#a distant shore verse

[houseofthetides]

A Distant Shore | Rhaenys/Corlys

[Prologue | Chapter: 1 ] A world away, Corlys washes ashore and into Rhaenys' arms. But when he's taken to the hospital to recover from his injuries, he remembers nothing of modern life, but everything of dragons and kingdoms. He and Rhaenys must find out the truth of each other - and just where their hearts truly belong.

Here it is! Chapter 1 of mine and @evebestt's latest collaboration. Thank you so much for your interest, we are so excited to publish this fic. It's been such a joy to write so far. I know we're in for a bumpy season of House of the Dragon (ok, understatement). So, we hope you can look forward to some angsty but also lighthearted fun featuring our favourite pair.

[houseofthetides]

Mood. A little teaser, an amuse-bouche before the main course.

It's always a joy to write with @evebestt, but I truly couldn't have done this without her. Delighted to finally put this up! Watch this space for Chapter 1.

A Distant Shore

A Rhaenys x Corlys Story

A world away, Corlys washes ashore and into Rhaenys' arms. But when he's taken to the hospital to recover from his injuries, he remembers nothing of modern life, but everything of dragons and kingdoms. He and Rhaenys must find out the truth of each other - and just where their hearts truly belong.

~

The prologue/preview of my dear friend @houseofthetides and I's newest fic! This has been our baby for a long time, and we're so excited to start sharing it with the world.

Read the prologue at the link above, and keep an eye out for Chapter 1, coming very soon!

[musingsofguhua]

𝘔𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘦 𝘪'𝘭𝘭 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘴𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒹𝒾𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝓈𝒽𝑜𝓇𝑒... ...𝘔𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘦 𝘐'𝘮 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘦

[aseaunsettled]

tag dump

[moondirti]

anal on the beach w/ gaz. a spiritual continuation of that one cbf! dry humping blurb i wrote but can be read separately

kinda dubcon. anal (obviously). manipulation. semi-public sex (no one catches you). gn! reader

he texts you that he’s got an extra ticket to fiji. the message is brief, spontaneous like he tends to be. pack your bags. eta 1420. you planned on rotting home all weekend, already in your pyjamas and hair care, looking every bit a wreck as you feel. it isn’t exactly the opportune time for him to come by; though you know mentioning it won’t do anything to change the fact that he will.

frankly, the whole thing reeks of that kyle-specific class of manoeuvring you’ve come to know in recent. catching you off guard with something you can’t say no to, and using it to push you past what you’re comfortable with. you’re tempted to refuse. it’s too short a notice. pick someone else. but a week long beach trip sounds nice, actually. work has been killing you. your personal life’s a mess. every date you’ve managed to snag in the past month has ghosted you. and to top it all off, you miss your best friend – his odd quirks and all.

so your body’s way of protesting is to slip off the couch, refocusing on the effort it takes to haul your luggage out of storage rather than your several woes. by the time kyle comes by, you’re in a sweatsuit and sneakers, bag stuffed with all the swimsuits you’ve owned since high school; you doubt you’ll have time to wash one between swims.

and it’s nice. you sit next to one another on the plane, syncing your movies by counting down to three. yours is always a few seconds behind, but he waits for your reactions before delving into a spiel about how realistic it is to drive a knife into someone’s throat with just your teeth, à la dev patel. you listen, swinging off every word he says into your own conversations, and it goes that way until the old lady two rows back shushes you. you, specifically, seeing as kyle charmed her into deference when he helped her lift her bags in the overhead compartments. always so considerate.

still, you’re concerned about falling asleep next to him, lest you wake to find a hand kneading your inner thigh.

nothing weird happens, though. you touch down in fiji and check into a lagoon resort (we managed to find you that king room, mr. garrick – the receptionist adds with a smile, eclipsing the weary way you regard sharing one bed. but you’ve had your fair share of cramped family vacations, and are well-versed in the subtle art of pillow walls to keep his side and yours separate.) that first night, he gives you an hour to dress up for dinner reservations while he fetches snacks for the room. make it pretty, yeah? we’re meeting a few distant cousins f’mine. i told them we’re dating to keep the work questions off my back.

nothing weird happens. until—

you take a boat out to Fulaga after citing it as one of the least populous islands. with wisps of white sand, like baker’s flour beneath your feet, and limestone islets across electric blue waters, it’s hard to see why.

no matter to either of you. you lay your towel on flat patch of sand, smothering yourself in sunscreen to play a game of chicken and waves. a vain endeavour, of course. he’s always willing swim out further than you, diving under quivering waters to arch amongst sea turtles and ulavi.

eventually, you grow bored of watching him from the shore, ambling back to your set-up to make use of the oils you bought for an exorbitant price. they lacquer over your skin, the places you can reach, to reflect the light overhead. you recall a quote you read in uni as you slather – something about people broiling themselves as though they were nothing but cuts of meat – and falter for just a moment. it had seemed crude at the time, particularly in the context in which it read, but as you prep yourself for the sun, you can’t help but feel exposed. vulnerable. like predatory eyes are tuned in all around you, peeking from the foliage, the waves, and honed on your slippery flesh.

you tell yourself you’re being silly, and spread yourself back on your towel. the heat licks away at your worries, making good work of laving the salty stress off your neck. you measure time in how long it takes for the sand to flake off your feet, drying as the rest of you does.

when the soft stretch of your stomach starts to burn, you turn yourself over and bury your cheek into the fibres cradling you. sun-drunk, chafed, bruised a little from the choppy waters, you welcome sleep when it inches on your conscious.

“and what are you doing exactly?” kyle huffs, encroaching on your sanctuary. you can’t see him, though you can almost hear the water vaporising off his dark skin. sizzling. the heat sinks into your side once he flops down onto his own towel.

“sunbathing.” you mumble, reluctant to give more than a words response lest it shakes you out of languor.

“the water’s great. you’re missing out.”

“mm. later.”

“and what am i supposed to do?” he all but whines, tugging at the complicated strings that tie your bottoms up on your hips. it doesn’t feel as suggestive as it might be. all you can manage, in the wake of your scoured unease, is annoyance.

“read. dig. sleep.”

he doesn’t take to your advice, shuffling until his knee presses into your arm. “you missed a spot on your back.”

“get it, then.”

“where’s the lube?”

your head snaps up, eyes narrowed both to adjust to the brightness and in admonishment. “oil.”

“same difference.” his grin is wicked, white and impossible to upbraid. rolling your eyes, you settle back down, face turned the other way around to keep an eye on him.

“in my bag.”

he shuffles through your stuff until he comes up with the hot pink bottle, making no stop for confirmation before he squirts the contents over his hands. they feel every bit as big as they look when they press into your back, right below your nape. rough, barnacled with callouses, but softened a bit by the ointment so it doesn’t hurt when his thumbs run circles around your shoulder blades. you sound an appreciative moan.

“say, if you’re short on something to do, y’can always massage me.”

“yeah, yeah. doubt you’ll return the favour.”

“i would... later.”

he laughs. “whatever. isn’t what i want, anyway.”

“and what do you want?” you ask. not because you’re curious – but so long as entertaining him keeps his efforts on your sore muscles, you’ll keep at it.

“oh, y’know.” kyle hums. ambiguous. you don’t know, not really. not until one caress strays lower than it should, conforming to the rounded shape of your ass. your cheeks clench with the sudden touch. he takes it as confirmation that you must want the same thing, too. “these bottoms aren’t leaving much to the imagination, mate.”

“th-they’re old.”

“this pert thing is practically eating them. can’t see fabric anymore.” he squeezes the fat there, shaking it in a vice grip that doesn’t so much as allow you to sit up, to knock his assault off. “want me to look for it?”

“kyle–”

“kyle.” he mocks, snickering. your hesitation does nothing to dissuade him. instead, he rocks up to straddle your legs, hands moving away from your back to settle below the curve of your ass. you don’t know what’s hotter – the damp, sun-bleached sand cushioning you, or the way he spreads either cheek apart, groaning when your swim-suit slips to expose the tight rim under it. “fuck. you been hiding this from me?”

“i- i don’t… please don’t be w-weird about this.”

“dunno what you mean by that.” he says, then promptly proceeds to be weird about it as his knuckle grazes your hole. you’re stiff, printing an indelible mark on beach. “never had it touched before?”

“no. i’m not a freak.”

“ouch, darl.” but he’s already spurting a hefty amount of oil onto you, working it in with a thick thumb. effectively makes good on his stupid name for it; lubes you up, nice and slick, so the only pain that arises at his intrusion is the virgin stretch. “promise it feels good.”

and you hate to admit it, but it does. once you get over the foreign sensation of his finger pistoning where you’ve never been fucked before, it stirs a tumultuous heat in your belly. part of it, you think, isn’t so much the physical sensation as it is the taboo of it all. despite the beach being virtually empty, void of any life but hermit crabs and the two debauched humans at its centre, there’s a delicious thrill that curls with the risk of being caught. not only being conventionally raunchy, but having your ass gaped by your best friend. what a sight you must make, pinned to the ground, having your sense pared off you in slow, painstaking layers.

one finger becomes two, and two soon turns to three.

the sound is so lewd, borderline disgusting when set against the natural ambience. you squelch and suck around him, lube smacking between your nates. and you lament it in slow, drawn-out breaths. embarrassed, wailing, soughing with the briny wind. kyle’s determined to get you ready for something much bigger, it seems, because four digits cram into your hole and scissor apart.

“is that re- really necessary?” you pick your sand- dusted face off the towel to huff into the thick air.

you feel him jostle atop your legs. shrugging, likely, in that deferent way he does when he realises acquiescence will better serve his purpose.

