#ski jumping ff

[skijumper]

lellinger, summer 2024

Confessing your love for your teammate slash best friend is probably way more scary than jumping off any hill

For the fifth time this evening, Stephan looks at himself in the mirror. The black pants paired with the white turtleneck he is wearing fits him perfectly, the black suiting his eyes and hair. Although it's exactly the hair that is bothering Stephan. However often he has tried to fix it, Stephan still thinks it looks messy. Not as messy after he wakes up each morning, but still too messy for a date.

Stephan sighs in frustration and has to hold himself back to not run his hand through his hair. It's pointless. Normally he is the chill dude on the team, everyone tells him that and normally Stephan doesn't care how he or his hair looks. This is important though, Stephan can't mess it up. Today he has planned to confess to his teammate, Andreas Wellinger. They have been best friends since forever and have gotten even closer over the last few seasons they spent together. Stephan had realized a long time ago, that his feelings towards Andi weren't solely feelings you would have for a friend but rather for a lover. It had been a rather embarrassing realization. Someone does not simply fall in love with his guy best friend. Stephan did though apparently.

He doubts that Andi felt the same. His best friend (Stephan refuses to call Andi his "crush" as Markus suggested) is an easy-going person who is affectionate with everything that breathes in his direction. Andi does not act differently with Stephan than he did with Karl or Pius so really, it's crystal clear to Stephan that Andi just likes him as a friend. Stephan has come to terms with the fact that his crush will always be just that, a crush. Damn it, Markus.

On the subject of Markus, his teammate was not really helpful when Stephan confessed to him that he liked Andreas more than a friend should. Markus had just laughed and said I know as if it were that obvious and the whole world already knew. That's total bullshit though. Stephan really tried to hide his feelings from the whole world, but especially from Andreas. Stephan thinks he did a good job with that. Markus told him that he did a bad job with that. Do with that information what you want.

It was Markus though that urged Stephan to confess his feelings to Andi. Stephan had stared at Markus aghast at first, horrified by the idea. The thought alone that Andreas would never talk to him again after that had shaken Stephan's core. No, he couldn't risk that. Markus had insisted though and normally Stephan was the first one to look away when Markus brought up one of his grand plans. Not this time. He listened as Markus explained that confessing his love for Andi is the only solution for his situation. "And hey, if he hates you forever after that, at least you have certainty. Better than walking in the dark," Markus had said, a smug grin on his face. Ha, as if that would calm Stephan's nerves. Nevertheless, he had listened to Markus and long story short, asked Andi to come over to his house this evening for a nice dinner. Stephan even bought Andi's favorite wine, as if that would bribe Andreas into loving him back. At least now he had some alcohol in his house so that after Andi rejected Stephan, he could get drunk shamelessly and leave mean voicemails on Markus' phone.

The sound of his doorbell ringing brings Stephan back to reality. He takes a deep breath and walks towards the door. Be brave and god forbid don't be embarassing, he tells himself as he opens his front door. Then, his breath gets taken away. Andreas looks stunning. His hair is styled in the way Stephan loves it and his million-dollar smile is directed at Stephan. His knees get weak and Stephan has to look away or else he might do something stupid like kiss Andi right here in the entryway. After that, he would need the earth to open up and swallow them up before any word got out. Therefore Stephan just steps aside to let Andi in. Andi instead goes straight for a hug that makes Stephan feel warm but lasts way too short in his opinion. "You look good, really dressed up," Andreas says and Stephan blushes. "You don't look bad yourself either," he mumbles as an answer but Andreas does not seem to hear it as he waltzes right into Stephan's dining room. That's an unique talent Andreas has. Making Stephan squirm and blush like a schoolgirl having their first crush. Stephan jolts. How embarrassing.

Quickly he follows Andi into his dining room. "You can sit down, I'll get the dishes," Stephan says and hurries into his kitchen where he grabs the pot of pasta he has prepared. Nothing fancy, he knows but it's Andi's favourite pasta. Normally Stephan and cooking are two words that are not used in the same sentence but thanks to Pius, who is a surprisingly good cook, Stephan mastered this pasta. Pius was even so friendly as to not judge Stephan like Markus would have. When Andreas sees the pasta his eyes light up and Stephan has to hide his smirk. Bull's eye. The first step was taken, now it only needs to taste good.

"Wow, Stephan, that tastes delicious. Didn't know you were such a good cook," Andreas says, mouth full of noodles. With everyone else Stephan would find this dusgusting but not with Andreass. It's rather endearing. Besides, Stephan blushes again under Andi's praise. That seriously needs to stop, it's getting embarrassing. Stephan just hopes that Andreas does not see it. His chances are good as Andi is already focused on the pasta again. Well, it is delicious, Stephan has to say as much.

When they both are finished, Andi puts his fork down and fixes Stephan with an intense stare. "So, now that we are finished you need to tell me what's going on." Stephan gulps. Did Andreas figure out what he had planned? Upon seeing Stephan's panicked look, Andi laughs. It's not a mean sound, but rather a laugh meant to comfort Stephan. Little does it help. "Now don't look like that. Stephan, I know you. In all these years we've been friends we have never had such a dinner. Please don't tell me you want to retire." Andi genuinely sounds sad after his last sentence and Stephan is quick to shake his head. "No, no, I don't plan to retire anytime soon. But you are right, I want to tell you something. Why don't we go to the living for that," Stephan answers calmly, despite not feeling like that. In fact, his hands are shaking as he stands up to lead Andreas into his living room. He briefly considers to flee but that would be rather foolish. Besides, Stephan does want to get this off his chest.

Stephan sits down on his couch, Andi mimicking him. He is looking at Stephan expectant. Now is the time. Stephan gathers all his courage and says, "Andreas, I think I'm in love with you, have been actually for a while. Every time you look at me, there are butterflies in my stomach and I can't stop myself from smiling like a fucking idiot. You don't know how much I want to hug you, feel your arms around me. And it's okay if you hate me now and never want to speak to me again. It's just that I had to get this off my chest otherwise I would have combusted. And I know I'm starting to ramble now but I can't help it I'm so fucking nervous-" Andi silences Stephan by putting a finger on Stephan's lips. Stephan stops speaking and gulps. He doesn't dare to look at Andreas, doesn't want to see the expression on his best friend's face. Or ex-best friend because Andi surely hates him now.

"Look at me," Andreas urges Stephan though and Stephan does. Instead of the hate he expected, Stephan sees a big smile on Andi's lips. "Took you long enough", Andreas says with a laugh and now Stephan is completely confused. What does Andreas mean? Upon seeing Stephan's lost expression, Andi rolls his eyes affectionately. "Took you long enough to realize you are in love with me. I have suspected it for months. Lucky for you, I feel exactly the same," Andi explains and Stephan opens and closes his mouth like a damn fish. He can't believe what he just heard. Andreas loves him back? Is this a dream? No, it can't be. The universe wouldn't be so cruel to make him wake up after Andi also confessed his love for him.

Andreas leans closer to Stephan and whispers, "Can I kiss you?" Stephan nods vigorously, not believing his luck. Andreas doesn't need to be told twice. He surges forward, capturing Stephan's lips with his own. Kissing Andreas is all Stephan has ever dreamed of and much more. Andi's lips feel soft against his own and Stephan sighs into the kiss. Andreas tugs Stephan closer to him, which is nearly impossible. They are embraced as tightly as possible. The kiss is slow and gentle. Stephan has no desire to deepen it, wants to be in the moment. Andreas seems to feel the same.

When they break apart, Stephan lovingly stares into Andi's eyes. Andreas strokes Stephan's cheek with his and in that moment Stephan just feels pure happiness. This moment is even better than winning a competition, than winning an Olympic Medal. Mentally Stephan makes a note to thank Markus later. Now though he does not want to think about his teammate when he was Andi right before his face. Andi, who loves him back.

[skiijumpinng]

domen dont fuck this up

[forza-lara]

I'm watching this competition and I'm not having fun at all

[novaursa]

Legacy (the dawn)

- Summary: Tywin was the man who saved you from Robert's wrath. He was also the man who doomed you.

- Paring: targ!reader/Tywin Lannister

- Note: Be aware of the time jump.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Previous part: high heart

- Next part: dragon in the garden

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @luniaxi

The air in Meereen was heavy with heat, the midday sun blazing down on the city. Daenerys Targaryen sat on her throne in the Great Pyramid, her mind preoccupied with thoughts of Westeros and the ever-elusive Iron Throne. Despite her current struggles to maintain order in Meereen, the pull of her homeland never ceased, tugging at her heart like a distant song.

The sudden roar of a dragon shook the air, startling everyone in the throne room. Daenerys rose to her feet, her violet eyes narrowing as the roar came again, louder this time. Grey Worm stepped forward, his hand on his sword. “Your Grace, the dragons—”

“I will see to it,” Daenerys interrupted, her tone firm. She descended the steps of her throne, her silvery hair catching the sunlight that filtered through the windows. Missandei followed closely behind, her expression filled with concern.

As Daenerys stepped out into the courtyard where the dragons were kept, chaos unfolded before her. Viserion, his golden and cream scales glinting in the harsh light, thrashed against the heavy chains that bound him. His wings beat furiously, sending gusts of wind that knocked over barrels and scattered straw. His roars echoed across the city, a sound of pure frustration and fury.

“Viserion!” Daenerys called out, her voice strong and commanding. She moved closer, her hand outstretched, but the dragon paid her no heed. Instead, he reared back, his powerful neck straining as he yanked against the chains. The metal groaned under the pressure, and with a final, deafening roar, the chains snapped.

“Your Grace!” Missandei exclaimed, taking a cautious step back as Viserion spread his massive wings. The dragon turned his glowing eyes toward Daenerys for a brief moment, his expression one of raw emotion—longing, desperation, and something else she couldn’t quite place.

“Viserion, no,” Daenerys murmured, her voice softer now. But the dragon let out a final roar before taking to the skies, his massive form casting a shadow over the courtyard as he soared upward. Dust and debris swirled in the wake of his powerful wings, leaving the gathered Unsullied and servants shielding their faces.

Daenerys watched, her heart sinking as Viserion disappeared into the horizon, a golden streak against the blue sky. “Where is he going?” Missandei asked quietly, her voice laced with worry.

