give him a moment to recover before lapping at the tip of his cock again, stroking it gently, wanting to continue this little rendezvous. It doesn’t take him very long of your heavy petting to get hard again, and this time, he takes control. He grips you by the waist and flips you over, pushing you into the bed.

“You cheeky minx,” he mumbles against your ear, “You’re mine now, you know that?”

He grips his cock and runs it up and down your wet cunt, smearing his pre cum against you. You let out a soft moan of his name.

“Yes, Ser Criston, I’m yours, please,” you raise your hands to hold his face, “Please fuck me, I need you inside of me.”

Without further delay, he pushes the fat head of his cock inside of your aching cunt. You throw your head back against the pillow, wrapping your legs around him. You may be a maiden, but you’ve used Aegon’s little toy collection quite a few times in preparation for this moment. Still, the girth of his veiny cock is something entirely different.

“Deeper,” you beg, wrapping your arms around his neck, “Please, fuck-”

He silences you with a lazy kiss as he fully sheathes himself into you, swallowing the loud gasp you let out. You can feel him inside of you, every inch, your walls squeezing around him. He doesn’t move yet, just giving you a moment to get used to the sensation. It stings, but it isn’t altogether unpleasant. After several minutes, you wiggle your hips, in search of friction and he knows he has your approval to move. He pulls out slightly and pushes back into you again, letting out a growl of your name.

“Your cunt is so tight, Princess, it’s perfect for me.”

He watches with fascination as your breasts bounce each time he thrusts into you, and so, he gives into his curiosity and takes a hardened nipple into his mouth. He grazes his teeth against it softly, making you mewl with delight.

“Criston, please, faster…”

He picks up the pace, his hips snapping against yours, not a sound in your room except your breathy sighs of pleasure, his labored breathing, and skin slapping against skin. He keeps his eyes locked on yours all the while, the tip of his cock grazing against your most pleasurable spot after one particularly harsh thrust.

“Yes,” you squeal, “Fuck, right there, oh my gods.”

And so, he continues thrusting harshly, without abandon and without mercy, feeling your cunt gripping him tighter and tighter. His thrusts grow a bit slower but no less deep, and soon, you feel yourself reaching your peak, like every nerve ending in your body is on fire as he continues thrusting into you. He fucks you through your peak, soon reaching his own, his seed coating your insides now as well as your breasts.

He slumps down against you and you run a hand through his hair, both of you sweaty and breathless, and altogether sated.

You fall asleep, still bare in his arms, forgetting that you’re expected for dinner. And he doesn’t have the heart to wake you. Not when you press a kiss against his lips and mumble how much you adore him.

“Goodnight… And thank you, my lord.”

Yes, he thinks, this time it’s going to be different. He is your devoted knight, after all, a slave to your desires.

If Criston Cole has 10 haters, I’m one of them. If Criston Cole has 1 hater it’s me. If Criston Cole has no haters, I’m dead.