“whatever you want, mate.” there’s the sound of wet fabric scratching against itself, his trunks shucked down to rest mid-thigh. “i was getting impatient, anyway.”

if the excitement in his tone isn’t enough of a forewarning, he soon makes you regret saying anything at all when he notches his cock against you. it’s fat even at the end, the head too hefty to fit between your spread cheeks. it slips as it searches for purchase, rubbing against the excess lube he pours for aid, before pushing in. not in one fell swoop, but with five short, strong thrusts to finally anchor into your asshole.

you squeal, grasping behind you, onto his wrists for stability. you feel capsized, heeled over, thrown off kilter. shells and sparkling horizons dot the backs of your eyelids, liquid pleasure coursing through your veins. nothing about it is romantic, momentous like firsts should be. rather, you liken it to soap scum. spume. salt crusted hair. natural conclusions to things you overlook.

“s’fuckin’ tight, soft. can’t breath when you squee-eeze me like th-that. loosen up… up, mate.”

“k-kyle. fuck. ah! i c-can’t, you’re so… yersobig.”

“tried, didn’t i? b’you wanted to complain. next time i’ll make you t-take it dry… teach you how to count your, your blessings.”

and that turn of phrase – next time – is what sticks as he thrusts into you. not the implication that it’ll be painful, or that he intends to punish you for whatever it is you did wrong – but that this isn’t the last incident of its kind.

you had excused his homecoming – that first time he rushed you with a hug and came in his pants – as incidental, weeks of pent up energy. you try to excuse this – this, taking your ass on a vacation he probably booked precisely for the two of you – even while it unfolds, searching for justification in the distance between here and home.

but you’re not stupid. what becomes increasingly clear, as kyle fixes your waist in place and cants your hips higher, balls slapping your greased thighs, tightening with his looming orgasm, is that this was never meant to be a one time thing.

(won’t be, if he has any say in it.)

you resolve to think about it later. later; the coil in your stomach ripping a blinding release.

[glennriley49]

Through the Storms

We began as fireworks in the night,

Lighting shadows with a dazzling sight.

Each word, sweet honey on the tongue,

Moments cherished, songs unsung.

But as twilight stretched, we lost our way,

Whispers sharpened, turned to fray.

When sparks grew dim, and warmth withdrew,

Lonely winds of silence blew.

Are we ready for the storms ahead,

The stinging rain, the paths we dread?

Love’s no tale of endless cheer,

It’s both the laughter and the tear.

Through deserts vast, forests deep,

We’ll seek the home our hearts would keep.

To touch that distant, sunlit shore,

We face the storm, endure once more.

Insecurity, a silent shade,

Jealousy, a thief well-played.

When joy falters, silence reigns,

Drowning echoes, unvoiced pains.

Promises once carved in gold,

Now crack under the strain they hold.

Yet still I rise, to fight, to mend,

To brave what’s broken, to defend.

Are we ready for the storms to come,

When voices falter, hearts go numb?

Love’s no tale spun from ease,

It’s the tempest and the breeze.

Through barren sands, tangled trees,

We’ll chase our hope, though on our knees.

To reach that paradise unknown,

We face the storm, and face it alone.

Each scar a testament, each tear a verse,

In pain we grow, for better or worse.

When arms entwine, when blame recedes,

We find the strength our story needs.

Let’s sit, let’s speak, and dare to trust,

For love demands, not gold but dust.

If we desire to watch it bloom,

We must brave the storm, clear the gloom.

Are we ready for the storms we fear,

The bitter truths, the falling tear?

Love’s no fable, dressed in light,

It’s the daybreak and the night.

Through paths unknown, we’ll chart our course,

Through doubt, through hope, through pure remorse.

To find the peace, the dream reborn,

We stand together, weather-worn.

Take my hand, through torrents fierce,

Hearts as armor, words to pierce.

Nothing treasured comes with ease,

But it's worth the fight, through storm, through peace.

Are we ready, battle-bound,

For love that bends but stays profound?

Through every high and every low,

This love, our anchor, will only grow.

@raceyrhymes @samcrosfaith

@ladyeckland28 @solesofwonder

[literallyjusttoa]

SUUUNNYYYY

I was reblogging some posts of yours on my sideblog (@apollosgiftofprophecy) and!!!! found!!!!! your art of the Delphic Family!!!!!

YOU SAID YOU HAVE IDEAS AND THOUGHTS ABOUT THEM👀👀👀

ABOUT MY FAV KOIOS AND PHOEBE???? ASTERIA PERSES HECATE LELANTOS AND AURA???

I LUB THEM SO MUCH. PLEASE. PLEASE INDULGE ME. I AM BEGGING YOU. I WILL WRITE FANFICS - I HAVE WROTE FANFICS ABOUT THEM AND I HAVE MORE FANFICS ABOUT THEM

LITERALLY BEGGING YOU TO SPILL THE TEA

OK OK I DON’T KNOW IF I’M AS WELL VERSED IN THIS SIDE OF THE FAMILY AS YOU ARE BUT HERE ARE SOME OF MY LITTLE HC’S

All the cousins are besties, but Artemis is closer to Aura and Apollo is closer to Hecate. Artemis and Aura hunt together all the time, and Apollo researches magic practices a lot (God of knowledge and all that) so the two of them have fun experimenting with mystic stuff.

Asteria, Lelantos, and Leto were very close growing up, but the titanomachy put them all on different paths. They all still care for each other deeply, but scars from the past hold them back from being truly close. Recently, Asteria and Leto have been reconnecting, but Lelantos is still reluctant. 

Also because of the Titanomachy, the three siblings have various levels of strained relationships with their parents. Asteria sees her parents most favorably, and she and Leto are still regularly in contact with their mother. Leto holds a grudge against their father, and Lelantos doesn't speak with either of them. 

All of the third generation (Hecate, Aura, Apollo, Artemis) love their parents so fucking much (minus Zeus, of course) And not only that, they love each other’s parents too!! Hecate thinks Leto is the most kickass coolest aunt she could ever have! Artemis looks up to Perses like nobody's business! If Lelantos didn’t exist, Aura would ask Asteria to adopt her! And of course I have my little post-toa hc that Apollo and Lelantos become v close and wholesome and I love this family. 

Phoibe loves to brag on her kids and grandkids. Specifically, she loves to brag on the twins. See, Phoibe is not a fan of Olympus, or gods, in general. So to her, Apollo and Artemis are the only redeeming qualities of the immortal world today. So whenever something good comes out of Olympus, Phoibe is like “Well of course that was 100% because of my grandchildren. They get it all from their mother you know, nothing from that nasty child of Kronos. Oh how glorious, and you don’t see any of the godly children becoming the rulers of the sun and moon hmmm? Exactly.” 

Also according to her Apollo and Artemis are honorary titans. 

Koios hasn’t been able to interact with his grandchildren much, but he’s just as proud of them as Phoibe is, just in a … less wholesome way. Mans is certain he can convince his grandkids to retake Olympus for titan glory, which is never gonna happen. Whenever he brings it up the rest of the family just smile and nod awkwardly. 

Bonus: A little blurb about Leto I wrote about a month ago

During the titanomachy, Leto stayed on Hyperborea with her mother. She shored the defenses and kept the other titans alive. Leto had no exceptional healing or magical abilities, but she worked tirelessly and kept her heart open. She cared easily and earnestly. She fought to get her brother out of trouble with the gods after the fight ended, though she could not do the same for her parents. For years, it was just the two of them, until Leto met Zeus.

Zeus was everything Leto wanted to be. He was confident and assured, and so kind with her. They sang and danced and spoke about everything, and Leto did what she could to soothe his fears. When she get pregnant, Zeus was overjoyed. However, after the twins were born, he became colder and distant.

Leto was basically abandoned, her children taken to Olympus and her lover rebuffing any attempts at being close. She resolved to make a place for her family to return to, but they came less and less. Now Leto keeps her hearth steady, as she has for her whole life, wishing desperately that someone would stop drifting away, and come back to her. In her solitude and grief, she doesn't even realize that the earth itself will set down roots if she only asked, just as it had before.

[t0ast-ghost]

Here’s my thoughts on Star Trek V: The Final Frontier

There’s swear words, star trek, and spoilers oh my!

Start it up:

- “The planet of galactic peace.” Somehow. I don’t believe that.

- This guy on his horse looks like death

- “Let us explore it together.” Come take my hand. Let us take ibuprofen together.

- It’s hard to dislike Sybok when he smiles like that so they have to add in a somewhat evil laugh

- Epic music is a go (Music by Jerry Goldsmith)

- “‘You’ll be able to relax’ you call this relaxing? I’m a nervous wreck. If I’m not careful I’ll end up talking to myself.” Kirk convinced him to come here and now he has to watch his idiot husband climb a rock

- Kirk knows Spock and McCoy are there to catch him when he falls but goddamnit if they aren’t both really tired of his shit

- No but seriously what is with science fiction and thinking ‘yeah there’s a race of cat people’ looking at you too doctor who

- Caithlin Dar is awesome already.. I don’t trust Talbot (edit: haha too bad they’re characters don’t really do anything anyway)

- Scotty narrating is my favourite actually

- UHURA IS AWESOME

- are Uhura and Scotty dating?

- “Admit it. We’re lost!” “All right, we’re lost. But we’re making good time.” Didn’t know I needed Sulu and Chekov to go hiking together but I do

- “Yes uh- yes, we’ve been caught in a blizzard.” *Chekov starts blowing into the microphone* god I love them. He just went with it!

