#30k strong wow

[runraerun]

A VERY IMPORTANT UPDATE:

“Do you think we could have ended up together in another universe?”

“Yeah, maybe.”

[darry-queen]

How much Darry and Soda would make modern day and if it would be enough to pay for at least the three of them: (note this may not be incredibly accurate and while yes I did do research while calculating this shit it wasn't super in depth! feel free to correct me on any and all mistakes you notice and feel free to also give your own opinions!! Much love!)

Starting with Darry's:

Before I get into number this is all assuming that Darry works exclusively the hours allotted to him while missing no work, he'd have a 5 day work week at 40 hours which is standard practice in the United States, except for his part time job which he'd be working 25/h a week (i talk about this more later just continue reading) also I'm not giving them any kind of insurance. Sorry! Lol!

Starting salary of a roofer in Oklahoma is $14/h with the average being around $15/h. Assuming this Darry will be getting around 30k a year. I'm going to be generous and say he works for a good company and has a strong union so I'll give him a end of year bonus as well ($200-$800)

His weekly pay would be around $550-$600

This would be taxed though! Using a taxing calculator (bc I'm not doing all that math babeee) He'd be payed around $500 a week.

Darry also canonically has a second job! Though it is never really talked about, not even mentioned whether it's part or full time. I'm just going to assume, generally, that it is probably a part time job that pays minimum wage. (I'm aware that there are many popular hc's as to what this job is I'm ignoring those lol) now I don't live in Oklahoma but I do have personal experience with working part time and it fucking sucks. They have you working only slightly less then a full time employee so they do not have to give you full benefits. It is an incredibly fucked up and exploitative practice.

Something to note is that Oklahoma allows part time employees to be payed half minimum wage the first 90 days of employment when under the age of 20. I do not think I will include this in the calculation because even though Darry would be 19 at the time of his parents death I think he would be 20 not long after and I do not care enough to look into this law to include it in my calculations! Just wanted to mention it because?? What the fuck Oklahoma?

Anyway, part time would have Darry working 25 hours a week for $7.25/h which would be around $180/week. After taxes he'd make $160/week getting him to $660 a week.

Finally, what everyone was waiting for.... doordash fucking driving baby. Considering he lives in a populated area I am going to be generous and say he manages to get around $20/h from doordash driving. Assuming he does this on the days he doesn't work part time (so the other 15 hours) he'd make a whopping 16k extra a year OMG!!

As for any money he'd earn from the state for guardianship of Pony and Soda: Idk! It's kind of confusing trying to figure out Oklahoma giving shit out for this because fostering and guardianship are two dif things and I'm almost certain Darry would have Guardianship over his siblings, not fostering them. So I'm just not including it: he may have received a check upon first becoming their guardian but since that is a one time thing I'm not going to include it in my final calculations (i know this is kinda contradictory for giving Darry a bonus for his roofing work but IDC IDC IDC IDC I AM NOT PUTTING THAT MUCH EFFORT INTO THIS (NOTE I FILLED OUT A MOCK W2 FORM TO GET A ROUGH ESTIMATE OF WHAT DARRY'S TAX RETURN WOULD BE BUT THAT DOESN'T MEAN I CARE))

All of the above considered: Darry is making $960 a week. Wow!

Now for Sodapop!

Soda I'm just going to copy paste what Darry's theoretical part time job would be because it's almost time for me to go to bed and I couldn't find any special rules for 16< year olds, so he'd be working 25 hours for $7.25 which after taxes is again $160

In total him an Darry combined are making a good healthy $1120 a week on average. Probably more if you consider Darry going insane with doordash/overtime! Overall a good $4480 a month

GREAT NOW TIME FOR EXPENSES!!