Daenerys didn’t answer immediately. Her gaze remained fixed on the direction Viserion had flown, her mind racing. The bond she shared with her dragons was unique, a connection forged by blood and fire. And yet, Viserion’s sudden agitation had taken her by surprise.

“He’s drawn to something,” Daenerys finally said, her tone thoughtful. “Something beyond the sea.”

Missandei exchanged a glance with Grey Worm, her brow furrowed. “Do you know what it is?”

Daenerys’s expression darkened, her hand tightening into a fist. “I have my suspicions,” she admitted. Her thoughts turned to the letter she had received many moons ago, smuggled to her by Varys’s network. The words of her elder sister, a woman she had never met but whose presence loomed over her thoughts, echoed in her mind.

"Blood calls to blood, Daenerys. Fire calls to fire. We are not alone in this world."

She had read those words over and over, trying to decipher their meaning. Her sister—once a princess of the Targaryen dynasty, now Lady Lannister—was alive in Westeros, bound to the man who had destroyed their house. The thought both angered and intrigued Daenerys. How could her sister align herself with the likes of Tywin Lannister? And yet, the letter’s tone had been warm, almost pleading.

“Viserion feels it,” Daenerys said, her voice soft but resolute. “The pull of our blood. My sister… she is alive, and somehow, he knows.”

Missandei tilted her head. “Your sister? The one you mentioned before?”

Daenerys nodded, her eyes still on the sky. “She wrote to me. She’s in Westeros, married to Tywin Lannister.”

Missandei’s eyes widened slightly. “The man who betrayed your family?”

“The very same,” Daenerys said bitterly. “But the letter spoke of regret… and love. She claims to wish for peace, for unity. I don’t know whether to believe her, but I can’t ignore her.”

Grey Worm stepped forward, his voice steady. “What will you do, Your Grace?”

Daenerys exhaled slowly, her hand resting on Drogon’s massive snout as her largest dragon approached her side. “For now, I will let Viserion fly where he must. He may lead us to answers we cannot yet see. As for my sister…” Her eyes burned with determination. “I will meet her, one way or another. Blood may call to blood, but fire always burns.”

She turned back toward the Great Pyramid, her mind set on the challenges to come. Viserion’s disappearance was not a loss—it was a sign. A sign that her destiny, and that of her family, was far from over.

You sat on a cushioned bench near the window, cradling Damon in your arms. At six moons old, he had grown strong and lively, his silver-gold hair catching the light like spun metal. His violet eyes, flecked with pale green, studied you intently as he cooed and grasped at your fingers.

A quiet knock at the door drew your attention. Before you could call for them to enter, the door opened, and Lady Olenna Tyrell swept in, her steps brisk and her sharp gaze immediately landing on you and Damon. Behind her, a servant carried a tray with tea and small cakes, setting it down on a low table before quickly exiting.

“Well, well,” Olenna said, her voice dry as she approached. “There you are, holding the future of House Lannister in your arms, and yet no one would believe it if they saw how soft you look with him.”

You smiled faintly, adjusting Damon as he reached for the hem of your gown. “He brings out the best in me, it seems,” you replied, your tone light but warm.

Olenna sat across from you, her hands resting on her walking stick as she surveyed you with her keen eyes. “He’s a fine-looking boy,” she said, her voice losing some of its usual acerbity. “The spitting image of a Targaryen, with just enough of the lion to keep Tywin content.”

You glanced at Damon, who was now gurgling happily as he played with your fingers. “Tywin has already begun planning his future,” you said softly, your voice tinged with both pride and concern. “Though I suppose that’s to be expected.”

Olenna leaned back slightly, her lips curling into a knowing smile. “Tywin Lannister rarely waits for anything, my dear. Least of all when it comes to legacy.”

You nodded, brushing a stray strand of hair from Damon’s face. “It’s not just him. Cersei… she still seethes. I see it in her eyes every time she looks at Damon. She views him as a threat.”

“Cersei views everyone as a threat,” Olenna replied with a wave of her hand. “The girl has more paranoia than sense, and it’s only grown worse since her boy was dethroned and the sweet little Tommen put in his place.”

You sighed, your fingers tightening slightly on Damon’s blanket. “It’s not just paranoia. It’s hatred. For me, for this child. I fear what she might do.”

Olenna’s gaze sharpened, and she leaned forward, her voice low but firm. “You are no fool, my dear. You’ve survived Tywin Lannister, the Red Keep, and a court full of vipers. Cersei may be dangerous, but she’s predictable. Keep your son close and your wits sharper.”

You met her eyes, drawing strength from her confidence. “I will.”

Damon let out a small giggle, breaking the tension, and Olenna’s lips twitched in amusement. “At least the little one seems oblivious to the chaos around him. That’s a gift, you know.”

You smiled down at him, brushing your fingers over his soft hair. “I want him to remain untouched by it all for as long as possible.”

Olenna picked up a cup of tea, taking a sip as she studied you. “You’re doing well, better than most would expect. Tywin must be pleased.”

“Pleased, yes,” you said, your tone carefully neutral. “But he always expects more.”

“Of course he does,” Olenna said with a scoff. “The man is a perfectionist to the point of madness. But don’t let him overshadow you. You’ve managed to carve out your place here, against all odds.”

You nodded, grateful for her words. “And what of your granddaughter? How is Margaery faring as queen?”

Olenna’s smile grew sly. “Margaery is thriving. Tommen adores her, and she’s already begun weaving her influence into the court. But Cersei, as expected, is less than thrilled. She simmers in her corner, plotting and glaring. It’s almost entertaining.”

You chuckled softly. “She must feel surrounded.”

“She is surrounded,” Olenna said with a smirk. “By women stronger, smarter, and far more capable than she is. And she hates every moment of it.”

The two of you shared a quiet laugh, though the weight of the court’s politics still lingered in the air. Damon let out a happy squeal, his tiny hands reaching up toward you, and you pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“He’s lucky to have you,” Olenna said after a moment, her tone softening. “A mother who will protect him, no matter what.”

“And he has you, Olenna,” you replied warmly. “To teach him the art of survival.”

Olenna chuckled, her sharp wit returning. “Oh, I’ll make sure of it. The boy will need it, growing up in a nest of lions.”

As the afternoon sun began to dip lower in the sky, the warmth of your conversation with Olenna stayed with you. Damon, content and secure in your arms, was a reminder of your strength and purpose—a beacon of hope in the treacherous world you now navigated.

Tywin Lannister sat at the head of the council table, his hands clasped before him, his expression as impassive as ever. Across from him, Lord Mace Tyrell, clad in rich green and gold, leaned slightly forward, his face a picture of jovial persistence.

“I must insist, my lord,” Mace said, his tone dripping with exaggerated warmth. “You’ve been at the helm of the realm’s affairs for so long, steering us through the storm. Surely, a brief respite would be in order for you and your family.”

Tywin’s gaze remained steady, his voice calm but firm. “The work of the Hand does not pause, Lord Tyrell. The realm still faces threats, not least of which is the unresolved matter of Tyrion’s escape. This is hardly the time for indulgence.”

Mace waved a hand dismissively, as though brushing aside Tywin’s concerns like cobwebs. “Nonsense! You’ve secured the throne for Tommen, quelled rebellions, and even managed to deal with the aftermath of that… unfortunate wedding incident. You deserve a reprieve, and where better than Highgarden? A place of beauty, tranquility, and fine company.”

Tywin arched a brow, unimpressed by Mace’s flowery praise. “You flatter yourself, Lord Tyrell.”

“And why shouldn’t I?” Mace replied with a hearty laugh. “Highgarden is a jewel, my lord, and it would do you and your family good to see it. Your wife has endured much, bearing your heir amid all this chaos. And your son, young Damon, deserves to experience the hospitality of the Reach.”

Tywin’s expression remained inscrutable, but there was a flicker of calculation in his eyes. “You paint an appealing picture, Lord Tyrell,” he said slowly. “But my presence here is not a luxury; it is a necessity.”

Mace leaned forward further, his hands resting on the table as he tried to press his case. “The Reach is loyal, my lord. Your absence for a fortnight would not disrupt the realm. Besides,” he added with a knowing smile, “a visit to Highgarden would strengthen the bonds between our houses. Tommen and Margaery are already a fine match, but a show of unity would silence any whispers of division.”

Tywin’s lips pressed into a thin line. “You assume there are whispers.”

“Oh, there are always whispers,” Mace said with an air of nonchalance. “But imagine how quickly they’d die down when the Hand of the King, his noble wife, and their child are seen enjoying the hospitality of their loyal allies.”

Tywin sat back slightly, his gaze sharpening as he studied Mace. He saw through the man’s bumbling charm; this was more than an invitation for rest. Mace sought to solidify the Tyrells’ position further, to entrench their influence by presenting themselves as indispensable to the crown. Still, the idea of a temporary reprieve for Y/N and Damon wasn’t without merit.

“You presume much, Lord Tyrell,” Tywin said at last. “But your argument is not without weight. My wife has indeed endured more than her share of trials, and my son should be acquainted with the lords who will one day swear fealty to him.”

Mace’s face lit up with a broad smile. “So, you’ll accept?”

Tywin held up a hand, silencing Mace’s premature enthusiasm. “I said your argument has merit. I have yet to decide. There are still pressing matters—Tyrion foremost among them.”

Mace waved a hand again, as if dismissing the urgency of Tyrion’s escape. “Tyrion is a clever man, but the realm will not crumble if he remains in hiding a few weeks longer. Surely your captains and spies are more than capable of continuing the search without your direct oversight.”

The room fell silent for a moment as Tywin considered Mace’s words. His mind was a fortress of strategy, weighing the risks and benefits of leaving the capital for even a short time. At last, he spoke, his tone measured. “I will discuss this with my wife. If we are to go, it will be as a united decision.”

Mace nodded, his smile broadening. “Of course, my lord. Highgarden awaits you with open arms. And rest assured, everything will be prepared to accommodate you and your family in the finest style.”

Tywin inclined his head slightly, signaling the end of the discussion. “You’ll have my answer soon, Lord Tyrell.”