- Bones ringing the triangle out of spite and love

- The husbands sitting down and eating beans. Why would they make star trek about literally anything else

- Coming back strong with the extra wh sound (it was in the last movie when McCoy said whales)

- The trivia panel is telling me that one of the goofs is Kirk calling Tennessee whiskey bourbon and it looks like something Spock would write

- McCoy laughing and talking about Spock’s Vulcan metabolism and Spock indulging by saying he’s also half human and McCoy responding with “well it certainly doesn’t show” to which he knows Spock’ll take as a compliment. Yes I do need old married mcspirk.

- “You know, you two could drive a man to drink.” Then Kirk with all the innocence and nonchalance in the world says, “me? What did I do?” “What did you do? You really piss me off, Jim.”

- McCoy is lecturing Kirk cause he can’t take anymore of his almost dying bullshit

- “I knew I wouldn’t die because the two of you were with me.” “I do not understand.” “I’ve always known I’ll die alone.” I’m about to cry because this is true. He dies in a distant future without either of them. Thinking about it they all somewhat die alone. Maybe Spock was there for McCoy but we never see his death. And Spock dies in an alternate past :(((

- “It’s a mystery to me what draws us together…Other people have families.” “Other people, Bones, not us.” They are each other’s family.

- SPOCK ROASTING A MARSHMALLOW (not sure why they call it a ‘marsh melon’)

- This is the silliest thing they could have possibly put in a movie (this is like a comfort fic but a movie and I am so here for it)

- “God, I liked him better before he died.” McCoy is getting nasty and Kirk is now like ‘well time to sleep’

- “Life is not a dream.” “Go to sleep, Spock.”

- Why is the head Klingons outfit so cunty. Why’re the Klingons so silly?

- They caught Spock in his jammies

- “Well gentlemen, it seems shore leave has been cancelled.” They can’t go on ONE DATE

- Why’re they huddled together on the ship like that?

- “‘All I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by.’” “Melville.” “John Masefield.” “Are you sure about that?” “I am well versed in the classics, Doctor.” “Then how come you don’t know Row, Row, Row Your Boat?” Spock makes the most frowny and tired face imaginable. I think McCoy was justified in biting back there cause imagine you wake up, get in a shuttle, and then get corrected. All I’m saying is Spock was being a bit of a know it all (wouldn’t have him any other way)

- “*laughs* I don’t think I’ve ever seen him happier.” McCoy is so jolly in this one

- The yeoman with Kirk’s jacket is played by Shatner’s daughter

- HE ACTUALLY HAS A SHIRT THAT SAYS ‘go climb a rock.’ omg

- That fucking outfit oh my goodness

- “What’s the matter, Jim?” “I miss my old chair.” And then it switches to Spock who’s going :[

- Love how the Klingons all know who Kirk is. Like he’s THAT important

- Aww Kirk can’t write his diary :((

- Their silhouettes are so cute (34:06) (also they look like how aliens coming out of a spaceship look, I just think that’s neat)

- McCoy has to turn on the lights like, ‘stop sulking in the damn dark.’

- “Imagine that, a passionate Vulcan.” What McCoy? You want Spock to be more passionate?

- “This is Captain Pavel Chekov speaking.” He’s so silly for that. But also it’s probably best he doesn’t say ‘acting captain’ as that would arouse suspicion cause as everyone knows the captain is always the first to go on dangerous away missions

- What’s going on? Why is Uhura dancing ? What.

- What. Was. That. Scene. Why.

- “Spock.” “Yes, captain?” “Be one with the horse.” “Yes, captain.” Oookay

- “Hold your horse, captain.” Good one.

- Spock just. He just nerve pinched that horse.

- Spock does not know how to deal with seeing his estranged brother again (yeah I was spoiled) so, “you are under arrest for seventeen violations of the neutral zone treaty.” Is what he went with

- Sybok complimented and then winked at Kirk HE IS TAKEN

- “We’re going to forego the tractor beam and fly her in manually.” “Manually?” “How often have you done this?” “Actually it’s my first attempt.” Personally wouldn’t trust anyone else to attempt that other than Sulu. He is THAT bitch (/pos)

- EXPLOSION!!!!! CRASHHHH

- whooo space stuff! Sorry the photon torpedo just missing as the enterprise went into warp was cool

- Spock’s got a gun!

- McCoy comes out of the ship and is so confused and looks to Spock and Kirk

- Ohhh no. Sybok is gonna do his thingy magic thing to Sulu and Uhura with Scotty watching ‘em from above

- “What you have done is betray every man on this ship.” “Worse. I have betrayed you. I do not expect you to forgive me.” “Forgive you? I ought to knock you on your goddamn ass.” “If you think it would help.” “You want me to hold him, Jim?” “You stay out of this. Why, Spock? Why?” Lots to think about in this dialogue. But I think McCoy offering to hold Spock is him going ‘Jim you’re overreacting can’t you see he’s already remorseful?’ I could be misreading but if you understand it as the idea of McCoy holding him down is so redundant because Spock is strong enough to get out of his grasp easily but probably wouldn’t resist in this moment then it’s just like aughhhhhh

- Also Kirk asking Spock to shoot someone is bad enough. But the fact that it was his brother…

- Kirk is in disbelief. He didn’t know his own husband has a brother (half brother technically. Same Spock same.)

- “Stop it, Jim! Spock could no more kill his own brother than he could kill you. If you want to punish him for what he’s done, why don’t you throw him in the brig? Besides, we’ve got bigger problems to deal with.” Bones not only defending Spock, but also getting them back on track

- Apparently both Gene Roddenberry and William Shatner didn’t like that Sybok was Spock’s brother. Roddenberry didn’t think that Sarek would have a child with another woman (I kinda agree but also Pon Farr would’ve made him become engaged to a Vulcan before he met Amanda, so it’s not completely unthinkable). And Shatner didn’t like it cause it was too much like ‘a soap opera plot line’ but they went with it so that Spock’s actions made sense with the way he acted towards Sybok. I personally like that Spock has siblings he never told anyone about. It’s funny.

- lmao this time Kirk gets to stand on top of Spock to reach something (See patterns of force)

- Spock talking about himself in the third person because he doesn’t want to admit that he couldn’t get out of the brig

- “The bond between these three is strong, difficult to penetrate. This will be quite a challenge.” IT’S CAUSE THEY’RE MARRIED

- It’s funny that- canonically - Sybok can sense a really strong bond between them

- Kirk and McCoy’s ass I mean- oh look it’s Spock. With rocket boots!

- Spock holding onto Kirk and McCoy for their dear lives

- “I believe I overshot the mark by one level.” “Nobody’s perfect.” McCoy keeps saying this to Spock and I think it’s healing. Also flirting.

- They’re lit really nicely

- McCoy is NOT having this “Sounds like brainwashing to me.” You’re so right, back OFF Sybok

- (drawable moment 1:08:17)

- “Your pain is the deepest of all. I can feel it. Can’t you?” OH WAIT WE GET TO SEE MCCOYS PAIN WHAT

- I have no words for this scene. Holy Shit.

- Forced therapy

- Oh they all get to see each others pain cause they’re connected

- Spock gets to see his own birth… why. What.

- young Sarek 😧😳😳😳

- “So human.” YOU FUCKED THE HUMAN SAREK. God he’s such a bitch.

- SPOCK FOR THE WIN!! He’s not leaving

- MCCOYS STAYING WITH HIS HUSBANDS!!! YEAH LETS GOOO! (Personally I don’t think McCoy would go with Sybok at all, but I wasn’t sure what the writers were gonna do and I was scared they would make him leave)

- I know we’ve moved on from this but maybe Sarek saying that Spock was human was like saying ‘he’s got your eyes’ like comparing Spock to Amanda in appreciation. We’ll never know but it’s still a bitchass thing to say.

- Kirk has a plaque with ‘To boldly go where no man has gone before’ what a nerd

- They’re really hot in their uniforms

- hi god

- Kirk wants to ID god. Fair enough.

- There’s McCoy in the corner. Losing his religion

- “I doubt a God who inflicts pain for his own pleasure.” YEAH McCoy’s not standing for this shit

- Oh so Sybok wasn’t the enemy. Yeah that’s a good ending for his character. Saying bye to sock and asking for forgiveness

- “Beam up Spock and Dr. McCoy now.” “Now, just a damn minute-” Kirk said that so fast so that his husbands couldn’t argue with him

- “I am a foolish old man.” “Damn you, sir. You will try.” Spock ain’t fucking around. Also he picked up a couple of words from McCoy

- “I thought I was going to die.” “Not possible, you were never alone.” Throw me out an airlock I need some air

- SORRY the immediate moment after that was SO MUCH WORSE “Please, captain. Not in front of the Klingons.” THEY WERE ABOUT TO MAKE OUT SLOPPY

- “Cosmic thoughts, gentlemen?” “We were speculating. Is god really out there?” They were having a nice quiet conversation and it’s a shame they didn’t show it :(

- KIRK TALKING ABOUT SAM??? Oh no he was implying it was Spock

- this ending- I’m not okay.

Unfortunately I really enjoyed this one. William Shatner made a movie that was so shippy and was oblivious to it the entire time.

I know it took a really long time for me to post this one because I wanted to watch undiscovered country first, I haven’t watched it yet but I felt I needed to finally edit and post this one. I hope you enjoyed my silly little thoughts.

Star trekking across the universe. Get that stuck in your head.

Masterpost

[luminashdawnwing]

Matters of Prophecy

The sharp sound of Luminash’s teacup set upon the table’s wood broke the silence in the library, for the briefest of moments. The tea itself had been pleasant, a grassy, floral blend of Hallowfall herbs and plants cultivated from the distant Empire, and had kept the mind alert well for reading.