Expenses Include:

Mortgage payments

power bill

water bill

natural gas

car payments (maybe)

car insurance (maybe)

fuel

food

phone payments

internet bill

probably more I can't remember off the top of my head

OKAY NOW explaining the maybe's rq

You can just, not pay for car insurance. It's illegal, but when you're poor it's not like you can really care about the legality of certain things. Sometimes, it's eating vs car insurance, y'know? Especially because Darry is only 20, that shit is going to be expensive. And the car was def under his dad's name previously so he also def doesn't have any history. I'mma be generous though and say that he does have CREDIT history, which following my own car insurance premiums: my man is going to be paying like, $400 a month. and trust me, I'm being generous here. This is also for liability only. crazy right? With that considered, if I can not get Darry's salary to work with the rest of his expenses I'm saying he's driving without insurance. Hope you understand.

Now for the car itself, it might be payed off already might not. Again it's almost time for me to go to bed so I"m not willing to double check the book to see if car payments are ever mentioned. If they are I'll come back and fix this another time but for now. I'm not including it.

As for the gas for this theoretical truck? I'm going to put it from $250-$300 a month based off of what Reddit car owners said on how often they have to get gas for their own trucks. Great!

OKAY NOW FOR THE REAL EXPENSES! The average cost of utilities in Oklahoma, Tulsa specifically, is $270 a month for electricity, like $130 a month for natural gas, and for water $100 a month. Now you're probably saying, "Paya, isn't that a little high?" to which I'd say, they have 4 (presumably more) other boys coming around almost everyday. SO I feel it's fine to rate that shit on the higher side of things.

Before I forget: the mortgage payments!

This one is kinda fucked! I have no idea when the Curtis parents bought the house in canon. If it was after, or before Darry was born, etc. Because of this you can kinda just make hc's for this. The reason I say this is because obviously the housing market now is VERY different from the one in the 40s-60s which is when they'd have had to buy the house in cannon. In fact, I'm not even entirely sure they own the house in canon I'm just assuming right now! Like, if you're making a modern au: feel free to say that they're renting! Like who really cares about it? I'll even calculate it here for you so you have a frame of reference: Assuming the house is at least 2 bedrooms 1 bathroom it's gonna be around 1.5k a month. If you want to say they're paying a mortgage though, I'm going to assume based off the little data I could find of average home cost in 2004 (I'm assuming the house was bought around the time of Darry's birth) we're looking at somewhere between 150k-250k. I'm going to low ball it though because I think Oklahoma housing prices are generally cheaper and I'm going to assume they'd go for something affordable over something large. So I'll say 175k! Average interest on a home loan in 2004 was around 6%, with a 20% downpayment Darry will be paying 1k a month for the mortgage. Not that bad!

Phone bill is p cheap around 100$ feel like you may be able to play around with this. Like maybe they're paying for Johnny? Who knows not me I want to go to bed!

Food is like so fucking expensive now tbh. I pay $300 a month on grocery shopping a month for my household. Assuming Darry is purchasing food for himself, his brothers, and a little extra for the gang I'm going to put his grocery bill at around $500 a month. I think I'm lowkey low balling it, but I think he'd be a good bargain shopper. Btw, don't ask if he qualifies for food stamps! Because he doesn't!

internet bill is significantly cheaper going to be around $50 a month, as for services like live streaming and other things, we're gonna say it's all pirated. no one is paying for that shit when you can get it online for free! (Personal hc: Steve is a fucking amazing pirate and can get you literally anything you ask for.)

Final cost of living for my boys, not including school supplies, school/extra curriculars/or clothing: $2400 - $3350

Ending conclusion: If Darry works 80+ hours a week and Soda helps out with his part-time job they have more then enough to pay for almost all living expenses. Tell me where I fucked up! Thanks. Btw according to the shittily done w2 I did for Darry he'd get almost 2k in tax returns; i most def fucked something up but I'mma accept it despite that.

[morningstargirl666]

oh wow oh wow oh wow. I just read TBBW and the other wolfblood stories and I am absolutely 100% blown away. your writing and world building is absolutely incredible and your mastery of each character and their relationships is something to be admired. like holy shit. one of my favorite parts is how you developed the werewolf lore so much -- I always thought they could do SO much better (and you did!!). ((also also I absolutely LOVE sam as a character, he's amazing and I love his interactions with everybody)) but question for you: how do (some) werewolves consider the curse a gift if the trigger is killing someone (in canon at least)? I can't recall if that was the only way to trigger it in TBBW or not. but ty for sharing your story! <3

omg omg HI!!!