Taking the hint, Mace stood, bowing deeply. “Thank you, Lord Hand. I look forward to welcoming you to the Reach.”

As Mace left the chamber, Tywin leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled in thought. The man’s overeager demeanor grated on him, but the invitation itself held potential. A brief retreat to Highgarden could prove advantageous—if handled correctly. Still, the decision would not be made lightly.

Tywin rose from his chair and made his way to the door, his thoughts already turning to how he would present the matter to you. This would be no simple holiday, but rather another maneuver in the ever-shifting game of power. And as always, Tywin intended to win.

The evening air in the chambers was heavy with the lingering warmth of the day. You sat near the window, cradling a goblet of water as you watched the darkening sky. Damon slept peacefully in his cradle, his quiet breaths filling the otherwise silent room. The knock at the door came softly, but you knew who it was without needing to ask.

"Enter," you called, your voice steady.

Tywin stepped inside, his presence commanding as always, though there was a faint weariness about him. The strain of the past months had etched itself into the lines of his face, but his eyes remained sharp, his movements deliberate as he approached you.

“Lord Tyrell extended an invitation today,” he began, his tone as measured as ever. “To Highgarden. For us, and for Damon.”

You raised an eyebrow, swirling the water in your goblet thoughtfully. “How generous of him,” you said lightly, though your mind immediately turned to Olenna and Margaery. It was too perfectly timed, too deliberate. “And you are considering it?”

Tywin studied you for a moment before nodding. “There is merit to the idea. A temporary reprieve from the capital may serve us well, especially after recent events.”

You met his gaze, reading the calculation behind his words. Highgarden, for all its beauty and promise of peace, was also a political move. The Tyrells sought to entrench themselves deeper within the Lannister sphere, and Tywin was not a man to miss such an opportunity—or to allow himself to be manipulated.

“I can’t imagine this was entirely Lord Mace’s idea,” you mused, a faint smirk tugging at your lips. “The Queen of Thorns and your new queen-by-marriage are far too shrewd to leave such invitations to him.”

Tywin’s lips twitched, almost imperceptibly. “You may not be wrong.”

You leaned back slightly, considering. A part of you bristled at the thought of dancing to Olenna’s tune, but another part—the one that had been growing stronger with each passing day—saw the opportunity. Highgarden would bring you closer to the western roads, closer to something that had been calling to you ever since you arrived in the capital. High Heart. The dream whispered its pull to you still, a distant voice that refused to be silenced.

“It would be nice to leave the Red Keep,” you admitted, your tone softening. “The stifling politics. The whispers. A chance to let Damon see a world beyond these stone walls.”

Tywin nodded slowly, his eyes searching yours. “You’ve endured much here. Perhaps it would serve us all to have a change of scenery.”

You smiled faintly, but your thoughts were already turning to how you might use the journey to your advantage. High Heart was far from the Reach, but maybe with Tywin’s focus on securing alliances, you might find the opportunity to uncover what awaited you there. Somehow. Still, you said nothing of it, choosing instead to let him think it was the idea of respite that appealed to you.

“And what of the capital?” you asked, turning the subject slightly. “You’ve always said the Hand must remain steadfast. Wouldn’t your absence leave a gap?”

“I’ll leave it in capable hands,” Tywin replied, his voice firm. “Preparations have already been made. My presence, while always important, is not irreplaceable.”

You tilted your head, studying him. “Even you admit to being irreplaceable?”

He stepped closer, his expression softening slightly as he leaned down, his hands resting on the arms of your chair. “Don’t test me,” he said, though his tone held the faintest trace of humor.

You chuckled softly, setting the goblet aside. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

For a moment, the air between you shifted, the weight of the day giving way to something unspoken. Tywin reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his fingers lingering longer than necessary. His gaze was intent, his expression uncharacteristically open.

“Come here,” he murmured, his voice low.

You rose from your seat, stepping closer to him as his hands found your waist, pulling you against him. The kiss he pressed to your lips was firm, commanding, but with an edge of need that surprised you. It had been some time since you’d seen him like this, the weight of his responsibilities often keeping such moments at bay.

As his lips moved against yours, the firelight seemed to grow warmer, wrapping around you like a cocoon. His hands roamed, steady but insistent, and when he guided you toward the bed, you didn’t resist.

“Tywin…” you murmured as he leaned over you, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that left you breathless.

“Quiet,” he whispered, his voice a blend of authority and desire. “Just… for tonight, let everything else wait.”

The soft crackle of the fire in the hearth was the only sound as Tywin’s lips trailed from your mouth to the sensitive skin of your neck, his breath warm against your pulse. His hands, firm and steady, moved over the fabric of your gown, unfastening it with a precision that left no room for hesitation.

“You’re too careful,” you teased softly, your voice catching as his fingers brushed your bare skin.

Tywin’s eyes flicked up to meet yours, his gaze sharp but laced with a faint smirk. “And you’re too reckless,” he murmured, his voice low, but his tone carried the slightest edge of humor.

The gown slipped from your shoulders, pooling at your feet as he guided you back onto the bed. The mattress gave beneath your weight, and Tywin followed, his movements unhurried yet commanding. His hand brushed over your cheek, his thumb tracing the curve of your jaw before dipping lower to rest against your collarbone.

“Even now, you challenge me,” he said, his lips ghosting over your skin. “Do you ever tire of it?”

“Never,” you replied, breathless, your fingers finding their way into his hair. “But I think you enjoy it more than you admit.”

His response was a low hum of amusement, his lips descending to capture yours again. The kiss was deep, consuming, as though he intended to silence your defiance with sheer will. The world outside the chamber faded further, leaving only the sensation of his body pressing against yours, the weight of him grounding you.

Damon stirred briefly in his cradle, a soft murmur that had you turning your head instinctively. But Tywin’s hand caught your chin, gently pulling your gaze back to him.

“Focus on me,” he ordered softly, his voice firm yet tender. “He’s safe.”

You nodded, your heart thundering as his hand moved lower, skimming over your body with deliberate slowness. Each touch was a statement, a reminder of the control he held, yet there was a vulnerability in his actions tonight—a softness that spoke of trust, of the rare moments he allowed himself to truly be with you.

The firelight danced across his features as he leaned over you, his body shielding you from the chill of the night air. His kisses grew deeper, his touch more insistent, until you were lost in the rhythm of him, in the way he seemed to know every part of you, every need and every desire.

You clung to him, your hands roaming over the broad expanse of his back, your breaths mingling as he whispered your name. The sound of it, so rarely spoken with such unguarded affection, sent a shiver through you.

As the night deepened, you found yourself surrendering to him completely, the weight of his presence filling the empty spaces within you. There was a rare tenderness in the way he held you afterward, his hand stroking your hair as your head rested against his chest. Damon’s soft breaths filled the quiet once more, a comforting reminder of the life you had created together.

For a moment, the world outside these chambers ceased to matter. The whispers, the plots, the endless calculations—they could wait. Here, in this fleeting pocket of peace, you allowed yourself to simply exist with him, bound by love, ambition, and the shared weight of your choices.

The carriage swayed gently as it trundled down the well-worn road, the rhythmic sound of wheels turning over gravel blending with the occasional chirping of birds in the trees above. Sunlight filtered through the thin curtains of the carriage, casting shifting patterns on the interior as you adjusted Damon on your lap. He was bright-eyed and curious, his tiny hands reaching for the gold-trimmed fabric of your gown.

Lady Olenna Tyrell sat across from you, her sharp gaze fixed on the boy as she leaned slightly on her walking stick. “He has the look of a dragon,” she remarked, her tone matter-of-fact but carrying a trace of admiration. “Though I suppose we can thank his father for the steel in his gaze.”

You smiled faintly, brushing a strand of hair from Damon’s face as he gurgled happily. “He has much to live up to,” you said softly, cradling him closer. “But for now, he is simply my son.”

Olenna tilted her head, her expression softening slightly as she studied you. “A wise answer. Let the boy enjoy his innocence while he can. The world will demand much of him soon enough.”

The faint clinking of armor and the murmur of voices drifted in from outside, a reminder of the large procession surrounding your carriage. Tywin rode at the head, his imposing figure unmistakable even from a distance. Beside him, Lord Mace Tyrell spoke animatedly, his gestures exaggerated as he tried to engage the Hand of the King in conversation. Ser Barristan rode nearby, ever-watchful, his eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of trouble.

Olenna’s sharp voice drew your attention back inside. “I must say, this entire endeavor has Margaery’s fingerprints all over it,” she said dryly, adjusting her gloves. “The girl likely thought the fresh air would do everyone good, and no doubt she whispered as much to her dear husband. Clever, really.”

You refrained from responding directly, though inwardly, you agreed. Margaery and Olenna both had a hand in this trip—of that, you were certain. Still, there was a part of you that welcomed the opportunity. The Red Keep, with its oppressive walls and suffocating tension, had worn on you more than you cared to admit. And though you didn’t voice it aloud, the idea of finding an excuse and venturing closer to High Heart on the way back stirred something deep within you.

“It is a welcome change of scenery,” you said instead, your tone carefully neutral. “The Red Keep has not been kind to anyone lately.”

Olenna snorted softly. “That’s an understatement. Between Cersei’s brooding and Joffrey’s legacy still hanging over the court, it’s a wonder anyone can breathe in that place.”

You chuckled lightly, though the mention of Cersei brought a flicker of tension to your features. Damon squirmed in your arms, drawing your focus back to him. “You’ll see Highgarden soon enough, little one,” you murmured to him, your tone soft and soothing. “It will be a sight to remember.”

“Indeed, he’ll be the center of attention,” Olenna said, her gaze never leaving Damon. “A Targaryen child in the Reach? Oh, the lords and ladies will be falling over themselves to catch a glimpse.”

“That is what concerns me,” you admitted, your voice lowering. “I want him to grow up safely, without being treated as a symbol or a pawn.”

Olenna’s expression turned serious, her sharp wit giving way to genuine understanding. “You’re a good mother, my dear. But you’re also wise enough to know that in our world, symbols and pawns are unavoidable. The key is ensuring they are played to your advantage.”

You nodded, her words sinking in. The carriage fell into a comfortable silence for a moment, broken only by the sounds of the procession and Damon’s soft coos.