The magister had come back to the archive in Mereldar’s Church of the Sacred Flame daily since his arrival in Hallowfall, and was becoming something of a fixture in Mereldar for his daily walks and curious questioning of the locals on the nature of the Sacred Flame and of Beledar. A fixture, and a curiosity – the outsider scholar with all too many questions.

Beledar had shifted a matter of hours ago, and the ever-present braziers kept the Church lit, the building’s great Dawntower keeping the dark at bay in the city. Luminash, the lorekeeper Ryfus, and a number of other clerics and scholars took advantage of the time to read and talk. It was a rule of the Shadow Curfew, after all, to take what joy one could even in the darkness.

“Beledar is a symbol of our faith more than anything else, magister,” said one such cleric, a young Arathi woman with sharp, more elven features, “Not a font of power, either holy or arcane.”

With Beledar a sickly violet in the sky outside, she let an addition hang unspoken. Or shadow.

“I have heard it said by those more versed in wielding the Sacred Flame than I that the Flame is present in all things. I myself have wondered if that is why the Emperor’s visions may touch upon lands even beyond the Empire’s shores,” added Ryfus.

When the young woman raised a brow at him, he chuckled, “I may not be a cleric myself, but I have spent many an hour debating the Emperor’s visions and prophecies back home, Aneya. Our new friend here has come to us, driven by a vision of his own, to learn of the Sacred Flame, yes?”

The question at the end was not lost on Luminash. Since his arrival, his new colleagues among the Arathi – and he himself – had been searching for why precisely he was here. The Arathi believed it was for the Flame. Luminash was not yet so certain.

“Perhaps, perhaps not, Ryfus,” the magister replied, “I am growing more comfortable with the idea that Beledar, or some manifestation of the Flame, called me, but it does not explain the others all called to Khaz Algar, and why they are not here with me.”

“Their war with the nerubians may be in service to the Flame, to protect Beledar’s sacred land, may it not?” Aneya posited. She then added in lower, hushed tones, as if fearful that uttering it could call down a deeper darkness, “Some are saying that it heralds Renilash.”

Ryfus frowned, shaking his head, “The signs are there, if you choose to look, but why go looking for the end of the world? The prophecy is long, its meaning uncertain. This latest phase of war with the nerubians–”

“The Harbinger, though, Ryfus!” Aneya retorted, “And the Aegis Wall. You know the verses as well as I. The Flame called the outsiders, and they will join us in Renilash, I am sure of it!” Her voice remained quiet, and the young woman shivered, glancing over her shoulder at the darkness outdoors.

Luminash remained silent, observing the exchange. His eyes fell onto a book on the table, the Song of Renilash he had seen days before, but not yet read.

“This Renilash is a great battle of Shadow and Light, is it not?” the magister ventured, “In the Song – we call the vision the Radiant Song – I felt compelled to seek and protect a great light. What complicates matters in my mind – keeps me from agreeing with you wholly – is that, however it shines, I am certain it is arcane in nature.”

Aneya nodded, “You see, Ryfus? Whatever light it is, may it drive the dark away.” The young woman turned away, then, to peer into the dark, her mind clearly wandering elsewhere, “The call has brought them here to aid us.”

Ryfus tapped the cover of the book Luminash had been eyeing, “Read the prophecy yourself, at your leisure, my friend. I would relish the chance to debate verses again. I would be curious, too, what an outside perspective might bring. Perhaps it could clear up some of the stranger lines?

“As for the arcane,” he continued, “If the Flame truly is in all things, could it be connected after all? Would that we had scholars you could consult!”

“Our expedition had many mages once,” Aneya said, her voice low and distant as she gazed out into the dark, the deep purple-black haze swallowing any sight of the cave ceiling beyond, “They were lost at the start. My br– They could have kept us from becoming so isolated here.”

Ryfus sighed, a look of sadness flitting across his face, “Aneya,” he began, warmth and reassurance in his voice, “The Light always returns, and we always return to it.” His words were rote, rehearsed, and sounded to Luminash’s ear as a piece of scripture.

The Arathi woman let out a deep breath and nodded, tearing her eyes from the darkness outside and turning back to her companions, “I know, Ryfus. I know. It does help, but…it doesn’t.”

The loremaster smiled sadly, “I know. But we are still here, and carry the Light in our hearts, the Flame in our deeds.”

“Luminash,” Aneya said, a distant look still in her eyes, but some measure of warmth returning to her features, “There is one other. He was an apprentice when Beledar’s Light brought us to Hallowfall.”

“Ah, our brilliant young Wenren, yes!” Ryfus added, “I’ve heard he has been researching a way to reconnect us with the Empire, you know. I am terrible at the mathematics of it all, but he makes a convincing enough case.”

“He lives in a village just outside of Mereldar, Beledar’s Bounty,” Aneya said, “Perhaps you should pay him a visit, magister. Among all of us here, he would be the best to ask about what arcane power might be found in Hallowfall.”

She seemed more at ease as the conversation turned towards magic. She was no mage, that was clear, but an enthusiast all the same, an historian of sorts. My br– A family interest, even, Luminash reflected.

“We have had a close relationship with magic since the days of Old Arathor, when the One Hundred taught the first human mages. Over time, and with the guidance of the Emperors’ visions, our understanding has only grown.”

“How so?” Luminash asked, “Prophecy is ordinarily the domain of the Light, or the Void. I have seen no reliable evidence of prophecy through the arcane.” He paused, “Other than perhaps the Radiant Song, or of scrying distant events being treated prophetically.”

“Ah, there’s the fly in the ointment, isn’t it?” Ryfus interjected, “The assumption that these things aren’t connected.” He nodded to Aneya, who already seemed to start bubbling with excitement.

The young woman focused on Luminash and asked, bluntly, “How is your geometry?”

The magister canted his head to the side, “Acceptable enough. Understanding the arcane requires a deal of modeling, after all.”

“Good. Then imagine this,” she continued, grabbing a blank roll of paper from the table and a charcoal pen, etching a square into its surface, “You of course understand that by extruding this two dimensional square, you would have a three dimensional cube, yes?”

Luminash nodded in response.

“What happens if you extrude that beyond a third dimension? That is the problem in understanding magic. Not just the arcane, or the Light, but all of it. There are not just six powers, or domains, but all the points where they connect in dimensions of space we cannot physically comprehend!”

Ryfus sighed, the older man slumping and muttering something about “the mathematics of it all” under his breath.

“So,” Aneya continued, “the Emperor’s Sacred Flame is not just the Light, nor just the arcane, but something else, distinct and beautiful in its own right. That is why I am so certain that your Radiant Song is from the Flame.” The Arathi woman trailed off, collecting her thoughts as the enthusiasm of lecture faded, her calm returning, “Everything is more connected than one might think, Luminash.”

Luminash pursed his lips in thought, “I believe your Arathi theorists are onto something. I have my own work on a similar topic, and it has yet to see much traction outside of, let us say…eccentrics.” He nodded, then, “Yes, I will seek out this Wenren. It should prove enlightening.” The conversation continued between the three, ranging from magic – only this Wenren had both the knowledge and practical skill to truly be called a mage, unfortunately – to the culture of the Arathi. As Beledar’s Shadow dragged on, they spoke, the Church filled with scholars finding joy in their work, even in the darkness.

[theamericanpin-up]

Alberto Vargas - "Beached For The Duration!" - May 1944 Esquire Magazine Varga Girl Gatefold Illustration - Varga Girl Gatefold # 40 of 63 - Verse by Phil Stack

This costume that we view Is really a prevue Of what will be worn at the shore; It's too utter-utter But all the gals mutter There's no one worth wearing it for; Each kiss keeps her eyes on The distant horizon For life can be tepid and tame When there's no Apollo To thrill them all hollow But only the halt and lame! 

[gatheredfates]

60. In Sync/Wordless Conversations

101 quick fluffy/soft/comfort prompts for brief fic snippets. I'm so sorry I intended for this to be fluffy but it IS my Thirteenth verse soooooooooo.

No matter what ruin comes of us. When I'm gone, promise me. Promise me when you sleep, when you dream of me, it'll be in colours of white.

There was a wreath of pearls in her hair. He noticed them like he noticed her, inoffensive and unobtrusive, daring to not make a spectacle as she lingered at the edges of the court, away from eyes like carrion birds overseeing a bloody affair. He watched the way she watched intently, encouraging smiles and polite handwaves as she ushered the other ladies to their entourages. She knew, as he knew, as they all knew, their place in the world.

A castle on the cliffs. A blasé ballroom. Piano keys struck as effortlessly as claws in skin, a tempo-count to the screams of the proletariat murdered beneath their barricades — a mercy granted to my chosen, their lord declared.

Here was the only place he saw white. The rest was a mash of purple-black stretching across the sky like a bruise, a pox of void that blotted the last few places of light. Infectious, it chased him from distant courts over shores and shelters; gorging, devouring, decimating until there was nothing left, and it hungered still.

The lord kept him because he was useful. He kept her because she was pretty.

He wondered if the pearls were plucked from maggots feasting on sticky oysters, an irony of value as desperate fisherman gnashed on the slime. Worthless as the gil that slipped between their bony fingers while snatched at chunks of bread. The lord knew how low they'd stoop — how little he'd have to offer before the pin-pricks of void in their pupils cannibalised them from the inside. A little waste for everything he wanted.

He laced them tenderly upon a crown of white-blonde hair. An offering. A dozen little souls chained in silk, so arrogant as to be loosely tied, priceless and worthless in the same breath.

'I can be frivolous,' it seemed to say. 'I can be apocalyptic.'

The boy didn't know his hunger then, mistaking it for foolishness. It was when his hand closed around her wrist and tugged her back from the crowd, when she jumped and tried to speak his name, when he silenced her with a finger to his lips. He knew he wanted her. He wanted her hands, her hair and her skin beneath his fingers. He wanted to know her, to love her. Devour her, pearlescent and magnificent in the white.

In the light.

He pulled her gently towards the door. Aryele turned her head, pale blue surveying the ballroom for just a moment, before her hand squeezed his. She looked to him, the expectation of her station abandoned for just a little while — the horrors of their pantomime discarded — and she grinned.

Lady turned memoriate. Pianist to murderer.

He grinned back, amber eyes crinkling in the corners.

No one noticed, no one cared, to watch them run. Only the lord residing over a dollhouse of doom, far too preoccupied with the dance — dead before he died. The first voidsent before the fall.

[houseofthetides]

A Distant Shore | Rhaenys/Corlys

[ Prologue | Chapter: 1, 2, 3 ] —  iii. Out of Place, Out of Time Left on his own, Corlys goes searching for answers and solace.

We were going to post this chapter on Eve's birthday, however, it was slightly delayed as @evebestt had to be evacuated for a wildfire... But we hope you enjoy this third chapter before the madness of this season ends!

[houseofthetides]

Hey, so we're back! @evebestt and I couldn't be more delighted by everyone's enthusiasm for this fic. Thank you! x

A Distant Shore

Chapter 4: Like Real People Do

Prologue | Chapter 1 | 2 | 3

Settling into the modern world, Corlys gets a few lessons on modern technologies.

~

Chapter 4 is up! A slight delay thanks to my terrible karma the past couple months, but fingers crossed that's done now. A huge thank you to everyone's continued investment in this fic - @houseofthetides and I hope you enjoy!

[anghraine]

I’ve been following you for years now and my dumb ass just put together Míriel and Faramir. Between that and the wave dream it’s making me a bit emo I won’t lie lol

Aww, that's totally fair! And I appreciate the long-time follow :)

Miriel/Faramir anon, I just had another thought that just clicked thinking abt your aging post and Miriel remaining youthful/ageless while Pharazon ages and decays also foils with youthful Faramir contrasted against prematurely aging Denethor. One ends with drowning while the other (almost) ends with immolation. Ok bye lol

YES the water/fire youth/age visual imagery is so interesting, I think!

I've often vaguely associated Tar-Míriel and Faramir through the combination of the jewel imagery and the Akallabêth, yes. I don't think I've ever written about Faramir's dream/vision/ancestral memory of it without assuming that Míriel figures in some way, even though Tolkien never said so. Partly that's because the final image of her drowning on the Meneltarma is so much the image of the Akallabêth for me, but also the echo of the jewel theme.

One of my first fics ever (for any fandom) was about Faramir dreaming of Míriel drowning, and then waking up beside a pregnant Éowyn and adjusting. And it is not only for the coincidence of name elements that Faramir becomes Míriel in my f/f Aragorn/Faramir verse. I think that in canon, Faramir already has some intriguing associations with water:

fára in Quenya means 'shore' (though in fairness, he may have been named for his distant cousin, Prince Faramir of the House of Anárion, rather than meaning)

Faramir's first remembered grief is a dim memory of his dying mother, who "withered in the guarded city, as a flower of the seaward vales set upon a barren rock ... she turned her eyes ever south to the sea that she missed." He was five when she died, but pretty blatantly resembles her as well as Denethor in character.

Faramir often dreams of Númenor being drowned for completely unknown reasons (I mean, it actually happened, and it's Tolkien's dream, but we don't know why he gets the dreams about it in-story—though he's also particularly receptive to the prophecy-dream-riddle). Everyone knows his description of the Akallabêth dream, but the description is still pretty harrowing: "the great dark wave climbing over the green lands and above the hills, and coming on, darkness unescapable."

Faramir is standing by the water when he has the vision/not vision of Boromir's body floating down to the sea.

So it's even more interesting that Faramir's "case" of the Black Breath is different from everyone else's—the others grow cold/icy while he burns. Of course, that's potentially linked to his near immolation by Denethor, but the contrast with Míriel's death and the (metaphorical)(ish) shadow of the sea over him is really intriguing. When I was trying to figure out how f!Faramir-Míriel would get the Boromir vision, I was like "well she wouldn't literally be keeping watch by the river, but maybe it could reach her through some other water association, like ... oh! like the Akallabêth dream! and then I could have her relationship with Tar-Míriel's legacy and everything in it too..."

[pursuitseternal]

“Forbidden Fruit,” a Hades x Persephone Haladriel fic tastes all the sweeter… when such things are forbidden

Second Age One Shot… when the King of Darkness takes the Lady of Light to be the Queen of his Shadowlands.

Read on AO3

Saurondriel | Explicit | 4K One shot

CW: lurking, voyerism, Greek mythology tones, and *ahem* Pomegranate s*x

A gift to @cliffdivingsblog with thanks to @marimosalad and @myfavouritelunatic for their reading and insights 🍇

Oft, when she would fall under the pull of sleep, he sent his shadows to soften her eyes and murmur words of love in her pointed ear. Words saturated with desire, verses that praised her beauty more than the Lamps that once lit distant shores. He sent his yearning for her on their whispering, tickling breath, seeping into her dreams until she smiled as she awoke.

But words and whispers, pining and watching would no longer satisfy him.

Lord Sauron would take her for his own. To make her a queen, stronger than the foundations of earth in which he dwelt.

That day, in place of his ravens, he came to hide in the shades of the grove himself, his cloak black as night to cover his pale flesh. Lest her eyes should see him. Her voice drifted on the breeze, humming melody after melody as she sat herself in her usual spot by the river, nestled between the roots of her favorite willow. Then he emerged.

Read on AO3

[francesminos-tt]

I would like to request Joffron from your Ñuhon inspired verse, the moment Daeron finally understands he’s in love with Joffrey… which is another moment in which Joffrey has a breakdown because his husband will never love him as much as he does his brother… (with a happy ending?)

This one is for dear Mash! Hope you like it!

“I need to go to Driftmark.” Daeron said to Joffrey after putting the letter down, “The Triarchy invites the throne to visit them and negotiate a new peace treaty. Lucerys volunteered to go on this mission.”

“…Okay.” Joffrey nodded after a short pause, patting Rhaenys’s back gently to prevent her from choking by the milk. Daeron needed not say more. Joffrey knew that his husband had to be part of the entourage in order to carry out his duty as Lucerys’s sworn shield. Even though Lucerys had personally relieved Daeron of duty after he had been betrothed to Joffrey, Daeron refused to accept it. Daeron was a stubborn man. He honored his oath more than anything.

“It won’t be long. I promise.” Daeron added, joining Joffrey on the couch and planting a gentle kiss on Joffrey’s hand, “We will fly on dragon back to Lys. If everything goes well, it will take a week, ten days at most.”

“You don’t need to tell me the details of the mission.” Joffrey replied, “You can come and go as you please. There is nothing keeping you here.”

“My daughter is here.” Daeron looked down at Rhaenys, who was sucking her mother’s nipple eagerly, “Be a good girl for your mother while I am gone, okay?”

Joffrey tried his best to keep his expression neutral, though his heart was arching with disappointment. He knew this day would come, didn’t he? He knew that Daeron’s loyalty to Lucerys would take the alpha away eventually. No matter how gentle and caring Daeron had been to him these past months, the alpha’s heart lied in somewhere else.

What were you expecting? Daeron might stay for Rhaenys, but not you. Never you.

“When will you leave?” Joffrey asked, “I will let the dragon tamers have Tesserion ready.”

“Tomorrow at dawn.” Daeron wrapped one arm around Joffrey’s shoulder, enveloping the omega with his scent, “I will prepare Tess myself. You don’t need to worry about anything. Just look after our daughter.”

Joffrey went stiff, fearing that Daeron might sense his erratic heartbeat. If Daeron noticed, he didn’t say anything.

“I will write whenever I can. Hel gifted me a raven bred by the Citadel. I will leave it with the maester. It can find me faster than any other raven. Send me a message if you need me, okay?” Daeron instructed as if Joffrey was a little boy, unable to live on his own.

“It’s you who don’t need to worry, husband.” Joffrey said, wiping off a drop of milk from Rhaenys’s lips, “I will be perfectly fine. I have lived in the castle alone longer than you thought.”

Daeron grabbed Joffrey’s wrist and brought the omega’s hand to mouth, licking off the drop of milk from Joffrey’s finger.

“I know you are capable of looking after yourself,” Daeron whispered against the back of Joffrey’s hand, “but I am your husband. I am allowed to worry about you.”

Joffrey had nothing to say to that. He just smiled, bitterly.

Liar.

Everything went back to normal after Daeron had left. Joffrey would wake up alone, wash his face before having moderate breakfast, read, dealing with estate matters if there was any, and spend the long, boring afternoons either playing with Rhaenys or taking Tyraxes out for a flight. He made sure Rhaenys get familiar with her little whelp, and personally fed the whelp with charred meat specially prepared for it. Life without Daeron was fine. He could get used to it. He had gotten used to it a long time ago.

Everything was perfectly fine until that night. Joffrey was jolted awake by a distant roar in the middle of the night. It took him a few seconds to realize that he was no longer in the dreamland. The castle was dead quiet, all its occupants in a deep slumber, even the tides brushing against the shore seemed gentle, almost sleepy, but Joffrey knew something was wrong. The roar came from the Dragon Mount, the volcano looming at the horizon like an ominous cloud. Joffrey had spent enough time with dragons from his youth to know that the roar could not mean anything good.