Outside, Tywin glanced back briefly, his piercing gaze sweeping over the carriage. He nodded slightly to Ser Barristan, who rode closer to the carriage, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. It was a subtle gesture, but one that spoke volumes about his vigilance.

Olenna followed your gaze, her lips curving into a faint smile. “Your husband looks at you as though you hold the sun and moon in your hands.”

You blinked, startled by the comment. “He is... attentive,” you said carefully, unsure how to respond.

“Attentive?” Olenna scoffed lightly. “My dear, Tywin Lannister is a lion through and through. He doesn’t simply watch; he calculates. And yet, with you, there is something... different. It’s almost endearing.”

You looked away, unsure of how to respond. Tywin’s complex nature was not something easily put into words, even for you. Instead, you returned your focus to Damon, who had begun to drift off in your arms.

The carriage rolled on, the distant outline of Highgarden slowly coming into view on the horizon. As the day stretched on, you couldn’t help but feel a mixture of anticipation and unease. Highgarden was a place of beauty and influence, but the call to High Heart lingered in your thoughts like a whisper in the wind. You would need to tread carefully, for the path ahead was as unpredictable as the game of thrones itself.

[bvbkjell]

not Gregor jumping off a jet ski diving for the ball ffs 😭 the things this man does for content 💀 someone get him back between the sticks at BVB he’s having with drawl symptoms bless him

[siravalondulac]

i. northern stranger

meet me in the dark, kiss me in the moonlight

asoiaf ff | jon snow x fem!oc

summary: jon has watch when something peculiar happens word count: 755 warnings: none author's note: finally posting this on tumblr! hope you enjoy ^^

masterlist

previous | next

Jon's gaze rested on the mountains on the far end of the horizon. The wind played with his hair, some strands of it falling in front of his face and concealing his view. One of his gloved hands came up to brush them aside. He really needed a hair tie.

For a short moment, Jon allowed his eyes to wander up, towards the sky. It was a clear night, with no clouds in sight, letting the full moon overshine the brightness of the surrounding stars. He wondered if his siblings were awake and looking at the sky, just like him. They would be seeing the exact same moon as him…

Jon shook his head, breaking out of his thoughts. He shouldn’t be concerning himself with his family, he was to swear his vows soon, after all. The less he thought about them, the better.

The cold northern air entered his lungs again as Jon took a deep, conscious breath to collect his thoughts. He forced himself to look down to the forest’s edge, not really expecting to see anything out of the ordinary. Reality proved him wrong, however, as a lone rider had exited the woods and was now approaching the Wall.

A ranger. 

Perhaps Uncle Benjen has returned. But as quickly as that thought had crossed his mind he abandoned it again. His uncle had only left Castle Black a few days ago, he couldn't be back already.

“Your watch is over Snow, I’m takin’ over.”

The voice ripped Jon from his trance. He turned towards the man behind him, who stared down at him with weary eyes. Jon felt like he expected him to say something. He cleared his throat awkwardly.

“There’s a ranger coming towards the gate,” he finally managed to say.

The man nodded and patted his shoulder once before replying. “Don’t worry ‘bout that, I will sound the horn. You go catch some sleep.”

Jon thanked the man quietly and started making his way towards the cage. Only then, after having walked for a bit, did he realise how cold he felt. He surmised it would take a few months at the Wall to fully get used to it.

The horn sounded as the cage started making its descent downwards, though it took until it had reached the bottom for the main gate to be opened. Jon exited the small enclosure and stepped onto a platform overlooking the courtyard. Just then, the ranger rode in.

Jon liked to think he was smart. He'd had a lord's education after all, even though he was a bastard. And yet, if someone had asked him something right now, he wouldn't be able to answer them. He wouldn't be able to say anything. His mind was trying - and failing - to comprehend what he was seeing.

The rider jumped off her horse. She handed the reins to one of his brothers and made her way up the stairs. Towards him.

Even as she moved closer, her gaze remained straight ahead, making him wonder if she even noticed him. Her black cloak stayed undisturbed by the light breeze that made the fire of the torches around them dance, shrouding her body in shadows. The only parts visible to him were her light brown hair braided behind her back, and her face.

She was a metre away from him when he finally got a good look at her eyes - and he never wanted to look away.

Jon had never seen a blue this intense, even if the colour was a frequent occurrence in the North. Her eyes made him think of tales from the south, of cloudless summer skies, of butterflies in a calm meadow, of Dornish oceans right after a storm. They were everything the North was not: bright, safe and full of life.

She moved past him and for a split second it seemed as if her eyes met his. Jon's gaze went to follow her movements out of instinct before he caught himself and snapped his head back. He quickly started walking in the opposite direction, towards his quarters.

Don't think of her. Ignore her. Let it be, he told himself. Over and over and over again. As he was entering his rooms, getting ready for bed, finally laying down. Always the same mantra. It would do no good if he continued thinking about her. He was to be a brother of the Night's Watch. A girl would only bring chaos.

And yet, as sleep finally overtook him, blue eyes were haunting his mind.

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[starpains]

FFS why do RANDOM MEN I am seeing for the first time in my life feel it’s in their right to comment on my mobility issues??!! It happened two days in a row now, two guys at work I’ve never seen before are suddenly like “oh, which team are you in that they’re forcing you to come to work like this?”; “oooh did you break your leg?”; and others before them: “skiing accident?”; my personal fave (rough translation from a different language; it’s an old saying you usually say to little kids when they get hurt because of doing sth stupid or reckless) “if the goat hadn’t jumped it wouldn’t have broken its leg”. DON’T FUCKING PATRONISE ME, ASSHOLE.

AND I HAVE TO BE CIVIL TO THEM BECAUSE IT’S WORK AND I CAN’T TELL THEM TO FUCK OFF?!

[frootaye]

FROOTAYE FAVES SHOWCASE #002

Eyezayar’s "Arthur Becomes:" Red Dead Redemption 2 Series!

With wonderful editing, engaging funny storytelling and increasingly hilarious moments, Eyezayar's modded RDR2 video series kept my eyes glued to the screen the whole time (A rare feat in the world of increasingly shortening attention spans, i'll have you know!)

I had just beaten RDR2's main storyline, and I was on the hunt for some funny YouTube videos in an effort to consume as much content as possible. Luckily for me, Eyezayar appeared to save the day, with this series of videos that are RIGHT up my alley!

Each of the six videos has a new bit, a new mod, a new thing, a New Challenge. I could write my own wonderful heart-shattering description, but I think Eyezayar did it the best already - "6 story chapters, 6 challenges. Arthur Becomes is a Red Dead Redemption 2 mini-series that will completely transform the game as we progress. Every chapter of Arthur Morgan’s story will come with a brand new challenge, ranging anywhere from gun-specific restrictions to ridiculous modded novelties. Can we complete the game while dealing with Arthur’s ever-changing identity crisis?"

As explained, the series gets WACKY. There's a superspeed mod, a no-guns challenge (RDR2 very much "requires" guns to complete the game), a mod that shrinks Arthur to the size of two chickens stacked on top of eachother (My personal favorite video of the bunch! He's very small!!), A very chaotic chaos mod (This video got age-restricted and I had to jump through a lot of hoops to watch it since I'm in Europe. Thank the skies for VPN!) and a few more very fun quirks! All of this is tied together by Eyezayar's own story for the bizarre world of Arthur Becomes.

For shorter versions of this and other FFS entries, check these out on twitter: https://twitter.com/frootaye/status/1664743010804826112?s=20

I had a genuine ton of fun watching these videos. For Red Dead Redemption 2 fans, comedic funny gameplay video enjoyers, and other curious viewers, check out Eyezayar's "Arthur Becomes:" Series! :D

[skijumper]

domiel, lillehammer 2024

"I thought we weren't talking anymore," Domen says and Daniel winces, looking hurt.

Domen is sitting on his hotel bed, scrolling on his phone through Instagram when there's a knock on his door. Confused, Domen looks up. He is not expecting someone. Most of the team has already gone to bed as far as he knows and Domen didn't order any room service.

He puts his phone on the nightstand, gets up and walks slowly to the door. Domen's body still aches from his fall earlier but that's nothing compared to what could have happened. Quickly Domen banishes the images from his head. He does not want to think about that. Before Domen can open the door, there's another knock. He rolls his eyes. Whoever is standing before the door, is in a hurry.

Domen opens the door a little and peeks out. You can never be sure. Maybe there's a burglar there who wants to rob Domen. But Domen doesn't have anything valuable on him. A few euros, yes, but otherwise there's not much to be gained from him. Standing before the door, however, is not a thief.

It's Daniel Andre Tande. Domen does a double take, not trusting his eyes. Maybe he did hit his head worse than he had thought. Daniel (or the illusion of Daniel) gives a small smile. "Hi," he breathes, "I wanted to make sure you are okay. Can I come in?" Without a word, Domen steps aside and lets Daniel in. He rakes his head of things to say. Probably "Hey, nice that you are here" or something like that.

"I thought we weren't talking anymore," is what comes out of his mouth instead. Very subtle indeed, congratulations. Daniel winces and Domen considers jumping out of the window. But since his hotel room is on the ground floor, that wouldn't help much. Only wet clothes from the snow.

Daniel turns to look at Domen but he averts his eyes, doesn't want to see the look on Daniel's face. There was a time when Domen loved nothing more than to look into Daniel's face, to see the sparkle in his eyes and to enjoy his smile. But that time is over and it is not Domen's fault. It was Daniel who ended everything, who broke Domen's heart. "With my retirement, things will be difficult between us, we shouldn't see each other," Daniel had said and in that moment, Domen's world had collapsed. Sure, officially they had never been together but Domen couldn't deny his feelings. He had fucking loved Daniel! The fact that he dared to show up here now is unbelievable. Who even gave Daniel his hotel room number? Suddenly Domen just feels anger inside him, slowly rising to the top.

"I saw you fall and I felt so much anxiety in me, it was unbelievable. Of course, I saw you walking away but I just wanted to make sure you are okay," Daniel explains and Domen shrugs. He knows Daniel's history with falls and sure, it wasn't a nice fall but Daniel could stop pretending he cared about Domen. He had clearly shown that this wasn't the case.