There was no time to think. Joffrey rolled off the bed and rushed to Rhaenys’s cradle, relieved to find his baby still sleeping peacefully, a small whelp curled at her side.

“My prince? Is anything wrong?” There was a soft knock on the door, followed by the rough voice of the guard stationed outside.

“Gather all the guards and troops.” Joffrey picked Rhaenys and the whelp up before throwing on a fur gown, “Tell them to clear the barracks and come to the castle. Quickly!”

“My prince?” The guard sounded confused, “May I ask why? Is there an attack?”

Joffrey pulled the door open with a panicked face.

“I don't know, Ser.” Joffrey said in a hushed voice, as if fearing someone might hear him, “But I know there is something coming. The dragons are being restless.”

The guard’s confused expression turned into one of determination and resolve.

“Right away, my prince. Is there anything else you need?”

“No, just go,” Joffrey paused, “quickly, please.”

The guard bowed and rushed down the corridor. Joffrey shut the door immediately after the guard turned to leave. It was a miracle that a seasoned knight would listen to him, an omega prince with no battle experience, who only lived in the castle by the courtesy of the Queen. However, there was no time to dwell on this. Joffrey ran the bell to summon his most-trusted maid, and send her to gather the defenseless maids and servants to the main tower. By the time the first Triarchy warship appeared on the shore, Dragonstone had already transformed into a strong fortress.

“How many ships are there?” Joffrey asked, standing at the head of the carved table in the war room. He still cradled his daughter to his chest, and by some miracle, the baby neither cried nor screamed. She just clang tightly to her mother, grabbing a handful of Joffrey’s gown, and stayed quiet.

“At least a dozen, as far as we can see.” The chief commander of the guards replied, “There may be more to come.”

“The Triarchy warships come in formation of six, so we are dealing with at least two battle groups.” Joffrey said, looking down at the carved table, though it offered little help to him now, “Can you tell me how those ships are sailing? One after another or in a horizontal line?”

“One leading ship in the front, and the rest follows in a triangle formation.” The commander replied, surprised at how knowledgeable the prince was. Few soldiers in his troops knew about the Triarchy warship formations. How could a well-protected prince know this?

“They are going to battle.” Joffrey murmured, his voice echoing in the large hall.

“Outrageous. They are challenging the Iron Throne!” Another knight spat, “How dare they attack the ancient seat of House Targaryen? We have dragons in the Mount.”

“Dragons without riders.” Joffrey reminded him, “The only dragon that can potentially help is my Tyraxes. That’s why I had it brought to the courtyard, but I won’t just fly my dragon into battle without knowing what I will be facing. Do you need me to remind you how vulnerable a single dragon could be, facing all these warships? One lucky arrow, and my dragon will be dead. So will I.”

The knight went silent. The omega prince had a point. One dragon against a dozen warships was not a good bet.

“The Triarchy has learned their lesson in the previous war with the throne.” Joffrey added, his face pale but his tone calm, “Their warships never sail too close to each other, so they are not likely to catch fire all at once. The good thing is, they have no idea we are already prepared. We can use this to our advantage.”

The air shifted in the room, but soon calmed down. All the knights and squires seemed to have finally realized how dire the situation was. They were at the front line now, the first line of defense.

“I need barricades set up around the harbor, and troops guarding the main road. I have already ordered all crops and salt be brought to the main tower. Our goal is not to defeat them, but to hold the castle for as long as possible, until reinforcements arrive.” Joffrey said as clearly as possible, letting the words truly sink in, his heart pounding against his ribcage, hard enough to hurt, but he continued, “Prepare for a siege, good Sers.”

“We will defend the castle to our last breath, my prince. You have my word.” The commander knelt down in front of Joffrey and kissed the ruby ring on the omega’s finger.

“And you have my blessing, Ser.” Joffrey said with all the dignity he could muster.

Daeron had not crossed Joffrey’s mind until this moment. Joffrey had learned to depend no one except himself from a young age, for he was always the other brother, worth little to none attention. Before he had presented as an omega, he was practically useless. He had no inheritance of his own, so his best shot was to join the White Cloaks or marry a minor heiress. His dragon was the only thing that differentiated him from a common squire. He was at least more useful as an omega, for he became eligible in political marriage.

Joffrey had sent the ravens to King’s Landing and Driftmark to inform his mother and brother, but he suspected the reinforcements would not come easily. Lucerys had gone to Lys, one of the Triarchy cities, leaving Driftmark vacant, and there were hardly enough fleet in the capital. Without the Velaryon fleet and the dragons, Dragonstone was vulnerable. Perhaps that was why the Triarchy decided to attack the ancient seat of House Targaryen. The trip to Lys was just a way to eliminate the threat of the Velaryon fleet.

Smart. Joffrey himself couldn't think of a smarter way to bypass the formidable Velaryon fleet. If the Triarchy wanted to attack in stealth, the last thing they wanted was to cause suspicion from Lucerys. Sending a raven to Lys would be premature. What if the Lyseni intercepted the raven and decided to hold Lucerys’s entourage prisoner? Joffrey could not let that happen. Besides, calling Daeron for help was never an option. What difference would it make? Daeron would never come. The alpha would always choose Lucerys over Joffrey. He would never leave Lucerys behind to come to Joffrey’s rescue.

“It’s just us now, Rhae.” Joffrey whispered to his incredibly well-behaved daughter. He didn't know what he would do if Rhaenys started crying. Rhaenys’s calmness was the only thing that kept him sane. The little child was all it took for Joffrey to keep fighting.

He could not break down. He needed to be strong for Rhaenys.

The trip to Lys extended longer than Daeron had expected. They were supposed to stay for only a couple of days, but the First Magister insisted that they stayed longer to explore the city and have a taste of the sweet Lyseni wine and sweeter Lyseni omegas. The negotiation went smoothly; the magisters agreed to every term that Lucerys brought up, even agreeing to cut off the ties with Dorne.

They mounted their dragons to fly back to Driftmark on Day 10. For some reason, Daeron was agitated. He couldn’t wait to get back. He couldn’t wait to see his daughter again. Was Rhaenys being a good girl? Would she grow? Had she learned to say papa?

Daeron knew he was being irrational. Rhaenys had not yet been weaned. It would take some time for her to learn speech, and it would definitely not happen in the 10 days that Daeron was absent. However, the alpha couldn't help but feel giddy, like a homesick boy coming back to his family. Strange. He had never felt like this before.

“You seem very eager to go back.” Lucerys said to him as the omega was ready to mount Vaghar with his husband. His own dragon was still too small to make the flight across channel with a rider on its back, so he let the peach-colored dragon fly along while he joined his husband on Vaghar.

“I miss Rhaenys very much.” Daeron replied, “Now I understand why my brother was so grumpy when he was separated with the twins.”

“Only Rhaenys?” Lucerys asked, but before Daeron could answer, the Lord of Tides smiled and dismissed the question, “Never mind. Let’s take flight, shall we?”

The flight from Lys to Driftmark took about a day. A gigantic dragon like Vaghar didn’t need to rest during the flight, but for Tesserion, the trip was testing the she-dragon’s limit. However, Daeron was so eager to go back that he urged the Blue Queen to keep flying.

“Just hold on for a little longer, okay? I promise you will have the best sheep when we land. Good girl.” Daeron said to his dragon in the roaring wind.

Things started to look strange when they flew across the Gullet. There were ships on the sea, which by itself was nothing unusual, but the ships were not part of the Velaryon fleet. Their number was so large that they almost blocked the Gullet.

“It’s the Triarchy!” Daeron could hear Aemond shout as the one-eyed prince urged Vaghar to fly above the thick clouds, “They betrayed us! Dishonorable cunts!”

For a prince, Aemond did have a colorful mouth, but Daeron couldn't blame him, not now. Daeron was also a war veteran, so it didn't take him long to understand the dire situation at hand. If the Triarchy had planned the attack from the beginning, it meant their whole trip was a setup. No wonder the First Magister tried so hard to keep them in Lys. The question was, they had successfully left Lys. If they were not the target, who was?

“Fly back to Driftmark!” Aemond’s voice came again, “Let’s hope Addam Hull is as good as he claims to be.”

Right. Driftmark. Surely the Triarchy would attack the formidable Velaryon fleet, wouldn't they? Eliminate the most powerful enemy first, right? It was in every strategy book.

Daeron’s heart skipped a beat for no apparent reason. Aemond’s logic was right, but there was something bugging him. The line of Triarchy ships was not from Driftmark. Instead, it stretched from another direction, a little to the south west, where Dragonstone was.

Dragonstone. Dragonstone. Dragonstone!

“Fuck!” Daeron cursed, steering Tesserion in the direction of Dragonstone. He had no time to explain his worries to his brother and Lucerys. If his guess was correct, the Triarchy chose to attack Dragonstone instead of Driftmark, for Dragonstone had less fleet and troops guarding it. No one would have expected that the Triarchy would dare to attack the Targaryen House seat, and that was exactly their strategy.

How long had they been attacking Dragonstone? Had Dragonstone already fallen? How was Rhaenys? Had his daughter managed to escape?

How about Joffrey?

Joffrey landed Tyraxes in the inner courtyard of the castle. He slipped down his dragon, but his legs were so sore that he almost fell to the ground.

“Reports?” Joffrey asked, having to lean on a squire for support.

“All the outer entrances have fallen, my prince.” A disheveled knight answered him, “The remaining soldiers have retreated to the inner ring. We plan to hold the enemies at Dragon’s Gate.”

“How many days can the crops last?”

“Five days. Eight, at most.”

Five days. If the reinforcements didn’t come in the next five days, they would starve. Joffrey bit his lower lip, trying to think of a solution, but failed. He had already sent all the ravens out, but still no response. He suspected that the enemy had intercepted all his messages, so it was most likely that his mother hadn’t received his distress call. On the sixth day of the siege, they had lost so many soldiers that Joffrey had no choice but to let Tyraxes join the battle. He didn’t dare to fly out to the open water, so he only rode Tyraxes around the castle to fight off those who were lucky enough to break the line of defense. Tyraxes was their last hope. Joffrey could not risk losing his best partner.

“Make sure they don’t find our crops.” Joffrey instructed as he refused the goblet that was handed to him, “Save the wine for the wounded. I don’t need it.”

“You need to drink in order to feed the little princess, my prince.” The squire insisted, his boyish face pale and sunken, but his eyes were bright.

Joffrey sighed. The boy had a point. He could endure the hunger and thirst himself, but he couldn’t let his daughter go through the same ordeal. Joffrey took the goblet and gulped its contents down in one go. The wine was diluted, bland like water, but it was the best they had left.

Joffrey needed to reverse the tide. The soldiers and the servants all fought bravely, but there was only so much they could do. They depended on their dragon lord to save them, and like it or not, Joffrey was the only dragon lord they had right now. Joffrey couldn’t let them down. He needed to stand up. Be a true Targaryen.

If the ravens all failed, the only way to send the distress call out was by a messenger. However, the Triarchy sod had swarmed the pathway leading to the harbor that not even a fly could pass. Even if the messenger could break through the Triarchy soldiers, there was no way they could get pass dozens of warships in the sea. What could Joffrey do?

There was another option. Joffrey could fly Tyraxes to King’s Landing and deliver the message himself. He had been reluctant to put Tyraxes in the attack range of the warships, for fear that his dragon would meet the same tragic end as his brother’s. But now, he really had no choice, didn’t he?

“No, absolutely not.” The loyal maid who had been looking after Joffrey since he had presented threw herself in front of Joffrey, trying to block the omega’s way, “You cannot risk yourself like that. What about the little princess? What will happen to her if anything happened to you?!”

“If I don't take action now, my daughter will starve.” Joffrey replied with a tired face, “I cannot rely on others to come to our rescue. I’ve waited long enough.”

“The Queen will send troops, and your husband-”

“My husband is not here!” Joffrey couldn’t help but raise his voice, letting the frustration take over him, “He left me to fulfill his duty to my brother. I won't bet my daughter’s life on him.”

The prince rarely raised his voice like this. Joffrey was a considerate master, never asked for anything beyond reason, so the old maid had almost forgotten how stubborn the prince could be. Joffrey looked worse for wear, full cheeks now sunken like rotten apples, skin pale as sheet, numerous small cuts on his face and neck, and a nasty bruise on his left temple. He was pushed nearly to the limit. It was a miracle he hadn't collapsed yet.

“How about the Queen? Her grace will never give up on you, my prince.”

“Yes. Mother will risk everything to save me, just as I will risk everything to save Rhaenys.” Joffrey replied, his hard expression softening a little, “That’s why I need to deliver the message to her. We are under siege. Ravens are useless in this situation. Do you understand?”

She did. Of course she did. She had gone through too many conflicts to understand the cruelty of war. She just couldn’t bear the thought of Prince Joffrey putting himself in danger. An omega should never have to make that decision. Where was Prince Daeron when his family needed him the most? The old maid had never hated Joffrey’s husband as much as she did now.

“Yes, my prince.” She finally whispered, her arms falling to the side in defeat.

“Then help me change. I need to feed Rhaenys before I depart. Hopefully my milk will last her long enough for me to return.” Joffrey let out a tired sigh, stumbling a bit as if he had suddenly lost all the energy.

“I will protect the little princess with my life.” She promised, “I will gut myself and hide her in my corpse if I have to. Don't worry about us. You just focus on what needs to be done.”

“Thank you.” Joffrey whispered.

Joffrey decided to take flight on midnight. Fortunately, the moon had just turned, so the night sky was moonless. The thick cloud and Tyraxes’s black scales further played to his advantage. If he was lucky, he could fly above the clouds before being spotted by the Triarchy scout. Tyraxes was fast; it could probably make it to King’s Landing before the dawn broke.

The cold air made Joffrey shiver as soon as he stepped into the courtyard. The dragon tamers had already prepared Tyraxes for the journey, putting a new saddle on and feeding the last sheep to it.

“I know you are tired and hungry,” Joffrey said to his dragon as he gave Tyraxes’s snout a gentle pat, “but I need to make this trip so that we can all be saved. Hold on for a little longer, okay?”

Tyraxes huffed, letting out a trace of smoke from its nostrils, startling everyone except Joffrey.

“I know you are tough.” Joffrey chuckled, leaning in to place his forehead on the dragon’s cold scale, “I wish I can be as tough as you.”

Joffrey climbed onto the saddle swiftly, trying to focus on the task at hand. He had left Rhaenys with her wet nurse and a group of loyal guards and maids in the castle, for he couldn’t bear seeing her face when he took flight. He needed to be strong. Help would not come unless he seek for it.

The battle at the front had calmed down after nightfall, just like all the previous days of the siege. It seemed that the Triarchy didn't want to attack at night, probably being cautious of a possible dragon attack. Apparently, it was much easier to hit a dragon in daylight than at pitch black night. It was the Triarchy’s caution that had kept Joffrey alive so far, but as the enemy soldiers pushed in, they would eventually find out how weak the Dragonstone defense was. That would be Joffrey’s downfall. He had to act before the time came.

Tyraxes ascended the sky with a smooth flap of its wings, flying higher and higher until it was surrounded by clouds. For anyone else, surrounded by clouds meant losing orientation, but not for Joffrey. He had grown up in this island, so familiar with its terrain that he could fly Tyraxes blindly around Dragonstone. Years of training, flying, and running around all paid off now. Joffrey successfully made it to the sea without being spotted. He just needed to stay hidden for a little longer, until he flew across the line of enemy ships.

However, things began to go down when a bright flame pierced across the sky.

“Dragon Attack!”

At first, Joffrey thought he had been spotted, but soon another flame came, then another, and the omega finally understood that there was another dragon attacking the Triarchy warships.

Had reinforcements finally come? Joffrey’s heart elevated with relief and excitement as he steered Tyraxes down to join the fight.

Beneath the clouds, it was havoc. There was more than one dragon coming to his aid. Dragon flames set the warships in formation on fire, burning so bright that as if the sea itself was burning. In the red flames, Joffrey recognized Seasmoke, the pale-colored dragon claimed by Ser Addam Hull. There was an enormous figure looming at the horizon, so large that it blocked the sky. Vaghar.

If Vaghar was here, it meant Driftmark, or at least Lucerys, had learned about the attack. Joffrey had never expected he would be so relieved to see Uncle Aemond’s dragon, but having Vaghar at his side really boosted his confidence. Joffrey joined the battle with all he could, raining flames on the ships while using Tyraxes’s swiftness to dodge the arrows aiming at him. Two more dragons caught his eye when Joffrey had just successfully destroyed one of the flagships.

Tesserion glided in the air with grace, with another smaller, but no less elegant peach-colored dragon flying next to her. Joffrey’s heart skipped a beat, but soon sunk into his stomach with dread. His husband finally came, but not alone. Daeron came not as Joffrey’s savior, but his brother’s protector.

Knowing the truth was one thing, but being exposed to it so bluntly was like a blow to Joffrey. His starved stomach clenched with incredible pain as disappointment washed over him like cold water. Joffrey had to bit the tip of his tongue to prevent himself from vomiting. No. Now was not the time.

Tesserion didn't join the battle. Instead, it flew right in Joffrey’s direction. Joffrey had no idea what his husband was planning, and he had no intention to find out. With all the dragons here, defeating the Triarchy was just a matter of time. Joffrey could feel his adrenaline began to wear off, followed by an overwhelming wave of fatigue. Tyraxes flipped to the side to dodge another arrow, almost sending Joffrey straight into the burning sea. It took all his strength to keep holding onto the saddle as he maneuvered through rains of arrows.

Hold on. Do not give up now. The reinforcement had come. You are saved. Just keep going.

However, no matter how hard Joffrey pushed himself, his vision began to blur and he was slowly losing control of his dragon. Tyraxes knocked off the mast of a warship by flying too close to the sea surface, exposing itself in the range of the massive arrow specifically made to pierce dragon scales.

Tyraxes let out a pained shriek as an arrow hit its left wing, at the same time, another dragon shrieked in the distance, echoing Tyraxes. The shriek was too high-pitched to be made by a large dragon like Vaghar, Seasmoke, or Tesserion. Joffrey tried to look for his brother, but the enemy took this opportunity of distraction to launch another attack. This time, the arrow didn’t hit Tyraxes. It hit the black dragon’s rider.

Joffrey fell. He couldn’t feel his legs anymore from the arrow embedded his thigh. The fall to the sea felt like an eternity to him. He could see his whole life playing out in his head, the happy childhood, his mother’s warm embrace, the conflict, the war, the agony of losing a brother, the joy of having said brother back, the fear of presenting, the anticipation of his wedding, the disappointment afterwards, the pain of childbirth, the utter bliss of having his daughter in his arms, and the sadness when he noticed a blue dragon flew in the direction of a peach-colored one instead of him.

Joffrey realized just before he hit the cold water that his life was a total failure.