Domen put his hands on his hips. "See, I'm in one piece, you can go now," he said in a gruff voice and Daniel sighs. "Look, I know I have been an asshole but I still care about you, you know." Domen huffs at that, rolling his eyes. As if that is the truth. Domen knows better now than to trust Daniel with anything.

Daniel takes a step towards Domen but he backs away. A look of hurt crosses Daniel's face but Domen does not care. Who does he think he is? "You should go now," Domen says again, more urgent this time. He needs Daniel out of his hotel room or he might do something stupid like yell at him or even worse, cry. That would be embarrassing.

"Domen, please. I am sorry, I know I have hurt you and I deserve it if you hate me. But I did what I did for us. How could it have worked between us with me being retired and you in new countries every weekend? We barely would have seen each other. But I realized just how much I have missed you. It deeply hurt me to not be able to hear your voice or see your laughter. I don't know what to do," Daniel confesses and Domen thinks he sees some tears starting to collect in Daniel's eyes. Domen deflates, all the anger suddenly gone. He understands Daniel's reasoning but he can't help but feel like Daniel could have handled it better. Daniel looks so small in Domen's hotel room and Domen believes what Daniel had said.

Still, he is unsure how to proceed now. First, he probably has to say something, right? "Thank you for explaining your reasoning. That's what I would have needed when you had ended it between us. Just an explanation and maybe a sorry," Domen says and shrugs. Daniel nods miserably. "I know, I was horrible."

At that Domen laughs, making Daniel jump slightly. "Oh yes, you were. You know, I told Peter what you have said. He wanted to fly over to Norway and kill you," Domen says and Daniel looks horrified. Well, he should be. An angry Peter is not something you want to deal with, Domen knows this from first-hand experience. He grins at Daniel and the Norwegian seems slowly to relax. "I'm glad he didn't, then," Daniel says and Domen answers, "Me too."

Now Daniel also smiles a little. Shyly he looks at the floor, before he asks, "May I hug you?" Domen considers it a little before he nods slowly. He still doesn't know how to feel, but deep down Domen feels that he wants to feel Daniel's arms around him. When Daniel slowly hugs him, Domen sinks into the embrace. It just feels good to be near Daniel again. Domen has missed this feeling more than anything. Maybe it will never be the same again, but what is happening right now is a step in the right direction.

[aurea-fide]

dash game;;

favourite colour(s)

all green tones and deep rich tones. 

favourite flavour(s)

sweet, salty and savory. but i can NOT do spice. spice makes my stomach feel like shit and makes it impossible for me to finish eating anything. i have a very high metabolism and a small stomach. 

favourite genre(s)

i science-fiction and fantasy are my main genres. i enjoy creating alien species and i enjoy just space travel in general. im in the process of building a modern au ( glances at Jorvek and his band of idiots ) so hopefully that will jump off too. 

favourite music

i listen to whatever is on but i hate rap. and most hip-hop. i prefer Lo-Fi music and alternative music. 

favourite movie(s)

lfuck i havent watched any movies recently. so uh, none? 

favourite series

pfffft, same thing here. i haven’t read anything or watched anything in ages. so uh, i have none right now. but my go to series are usually para-romance, and sci-fi base. 

last song

Last Word; Cerulean Skies. I finally found this instrumental I been looking for. 

last series

ri been watching a lot of streamers youtube videos as of late; but an actual series was blishchen which is an minecraft builder. lots of relaxing music to listen to for building. ( have i been on a minecraft kick between rping? yes. )

last movie

hnnn Princess Bride I think? 

currently reading

i know its some sort of writing help novel;; since im trying to focus enough to get a writing career off the ground. ( nghhh such a dreadful progress )

currently watching

youtube videos/streamers on twitch. 

currently working on

uhhhh, potential references for a FF work i have in the background. and between that, some rp threads, some minecraft. im losing it. 

tagged by: @eggsmuses tagging: YOU. There. 

[bronzebluemind]

Let's read the new lellinger fanfic

[wie-sagt-man-noch]

Eiszeit - Lellingerficlet

Hallo its me - ich weiß ich hab ewig nichts mehr geschrieben aber Stephans Instastory gestern hat mich nicht losgelassen. Das hier wird ein Teil meiner Fragmentesammlung, kurz runtergeschrieben und einmal quergelesen. 

Ein bisschen für @printzess-blog weil ich ihr gefühlt 1000 Lellingerfics schulde ♥ 

Warning: Crack!

„Bist du wirklich sicher, dass das so funktioniert?“

Wenn Andreas nicht Angst hätte, dass die mühevoll aufgebaute Holzkonstruktion vor ihm in sich zusammenfällt sobald er seinen Aufbau länger als 3 Sekunden aus den Augen lässt, dann würde er Stephan jetzt einen bösen Blick zuwerfen. So aber schnaubt er nur verächtlich, während er mit zittrigen Fingern das nächste Holzstück im Kamin andrapiert. Etwas schief ist seine Konstruktion wirklich, aber es konnte ja keiner ahnen, dass in ihrem Hotelzimmer die Heizung ausfällt. Der Techniker war bereits da, allerdings scheint das Problem ein etwas Größeres zu sein, weswegen sie unter anderem auf den Kamin in ihrem Zimmer verwiesen wurden.

„It's getting warm really quick, no problem“, hat er freundlich lächelnd gesagt und kurze Zeit später einen großen Stapel Holz sowie kleinere Stücke zum Feuer anschüren zu ihnen gebracht. Das ist inzwischen eine Stunde her und bisher ging das Teil weder schnell an noch ist es warm. Ein kurzer Blick auf das Thermostat oberhalb des Kamins bestätigt das unangenehme Zittern in Andreas' gesamten Körper: Es ist noch kälter geworden, 13 Grad. Genau das, was man nach einem anstrengenden Tag braucht.

Vorsichtig zieht Andreas schließlich seine noch immer zitternden Hände aus der Öffnung des Kamins und richtet sich langsam auf. Stephan steht noch immer wie angewurzelt neben ihm, sein Blick ist genauso skeptisch wie die Frage, die er zuvor gestellt hat. Seine Nasenspitze ist ebenso rot wie seine Wangen und wenn Andreas nicht mindestens genauso kalt wäre, wie seinem Gegenüber, dann würde er diesen Anblick wahrscheinlich als ziemlich niedlich empfinden.

„So, jetzt müssen wir noch noch das Papier und einen Anzünder dazu packen, das ganze anzünden und dann sollte das Ding laufen.“ Zu seiner eigenen Überraschung klingt Andreas wesentlich überzeugter als er tatsächlich ist. Grundsätzlich ist er ja ein Optimist, aber nachdem das hier bereits die fünfte Konstruktion ist, die er aufgebaut hat, ist seine Hoffnung darauf, dass das hier nun funktioniert, nicht mehr ganz so groß wie noch zu Beginn der ganzen Aktion.

„Wir könnten uns immer noch bei Markus und Karl einquartieren. Oder das andere Zimmer in Anspruch nehmen, was uns der Rezeptionist vorhin angeboten hat.“ Stephans Stimme klingt erstaunlich ruhig, nur das klappern seiner Zähne und der leicht angespannte Unterton verrät, dass er nicht ganz so entspannt ist, wie er vorgibt zu sein. Natürlich ist er zu freundlich um Andreas zu sagen, dass er ihn für kindisch und dieses Vorhaben für absolut idiotisch hält. Stephan ist wirklich zu gut für diese Welt, denkt Andreas.

„Quatsch, dieses Mal klappts. Ganz bestimmt!“ Bemüht zuversichtlich grinst er Stephan an, der zuckt allerdings nur hilflos mit den Schultern.

„Ich versteh nicht, warum du das olle Ding unbedingt zum Laufen bringen willst. Aber“, mit seiner eisigen Hand umschließt er die seines Freundes', seine Stimme klingt todernst „wenigstens erfrieren wir zusammen.“

Ungläubig sieht Andreas Stephan an, „danke für dein Vertrauen“, antwortet er trocken, dann macht er sich entschlossen von ihm los und nimmt das Feuerzeug in die Hand. Natürlich hat das Hotel ihnen ein Ersatzzimmer angeboten aber als Andreas den Kamin im Zimmer gesehen hat, da musste er die Gunst der Stunde einfach nutzen. Dass der Techniker ihnen nicht einfach so das Holz in die Hand gedrückt hat und dann verschwunden ist, weiß Andreas natürlich, aber so klingt die Geschichte nicht ganz so peinlich wenn er sie später den Anderen erzählen wird.

„Pass auf, das klappt und dann“, er stockt kurz, „dann wird’s richtig gemütlich.“

Hoffentlich, schiebt er gedanklich nach. Vorsichtig kniet er sich wieder vor den Kamin, knüllt etwas Papier zusammen und legt es zu dem Holz. Der Haufen wackelt, Andreas hält die Luft an. Sekunden vergehen, alles steht. Erleichtert atmet er aus, nur noch der Anzünder. Den packt er zum Papier, noch immer steht alles. Vorsichtig zündet er das Papier an, dieses beginnt schnell zu brennen.

Andreas hat sich selten etwas mehr gewünscht, als dass das Feuer auf den Anzünder über geht.

Sekunden vergehen die sich wie Stunde anfühlen das Papier verbrennt und der Anzünder kokelt nur an und Andreas ist einem Nervenzusammenbruch sehr nah weil er hier seit einer Stunde versucht ein Feuer zu schüren und er dazu offensichtlich zu blöd ist und er einfach das andere Zimmer annehmen hätte sollen aber nein er ist ja stur wie immer weil er Stephan eine Freude machen wollte schließlich weiß er wie sehr sein Freund auf Kaminfeuer steht und wie gemütlich er das findet es hätte alles so schön sein können aber dieser Drecksofen will einfach nicht -

„Es brennt.“

Ungläubig betrachtet Andreas das Feuer vor seinen Augen, Stephan sagt es noch einmal, „es brennt“, und klingt dabei so perplex, als ob vor seinen Augen gerade das achte Weltwunder geschehen wäre.