No one had seen Prince Daeron in such a furious state. The Blue Queen was the doom of the Triarchy troops, its scorching flame drove all the enemy to the sea before burning them alive. There was no captives, no prisoner of war, no one to interrogate because Daeron had killed them all. Even the one-eyed prince seemed surprised at Daeron’s show of violence.

Now, Daeron kneeled at the side of the bed, his hands clasped together in a praying gesture, as he waited for his husband to wake up. The so-called gentle prince, later known in the Triarchy as the Death Bringer, was nothing more than a desperate alpha who feared of losing his omega.

“Why didn't you send a message to me before it’s too late?” Daeron murmured, staring at Joffrey’s chest without blinking, as if he feared Joffrey’s chest would stop moving if he looked away, “I could have come earlier. I could have saved you, Joff.”

Joffrey made no answer. The omega was in a deep coma from the fall, the shock too much for his body to handle. According to the maester, it was a miracle that Joffrey even survived.

“If you didn’t catch Prince Joffrey in time, Prince Daeron, we would have lost him. You saved your mate, my prince.”

The maester’s words brought no peace to Daeron. If he had indeed saved his mate, why hadn’t Joff woken up yet? Why did Joff lie in the bed like a corpse now? If he had been a good alpha, why didn’t Joffrey call him for help first?

“Do you not trust me, Joff?” Daeron ran his finger over Joffrey’s cheek, “Am I being so bad to you that you would rather endure all this ordeal than asking me for help?”

Daeron had never been so desperate when he saw Joffrey fall from Tyraxes. He hadn't noticed Joffrey being hit by an arrow first, so he chose to drive off the enemies picking on Lucerys’s small dragon first. His reason was simple. It had nothing to do with choosing which brother to save. Lucerys was nearer. That was all. His experience taught him to be practical in battle, so he followed his gut.

Lucerys’s panicked face was what made his world turn upside down. Daeron looked in the direction of Lucerys’s finger, only to find a small figure falling from a small black dragon into the burning sea. Daeron’s head went blank. His heart literally stopped, the whole world turning silent as he could no longer hear anything, not even Lucerys’s voice. Daeron had never experienced anything like this. The absolute dread that paralyzed him, the deafening silence, the fear of losing his mate, his Joffrey, was just too much to bear. The feeling was distinct, new, and more powerful than anything he had never felt before.

It was at this moment that Daeron finally realized just how important Joffrey had become. What he felt towards Lucerys was nothing compared to what he was feeling now. He had worried about bad things happening to Lucerys before, but that was all it was, worry. It was not desperation, not dread, not wanting to destroy the cruel world that had made Joffrey suffer. He had been blind for so long. How could he be so stupid? How could he leave Joffrey alone? How could he allow his precious mate to go through such horrible ordeal?

Before Daeron realized what he was doing, he had already urged Tesserion to fly towards Joffrey and jumped off the Blue Dragon to catch his mate. By an incredible amount of luck, he managed to catch Joffrey just before the omega hit the water. He used his own body as cushion to mitigate the impact, and that was why Joffrey had survived.

“I am sorry. I shouldn’t have left. I am so, so sorry.” Daeron felt his eyes burn, but he couldn't care less now. If his tears were necessary to bring Joffrey back, he would gladly cry his eyeballs out.

“Will you forgive me? Will you forgive the stupid alpha who have failed you so many times?” Daeron took a hold of Joffrey’s cold hand to his lips and kissed it tenderly, “Will you give me another chance to properly love you?”

“…You must have mistaken me for someone else.” A weak voice said, too hoarse that Daeron almost missed it.

The first thing Joffrey saw after opening his eyes was Daeron’s face, covered in bruises and tears, lips pursed into a sad line. What was he sad for?

“Joff!” Daeron jumped from the floor immediately, but his legs failed from kneeling for too long, causing him to fall back, “Thank the Seven you are awake!”

Joffrey was confused. Why was Daeron here? Had he done anything wrong? Did anyone get hurt because of him?

“Is everyone safe?” Joffrey struggled to let the words out, his throat too tight to speak coherently, “Luke? Rhaenys?”

“Here. Have some water.” Daeron finally managed to get up and press a cool silver goblet to Joffrey’s lips, “It will make you feel better.”

Joffrey didn’t have the energy to struggle, so he complied. He drank like a thirsty horse, letting the cool water put out the fire in his throat.

“Slowly.” Daeron wiped off a few water drops sliding down Joffrey’s jaw, “No need to rush.”

“Why are you here?” Joffrey asked after he had emptied the entire goblet, “Did we win?”

“Yes, we did, thanks to you.” Daeron replied, though he was a little annoyed that Joffrey hadn’t asked about himself yet.

Joffrey let out a long sigh of relief. He tried to move away from Daeron, as if he was allergic to the alpha’s presence.

“Thank you.” Joffrey said politely, keeping his eyes down, “You can leave now. Don’t let me keep you.”

“Why would I leave?” Daeron took a hold of Joffrey’s wrist to stop the omega, “Why don’t you look at me? Are you hurt anywhere?”

“No.” Joffrey replied, still not meeting Daeron’s eyes, “As you can see, I have woken up. I am fine now. You don’t have to stay. You are free to go.”

“Go where?”

Joffrey cursed the dumb alpha internally. He didn’t expect Daeron to be so, difficult. He didn’t need Daeron here. He couldn’t have Daeron here. He was too proud to let Daeron see him like this. He would be fine, eventually. He just needed some time to piece together his shattered self-esteem. He didn’t need a witness to it.

“Just go.” Joffrey murmured, trying his best to hold back the tears, “Leave me alone.”

“No.” Daeron answered with no hesitation, “I won’t leave. I have nowhere else to be.”

“For fuck’s sake!” Joffrey cursed with gritted teeth, “Go to my brother! Go to Lucerys! Make sure he is okay and well taken care of. Do you need you to spell it out for you?!”

“Lucerys isn’t hurt so badly as you. He has Aemond with him. He doesn’t need me.”

“Well, it has never stopped you before!” Joffrey was so angry that he could not hold the tears anymore. He sobbed. He fucking sobbed like a puny baby in front of his husband. He hated his inner omega who yearned for Daeron’s touch. He hated his feeling towards the alpha, he hated his moment of weakness, he hated the ugly jealousy he felt whenever Lucerys’s name slipped from Daeron’s tongue. He hated it all.

“Joffrey-”

“Leave me alone!” Joffrey cried, desperate tears running down his cheek, “Why do you always have to crush my hope whenever I let myself believe you might like me, even for a bit? Why bother showing me kindness if you are only to leave me behind eventually?”

Joffrey couldn’t hold back the raging emotions anymore. He had gaslighted himself into believing that he didn’t worth anyone’s love from the beginning, being too ordinary, too coward, too stupid, without an ounce of omega charm. How could he ever compare to his beautiful, brave, fertile, politically-savvy, perfect brother? Yet, no matter how hard he tried to convince himself, his pride always got in the way. He just couldn’t give up. He might not be as alluring as Lucerys, but maybe he could make it up with his sword skills. He might not be as good a dragon rider as Lucerys, but maybe he could be the most diligent one. He might not be as fertile as Lucerys, but he tried to take care the only daughter he had. God. He tried so hard. Why was it never enough?

“You will always choose Lucerys over me.” Joffrey struggled out of Daeron’s grip and curled himself into a ball, “You will never love me no matter how hard I tried. If you can’t return my love, don’t give me hope in the first place, please.”

Joffrey never openly admitted his feelings to Daeron. He always acted indifferent when Daeron brought Lucerys up. He had to, or it would be too much to bear. Hearing his mate admit his love for another was like a stab to his heart over and over again. Joffrey had to hide behind the façade of indifference, or he would break down.

“You…love me?” Daeron murmured, more to himself than to Joffrey. His heart was beating so fast, blood rushing through his body as if he had been out running. He never thought he would the subject of the affection from such a brave, beautiful being like Joffrey.

“Are you surprised?” Joffrey said self-mockingly, “I let you take me over and over again. Do you think I will give my body to someone I don’t love like a whore?”

“No! No,” Daeron knew he shouldn’t be happy when Joffrey was in so much pain, but his whole body sang at Joffrey’s confession, every pore filled with tenderness and love, “don’t say that about yourself. You are so brave, Joffrey. You saved the whole castle. Everyone will be dead if not for you.”

“I barely did anything. I just sat in the tower like a coward.”

“No. You know who drove off the enemy eventually? The soldiers. They were so furious because their prince was hurt. They fought for you, Joffrey. You are their dragon lord.” Daeron took Joffrey into his arms despite the omega struggling, “I am so proud of you, Joffrey.”

“You left me behind. You flew to my brother instead of me in battle.” Joffrey said. He knew he sounded childish and jealous, but he couldn’t help himself.

“I know, and I regret it deeply.” Daeron tightened his arms around the omega, “I am a fool. I have been blind to the most precious thing standing right in front of me for so long. All I ever wanted is a mate of my own. I already have you, and yet, I haven’t even noticed your feeling.”

“You said you loved Lucerys, ever since you presented.” Joffrey was still skeptical.

“I thought it was love, but it’s not. I didn’t know it before, but I know now. I never felt so desperate when I saw you fall, Joffrey. It was as if my heart fell with you.”

“I fell for you first.” Joffrey whispered, letting Daeron’s kisses land on his ear and temple.

“And I will make sure I fall harder.”

Joffrey closed his eyes. Was that a promise? He did not know, but he was too tired to care. He fell asleep in Daeron’s arms, knowing for the first time that when he awoke, his husband would be there still.