Andreas richtet sich zögerlich auf, „es brennt“, antwortet er mechanisch, seine Augen sind verräterisch feucht. Dass das anschüren eines Kamins solche Emotionen ihn ihm freisetzt, hätte er nicht für möglich gehalten.

Stephan neben ihm atmet erleichtert auf und zieht ihn in eine feste Umarmung. Das Holz im Kamin knackt und knistert, Wärme macht sich langsam im Raum breit und Andreas und Stephan liegen sich zitternd in den Armen.

Was für ein absurder Abend.

[lewanarta]

Virág Vörös, The History Maker ✨

[novaursa]

Between Pride and Fire (dragon bride)

- Summary: It was a challenge of the hunt that drew the lion to you, but it was your fire that made him yours.

- Paring: targ!reader/Jason Lannister

- Note: Be aware of unspecified time jumps.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: to secure an alliance

- Next part: gold wedding

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @punk-in-docs @barnes70stark

The Red Keep was bustling with activity as preparations for Rhaenyra’s tour of the realm were underway. Servants darted through corridors with armfuls of gowns, jewelry cases, and travel provisions, their hurried footsteps echoing off the stone walls. Rhaenyra, however, had other plans. Clad in a flowing crimson gown, she strode purposefully toward your chambers, her curiosity piqued after hearing of your foul mood all morning.

Pushing open the door without knocking—because, after all, why should a sister knock?—Rhaenyra found you sitting by the window, sunlight streaming over your figure. Your posture was poised but rigid, and in your hand was a letter sealed with an unmistakable lion sigil. Your expression, as Rhaenyra would later tease, was a mixture of mild irritation and reluctant intrigue.

“Well,” Rhaenyra began with a smirk, crossing the room and plopping herself onto the chaise opposite you. “Is that from who I think it is?”

You glanced up at her, raising an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t you be busy preparing to charm half the realm?”

Rhaenyra waved a dismissive hand. “That can wait. This is far more entertaining. Is it from Lord Jason?”

You sighed, setting the letter down on the small table beside you. “Yes.”

Rhaenyra’s smirk widened. “And you’re sitting here sulking because…?”

“Because it’s Jason,” you retorted, though your tone lacked its usual sharpness. “And he’s incapable of writing a letter without trying to annoy me.”

Rhaenyra leaned forward, her grin turning conspiratorial. “Well, now I have to know what it says. Read it to me.”

You gave her a pointed look. “If you’re so curious, you read it.”

Rhaenyra didn’t need to be told twice. Snatching the letter from the table, she broke the seal with an almost gleeful flourish and began to read aloud, adopting an exaggerated, mock-dramatic tone.

My Dearest Princess,

The days since your departure have been colder than I imagined, though the weather in the Westerlands remains warm. Strange, isn’t it, how the absence of a dragon can chill even the sunniest of skies? Perhaps it is because my nights have grown unbearably quiet without the sound of your sharp tongue to keep me awake. I miss it terribly—and other parts of you even more.

Rhaenyra paused, raising an eyebrow at you with a grin as your cheeks began to flush. “He’s already off to a bold start,” she teased.

“Rhaenyra,” you warned, your voice sharp.

Ignoring you, she continued.

The Rock feels emptier without you, though I take comfort in the knowledge that you will soon return to me. The thought of you walking these halls again, wearing my colors and, perhaps, little else, is what keeps me warm at night. I trust you haven’t forgotten how I ensured the chill never reached you during your stay?

Rhaenyra’s eyes widened in delighted shock, her grin practically splitting her face. “Oh, this is rich,” she said, barely stifling a laugh. “I knew something was amiss during that visit, but I didn’t think—oh, this is better than I could have imagined.”

“Rhaenyra!” you snapped, snatching at the letter, but she pulled it away, standing as she continued reading with exaggerated drama.

I have already begun preparations for your arrival. The chamber we will share has been expanded and decorated to suit a woman of your beauty and fire. I only hope it meets your high standards—though I suspect you will enjoy it far more than you’ll admit. Perhaps we can make some... adjustments together. I look forward to your opinions and, naturally, your company in bed.

Until we meet again, my fierce little dragon, know that your Golden Lion waits impatiently.

Yours (as you will soon be mine),

Jason

By the time she finished, your cheeks were burning, and you were torn between slamming the window shut and throwing yourself out of it. Rhaenyra burst into laughter, doubling over as she clutched the letter to her chest.

“Oh, gods,” she wheezed, wiping tears from her eyes. “I knew he was insufferable, but this… this is beyond anything I could’ve dreamed.”

“Give me that,” you snapped, lunging for the letter, but Rhaenyra danced out of reach.

“I can’t believe you let this happen!” she exclaimed, still laughing. “No wonder he was so smug at the feast. You and Jason—oh, Father would be scandalized if he knew.”

“Rhaenyra,” you growled, finally snatching the letter from her grasp and crumpling it in your fist. “If you breathe a word of this to anyone—”

She raised her hands in mock surrender, though her grin didn’t falter. “Relax, little sister. Your secret is safe with me. But you can’t blame me for enjoying this.”

You glared at her, your mortification only deepening. “I can, and I will.”

Rhaenyra’s laughter softened, though her teasing smile remained. “Oh, I’ll enjoy this for years. But,” she added, placing a hand on your shoulder, “I’ll admit—he clearly adores you. In his ridiculous, Lannister way.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands as Rhaenyra left the room, still chuckling to herself. The crumpled letter in your hand was proof of Jason’s audacity—and your growing inability to deny the way he made you feel.

King Viserys I Targaryen sat at the head of the table, his mood noticeably light. A goblet of wine rested within easy reach, though it remained untouched as he leaned forward, his hands clasped and his expression one of uncharacteristic excitement.

Around the table sat the usual councilors: Otto Hightower, his ever-serious expression fixed on the king; Maester Mellos, his pale robes neat and his demeanor calm; Lord Tyland Lannister, impeccably dressed as always, with a faintly bemused expression; and Lords Jasper Wylde and Lyman Beesbury, both attentive but quietly observing.

“Gentlemen,” Viserys began, his voice ringing with enthusiasm. “I trust you’re all aware of the arrangements for my youngest daughter’s upcoming marriage.”

There were murmurs of agreement, though Tyland’s eyes darted to the king with a hint of apprehension.

Viserys continued, “Lord Jason Lannister has been a most gracious host to us during our visit to the Rock, and his request to prepare the castle for my daughter’s arrival was... detailed.”

Otto Hightower cleared his throat delicately. “Jason’s attentiveness is commendable, Your Grace. However, detailed how?”

Viserys chuckled, waving a hand. “Oh, nothing untoward, Otto. He merely asked for a small contingent of Dragonkeepers to be sent ahead of the wedding, so they might ensure that Morrath, my daughter’s dragon, has proper accommodations.”

Lyman Beesbury, always prone to fretting, leaned forward slightly. “A wise precaution, Your Grace. Dragons are magnificent but unpredictable creatures. Morrath’s presence will undoubtedly raise questions of safety for the people of the Westerlands.”

“Exactly,” Viserys said, nodding. “Jason has suggested repurposing one of their old mines as a dragon lair, but he understands the importance of having trained Dragonkeepers oversee the process. I intend to grant this request.”

Jasper Wylde, who rarely spoke without purpose, leaned forward, his expression thoughtful. “Your Grace, this decision not only ensures the safety of the people at Casterly Rock but also solidifies the alliance. The presence of a dragon in the Westerlands will be a powerful symbol of the bond between the Iron Throne and House Lannister.”

Otto Hightower nodded slowly, though his expression remained cautious. “It is a wise gesture, Your Grace. However, we must also consider what precedent this sets. Sending Dragonkeepers so far from King’s Landing is unusual. It may lead other great houses to expect similar allowances should future alliances involve dragons.”

Viserys waved a dismissive hand, his jovial mood undiminished. “Bah, let them expect what they will! Morrath is not just any dragon—she is bonded to my daughter. This is a unique circumstance, and the realm will see it for what it is: the Targaryens strengthening ties with one of our most powerful vassals.”

Lord Tyland Lannister finally spoke, his tone carefully neutral. “The gesture will not go unnoticed in the Westerlands, Your Grace. My brother will undoubtedly ensure that Morrath is treated with the respect. The presence of Dragonkeepers will not only safeguard the dragon but reassure the people of Casterly Rock that the Targaryens are invested in their well-being.”

Viserys smiled broadly, clearly pleased. “Well said, Lord Tyland. This marriage is a cause for celebration across the realm. A Lannister and a Targaryen united in matrimony—it’s a match for the ages!”

Lyman Beesbury frowned slightly, his voice hesitant. “Your Grace, while the match is indeed prestigious, might there be concerns about consolidating too much power between the Iron Throne and the wealth of House Lannister? Such alliances often draw envy... and unrest.”

Viserys’s expression softened, and he leaned back in his chair. “Envy, perhaps. But unrest? No. This marriage will strengthen the realm, not weaken it. The Westerlands will gain the strength of a dragon, and my daughter will gain a powerful husband. House Targaryen and House Lannister will stand as one.”

Otto Hightower interjected, his tone measured. “The benefits are clear, Your Grace. However, we should be mindful of how this is perceived by other houses, particularly the Tyrells or Baratheons. They may view this as a shift in favor toward the Westerlands.”

Viserys nodded thoughtfully, though his tone remained firm. “Let them view it as they will. The union of my daughter and Jason Lannister is not about favoritism but stability. And the realm needs stability more than ever.”

Maester Mellos, who had remained quiet until now, spoke in his soothing, measured tone. “Your Grace, I can arrange for a team of dozen Dragonkeepers to depart within a fortnight. They will be briefed thoroughly on their duties and the significance of their presence at Casterly Rock.”

“Excellent,” Viserys said, clapping his hands once. “See to it, Maester Mellos. I want no detail overlooked. This wedding must be perfect.”

The king turned to Tyland, his expression warm. “And you, Lord Tyland, will see to it that your brother does not overdo himself in his preparations. Jason’s enthusiasm is admirable, but he must save some of his energy for the wedding itself.”

Tyland inclined his head with a faint smile. “I will ensure my brother’s preparations are both thorough and... contained, Your Grace.”

Viserys laughed, his booming voice echoing in the chamber. “Good! Now, gentlemen, let us continue our discussions, but mark my words: this marriage will be a turning point for the realm, a symbol of unity and strength. House Targaryen and House Lannister together will ensure peace and prosperity for generations to come.”

The councilors nodded, though not all with the same level of enthusiasm. As the discussion shifted to more mundane matters of trade and taxation, the weight of Viserys’s words lingered in the air—a testament to the importance of the upcoming union and the power it would bring to the realm.

The vast chamber of the Dragonpit was illuminated by shafts of sunlight streaming through the high, cracked arches, casting a soft glow over the polished black scales of Morrath, your dragon. She was a magnificent creature, her massive wings folded elegantly at her sides as she rested on her haunches. The faint amber undertones of her scales shimmered like molten metal in the sunlight, and her eyes, a piercing shade of amber, watched you with an intelligent, almost knowing gaze.

Morrath exuded grace with every movement. The curve of her long neck as she lowered her head to meet your gaze was almost feline, her lithe body coiled with restrained power. Her talons, sharp enough to cleave stone, tapped lightly against the ground as she shifted her weight, the sound echoing softly in the cavernous space. A low rumble emanated from her chest as she leaned forward, nuzzling your shoulder with surprising gentleness.

“Easy, girl,” you murmured, resting a hand on her warm, smooth scales. The contact was grounding, comforting even, as you tried to collect your thoughts.

Your entire world was about to change. The prospect of becoming Lady Lannister loomed over you like a stormcloud, and despite your best efforts, the weight of it was inescapable. Casterly Rock was a far cry from King’s Landing, and the idea of leaving everything familiar behind—your family, your home—left a knot of unease in your stomach.

Morrath, as though sensing your turmoil, let out a soft, trilling sound, her tawny eyes narrowing slightly.

“I’m fine,” you told her quietly, though the words felt more like an attempt to convince yourself. “It’s nothing.”

You moved to the saddle strapped securely to her back, running your hands over the leather straps as you prepared to mount. The physical task offered a welcome distraction from the whirlwind of emotions inside you. But as you placed a foot in the stirrup and reached for the saddle horn, a wave of dizziness washed over you.

The world tilted sharply, and before you could regain your balance, you fell backward with a heavy thud against the stone floor. The impact knocked the wind from your lungs, and for a moment, you lay stunned, staring up at the high arches of the Dragonpit as the sound of rushing footsteps filled the air.

“Princess!” a voice called, alarmed.

A group of Dragonkeepers hurried to your side, their expressions a mixture of concern and caution. Morrath let out a sharp, guttural growl, her head snapping toward them protectively, but a quick gesture from you calmed her.

“I’m fine,” you said quickly, sitting up with their help. “It was just a moment of weakness, nothing more.”

The eldest of the Dragonkeepers, a man with graying hair and a steady voice, knelt beside you, his brows furrowed. “Your Grace, you fell hard. Are you certain you’re unharmed?”

You nodded, though your head throbbed with a dull ache. “I’m certain. I’ve been having headaches lately—that’s all this is.”

Another Dragonkeeper, a younger woman with a soft gaze, exchanged a worried glance with her elder. “Your Grace,” she said cautiously, “perhaps it would be best if you returned to the Red Keep. Flying in your current condition may not be wise.”

You hesitated, glancing toward Morrath, who watched you intently, her eyes filled with what you could almost swear was concern. The idea of grounding yourself felt like admitting defeat, but the throbbing in your head made it hard to argue.

“I don’t need to be coddled,” you said, your tone firm but lacking its usual sharpness. “But… perhaps you’re right. Morrath and I can fly another day.”

The elder Dragonkeeper helped you to your feet, his grip steady. “Your Grace, it’s not coddling to prioritize your health. Your dragon will wait for you.”

Morrath let out a low rumble, almost as though she were agreeing, and you reached out to stroke her snout one last time before turning toward the exit.

“Fine,” you said with a sigh, brushing off the dust from your gown. “But tell no one of this. The last thing I need is my father fretting or my sister teasing me.”

The Dragonkeepers bowed their heads in unison. “As you command, Your Grace.”

As you left the Dragonpit, Morrath’s gaze followed you, the faint rumble of her breathing a steady reminder of the bond you shared. Despite your frustration at your own weakness, you couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that something was amiss. The throbbing in your head, the unease in your chest—both seemed to echo the changes coming in your life, changes you weren’t sure you were ready to face.

You reclined on a chaise near the hearth in your chambers, a book resting forgotten in your lap. The persistent, dull ache in your head made it impossible to concentrate, and your mind kept wandering to the events of the day. The memory of your fall in the Dragonpit was a fresh embarrassment, one you hoped would quickly be forgotten by the Dragonkeepers.

A soft knock at the door broke your thoughts, and you sat up straighter, instinctively smoothing your gown. “Enter,” you called, your voice calm but weary.

The door opened to reveal Maester Mellos, his pale robes swishing softly as he entered. In his hands was a small tray bearing a vial of tonic and a cup of water. His expression was neutral, though his sharp eyes flicked over you with a hint of concern.

“Your Grace,” he greeted, bowing slightly as he approached. “I heard of your fall earlier today. The Dragonkeepers were most discreet, but such news finds its way to me nonetheless.”

You sighed, gesturing for him to set the tray on the small table beside you. “It was nothing, Maester. A moment of dizziness, that’s all.”

Mellos tilted his head, studying you with the quiet intensity of a man who had seen far more than he ever spoke of. “And yet,” he said gently, “your complexion is paler than usual, and your headaches appear to worsen. You’ve had these afflictions since childhood, yes?”

You nodded, brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “They come and go. Today has simply been... trying.”

He poured the tonic into the cup of water, stirring it with practiced precision. “The fall, the headache, the pressure of your upcoming nuptials—it is no wonder you feel unwell. But I wonder if there is more to it. Perhaps I should examine you further.”

You waved him off, taking the cup from his hands. “There’s no need for that. Truly, Maester. I’m certain it’s nothing but the strain of the wedding preparations and the thought of yet another journey to Casterly Rock.”

Mellos frowned slightly but said nothing as he watched you sip the tonic. The bitter taste curled your lip, but you drank it down, setting the empty cup back on the tray.

“You’ve always been reluctant to linger in the care of the maesters,” he said quietly, his tone almost amused. “It is a trait you share with your father.”

You gave him a faint smile. “Perhaps, but my father would claim he has the strength of a dragon to see him through anything.”

“And you, Princess?” Mellos asked, his brows lifting slightly. “Do you not also have the strength of a dragon?”

“Of course I do,” you said, your voice firm despite the lingering ache in your temples. “That is why I do not need further examinations or treatments. I simply need to rest.”

The maester studied you for a moment longer, then inclined his head. “Very well, Your Grace. But should your symptoms persist—or worsen—you must inform me at once.”

“Of course,” you replied, though you had no intention of calling on him unless absolutely necessary.

Mellos gathered the tray and turned toward the door, pausing just before he exited. “Remember, Your Grace,” he said, his voice low, “even dragons must tend to their wounds if they wish to keep flying.”

You didn’t respond, watching as he closed the door softly behind him. Alone once more, you leaned back against the chaise, the weight of his words settling uneasily in your mind. It was easy to dismiss your headaches as a lifelong nuisance, a mere inconvenience. But something about today felt... different.

Pushing the thought aside, you closed your eyes, willing the tonic to take effect. Rest would help. It had to. The upcoming journey to Casterly Rock and your wedding loomed ever closer, and the last thing you needed was to appear weak when you arrived.

The nursery in the Red Keep was a quiet, sunlit space, filled with soft laughter and the cooing of a newborn. You sat on a cushioned stool near the window, cradling the tiny, swaddled form of Helaena Targaryen in your arms. The infant blinked up at you with wide, curious eyes, her tiny fingers occasionally clutching at the air.

Aegon, now a lively two-year-old, darted across the room with a wooden dragon in hand, his laughter bright and unrestrained. Alicent sat nearby, her face serene but tired, her hands busy with some needlework. Despite her fatigue, her eyes never left her children for long.

“It suits you,” Alicent said softly, glancing up from her embroidery to watch you with the baby.

You raised an eyebrow at her. “What does?”

“Holding a child,” she replied, her voice warm but laced with a quiet hope. “One day, perhaps, you’ll have your own to cradle.”

You looked down at Helaena, her tiny face so peaceful, and for a fleeting moment, the thought didn’t seem so foreign. But you quickly shook it off, forcing a faint smile. “Perhaps,” you said, though your voice was noncommittal. “For now, I’ll settle for borrowing yours.”

Alicent chuckled softly, her gaze softening as she returned to her needlework. “Helaena seems content with you. You’ve always had a way with children.”

“Perhaps because I’ve been surrounded by them my whole life,” you teased, glancing pointedly at Aegon, who was now attempting to climb a chair with his dragon in tow. “Speaking of which... Aegon, get down before you fall.”

The boy pouted but obeyed, sliding off the chair with an exaggerated sigh and returning to his play on the floor.

Alicent smiled faintly, but her expression shifted as her eyes moved back to you. She tilted her head slightly, her brows furrowing. “You look pale, Y/N. Paler than usual.”

You stiffened slightly, keeping your attention on Aemond as you rocked him gently. “It’s nothing,” you said quickly. “Just a headache, nothing more.”

Alicent didn’t look convinced. She set her embroidery aside and leaned forward, her voice quiet and full of concern. “You’ve had those headaches for years, haven’t you? Are they getting worse?”

You sighed, meeting her gaze with a small, forced smile. “I’m fine, Alicent. Truly. I suspect it’s just the strain of everything—the wedding, the preparations, the journey to Casterly Rock. It’s all... a bit much.”

Alicent’s frown deepened, and she reached out to place a hand gently on your arm. “Perhaps you should tell your father. He would—”

“No,” you interrupted, your tone sharper than you intended. You softened it immediately, lowering your voice. “Please don’t say anything to him. The last thing I need is Father fretting over me like a child.”

Alicent hesitated, her hand lingering on your arm. “Are you certain? He would want to know if you’re unwell.”

“I’m certain,” you said firmly, shifting slightly to adjust Helaena in your arms. “I just need rest, that’s all.”

Across the room, Ser Criston Cole and Ser Lorent Marbrand stood at their posts, their expressions unreadable as they exchanged a glance. The tension in the room wasn’t lost on them, and though neither spoke, the shared look between them said enough: they were both keeping note.

Alicent sighed, clearly torn, but finally nodded. “Very well,” she said softly. “But if it becomes worse—”

“It won’t,” you assured her quickly. “I’ll be fine.”

For a moment, the room was silent except for Aegon’s playful chatter and Helaena’s soft coos. Alicent seemed to let the matter drop, though her eyes lingered on you with a lingering trace of worry.

You handed Helaena back to her, rising to your feet with a grace that belied the fatigue you felt. “Thank you for this, Alicent,” you said, smoothing your skirts. “Spending time here has... helped.”

Alicent smiled faintly, cradling Helaena close. “You’re always welcome here, Y/N. Family should look after one another.”

You nodded, though the weight of her words felt heavier than usual. With a final glance at the children, you left the nursery, acutely aware of Criston and Marbrand’s watchful eyes following you as you walked away.

Jason Lannister sat at the head of the long oak table, his expression a mixture of satisfaction and anticipation. The room hummed with the low voices of his advisors, each man waiting for his turn to report on the progress of the preparations for the wedding.

Jason leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming lightly on the table. “Well, gentlemen,” he began, his tone confident, “we’re nearing the day when my dragon will arrive at the Rock. Let’s hear it. Are we ready?”

The first to speak was Maester Ronnel, a man with a sharp, analytical mind who had taken over many of the logistical details. “My lord,” he said, his voice measured, “the mine designated for Princess Y/N’s dragon has been fully converted. The workers finished reinforcing the walls and clearing additional ventilation shafts three days ago. It is secure and large enough to accommodate her dragon comfortably.”

Jason nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Good. And what of the feeding stations and access routes? Morrath will be ill-tempered if everything isn’t precisely as she requires.”

“Those have been attended to as well,” Ronnel assured him. “Fresh livestock will be delivered weekly, and a dedicated team of handlers is being trained to assist the Dragonkeepers upon their arrival.”

Ser Garreth, one of Jason’s most trusted knights, spoke next. “The Dragonkeepers are expected to arrive in two days, my lord. They’ll inspect the mine themselves and oversee any final adjustments.”

Jason raised an eyebrow. “Two days? Good. I want everything perfect when they get here. The princess is not someone we can afford to disappoint—nor is her dragon.”

There were murmurs of agreement around the table, though Lord Meryn, one of the older advisors, shifted uncomfortably. “Forgive me, my lord,” he said cautiously, “but I must voice a concern once again. The presence of a dragon at Casterly Rock, while undoubtedly impressive, will bring a degree of... unpredictability. There will be whispers, and perhaps fear among the smallfolk.”

Jason leaned forward, his expression hardening slightly. “Fear?” he echoed, his tone sharp. “A dragon is not something to fear, Meryn—it’s a symbol of power. Of strength. Morrath’s presence will solidify this union and make it clear to all of Westeros that the Rock is untouchable.”

Lord Meryn inclined his head, though his expression remained cautious. “Of course, my lord. I simply mean to say that we must tread carefully. The Targaryens’ dragons are both a blessing and a weapon.”

Jason smirked. “And like any weapon, it’s all about how you wield it.”

Tywin’s younger brother, Tyland, who had returned temporarily from King’s Landing to assist with the preparations, chimed in. “You seem very confident in your ability to wield such a ‘weapon,’ Jason. Let’s hope your future wife agrees.”

Jason shot his brother a grin, undeterred. “Oh, she’ll agree. By the time she steps foot in this keep, everything will be exactly as she expects. The mine, the chambers, the wedding itself—it will all be perfect.”

Maester Ronnel cleared his throat. “Speaking of chambers, my lord, the expansions and redecorations are nearly complete. The Princess’s preferences, as conveyed by her maids, have been incorporated wherever possible. The Targaryen sigil has been included alongside the Lannister lion in several key pieces of decor.”

Jason nodded approvingly. “Good. I want her to feel at home here. This is as much her domain as mine.”

Ser Garreth leaned forward slightly, his expression curious. “My lord, if I may ask... Are you not concerned about her adjustment? The Princess is leaving the Red Keep, her family, her dragonpit—it’s a significant change.”

Jason’s grin widened, and he shrugged. “Oh, she’ll adjust. She’s stubborn, but she’s also strong. And she’ll come to see that this—” he gestured broadly, encompassing the grandeur of Casterly Rock, “—is where she belongs.”

The advisors exchanged glances, some nodding in agreement while others remained silent. Jason stood, signaling the end of the meeting.

“Continue your work,” he said, his voice firm. “When the Dragonkeepers arrive, ensure they’re well-received and given everything they need. And remember, gentlemen: this wedding isn’t just a union—it’s a declaration. House Lannister and House Targaryen, united in fire and gold. Let the realm take notice.”

The men stood as Jason strode from the chamber, his confidence unshaken and his mind already racing ahead to the day his princess would arrive to claim her place at his side.

The courtyard of Casterly Rock was a spectacle of splendor, every detail meticulously prepared for the wedding that would forever link House Lannister to the Targaryen bloodline. Banners bearing the lion of Lannister hung from every high wall, their golden threads catching the sunlight. Garlands of flowers adorned the stone archways, their vibrant colors contrasting against the somber gray of the castle’s ancient stones. Lords and ladies from across the realm, dressed in their finest silks and velvets, milled about, their chatter filling the air with an excited hum.

Jason Lannister stood at the forefront of the welcoming party, resplendent in a tunic of deep crimson embroidered with gold thread. A heavy cloak trimmed with lion’s mane fur draped over his shoulders, and a golden brooch shaped like a lion’s head held it in place. His hair, meticulously combed and shining in the sunlight, was a perfect reflection of his confidence. His green eyes scanned the horizon, the faintest hint of anticipation breaking through his usual calm demeanor.

Around him stood his trusted advisors and notable figures from the Westerlands. Beside them, the Dragonkeepers—clad in their dark, somber robes—waited in formation. The air was filled with both excitement and trepidation; the sight of Morrath, the Princess’s dragon, would be a moment few in the Westerlands had ever experienced.

Ser Garreth, standing to Jason’s right, leaned closer. “You look nervous, my lord.”

Jason smirked, adjusting his cloak. “Nervous? Hardly. I’m simply eager to greet my bride.”

“And her dragon,” Garreth added with a chuckle.

Jason’s grin widened. “Ah, yes. Morrath. I trust she’ll find the mine to her liking. Though, if she doesn’t, I’m sure the Princess will let me know in no uncertain terms.”

The men around him chuckled, but Maester Ronnel cleared his throat, stepping forward. “My lord, it is not just Morrath who must be impressed. The eyes of the realm are upon us today. This is more than a wedding—it is a declaration.”

Jason nodded, his expression turning serious for a moment. “I know, Ronnel. House Lannister is hosting the blood of the dragon. Let them see our strength, our wealth, and our ambition. Let them understand that we are not just the Rock—we are unyielding.”

As if on cue, a ripple of murmurs spread through the crowd, drawing Jason’s attention to the southern road leading to the Rock. The royal procession was approaching. Carriages painted with the red and black of House Targaryen rolled into view, flanked by knights bearing the king’s banner. Armored Lannister guards moved to attention as the grand procession made its way toward the gates.

Jason stepped forward, his smile widening. “Here they come.”

The carriages were an impressive sight, but the real spectacle came from above. A shadow passed over the courtyard, and gasps rippled through the gathered crowd as Morrath descended from the skies. The black-scaled dragon, her wings shimmering with amber undertones, was the epitome of grace and power. Her eyes glowed as she circled once before landing with a ground-shaking thud near the welcoming party. The heat radiating from her was felt, and the faint scent of sulfur lingered in the air.

Jason held his ground, his heart pounding as he took in the sight of the magnificent creature. The Dragonkeepers moved quickly, bowing their heads in deference as they approached to guide Morrath. Jason’s gaze shifted upward, and his breath caught as he saw you dismount with practiced ease. Dressed in Targaryen red and black, with hints of gold embroidery tying your attire to Lannister colors, you were a vision of fire and elegance.

Garreth leaned closer, his tone hushed. “Well, my lord, there’s your dragon and your bride.”

Jason smirked, his eyes never leaving you. “And what a sight they are.”

You strode forward, your expression composed but regal, a subtle nod to the confidence Jason had come to expect from you. Morrath let out a low growl, her gaze sweeping over the gathered crowd before she settled, her massive body coiling gracefully.

The royal carriages arrived moments later, King Viserys stepping out with a broad smile, followed by Queen Alicent and their children and servants. The king greeted Jason warmly, clapping him on the shoulder. “Lord Jason, your hospitality is unmatched.”

Jason bowed slightly. “Your Grace, it is an honor to host you and your family on this most joyous occasion.”

His gaze flickered back to you, his smile softening. “And, of course, to welcome my bride.”

You met his gaze, raising an eyebrow but offering a small, polite smile. “Lord Jason,” you said, your tone cool but measured. “Your preparations are... grand, as expected.”

Jason chuckled, leaning closer as he lowered his voice. “Only the best for you, Princess.”

Viserys, oblivious to the tension in your exchange, clapped his hands together. “Let the festivities begin! Today, we unite fire and gold—two houses that shall shape the realm for generations to come.”

The crowd cheered as the gates of Casterly Rock opened to welcome the royal procession. Jason fell into step beside you, offering his arm. As you hesitated briefly before taking it, he leaned closer, his voice low enough for only you to hear.

“Welcome home, Princess,” he murmured, his grin both charming and infuriating. “The Rock is yours now.”

You didn’t respond, but the faint blush on your cheeks didn’t escape his notice, and Jason couldn’t help but smile as he led you toward the great hall, the weight of the moment settling over you both. This day would mark the beginning of a new chapter—not just for House Lannister, but for all of Westeros.

[skiijumpinng]

the way i knew 4hills is gonna hurt me AND I STILL KEEP BELIEVING IT WON'T

[ryoyuftw]

Norwegian TV not bothering to give us any podiums? Fuck you!