First of all, thank you so much for all the nice words! Absolutely love that you have enjoyed my self-indulgent crusade against canon lmao 😂 I feel very honoured! Love you so much ✨❤️

And your question! Funnily enough, this is going to be explored in more depth in the editing I've been doing to The Little Wolf...it's uh...not 11k anymore. [nervous laugher] More like...30k? Once I've finished it, I'll re-post, so watch out for that update.

ANYWAY as for my lore around the werewolf curse, I've had it in my head for a long time (hence me laying the groundwork in for TBBW, how it's gift, not a curse etc). There's a LOT to it, so let me try and explain in a coherent way:

So. First, the way the wolf is triggered is slightly different than canon. In my head, all that werewolf backstory (that came in I think in The Originals but don't quote me on that) where a witch cursed people to turn on a full moon after they themselves had killed someone, creating the werewolf species - is bullshit. That did not happen here. In TBBW and its related stories, werewolves evolved. Whether they started off as witches who meddled in shapeshifting magics, or simply evolved as an adjacent species to the human race I'll leave unclear (i feel that werewolves probably tell their children legends of how werewolves came first, man and wolves evolving from them lol, like their little own creation story). And like the scientific theory of evolution, werewolf packs have different traits/attributes because they reproduced with certain gene pools. Some are stronger, some are faster, some - like Lycaon and Klaus, werewolves from North America and Scandinavia (because the continents used to be joined, especially during the ice ages I think) - are larger, like Dire Wolves.

Now, my theory is, like I said, is that lycanthropy isn't a curse. It's sorta like a defence mechanism? So strong emotions of fear, anger, panic, anything that comes with trauma or what ignites that fight/flight instinct, coming of age even - that's what triggers it, what awakens the wolf and brings it forth and any death that happens because of that anger is merely a consequence, not a cause. Now obviously, hundreds of years ago, people didn't have an understanding of mental health or the idea of trauma, not really. I mean shellshock was a term more broadly used after the World Wars, which is barely 100 years ago. So, werewolves wouldn't have seen this scientific/logical reasoning behind it.

However, they also didn't believe it was merely taking a life that caused it. That reasoning, came from fear, people like Mikael who feared werewolves because of their power and strength. It's basically propaganda from the winning side of the feud between supernatural species. Like you said, werewolves believe it to be a gift. Perhaps even, a gift from the gods themselves.

In The Little Wolf it's going to be explained that they believe Death demands a sacrifice, but Death also doesn't care how that sacrifice is given. Yes, you can awaken the wolf if you kill a man. But you also awaken the wolf if you watch a family member die in front of you, grieving their loss. Furthermore, I always thought you also have to consider how killing someone a thousand years ago wasn't a horror or crime it is now. People killed to survive, to defend their families, even to prove their worth. I'm not talking about cold-blooded murder, but killing as warriors. Most cultures it was probably even an act of coming of age.

Here's a snippet from the The Little Wolf that probably explains it better, where young pack members are being initiated into Lycaon's pack:

The Alpha stared down at the young wolves, his eyes kind as he stood before them, assessing each of them in turn.  “Will you answer their call tonight?” He asked; a question for them and them alone. A chorus of ‘Aye’ answered him, the young wolves keeping their heads bowed. The Alpha nodded and turned, gesturing for an elder wolf-woman to step forward, her face wrinkled by time. In one of her hands hung a cluster of necklaces, each unique to its owner, and in the other, a bowl of blood, drawn from every member of the pack. The first, a silver trinket forged from the metal of the enemy’s sword he had slain. The second and third, necklaces made of small bones from the animal they had killed on their first hunt alone. The fourth, made of wooden beads that used to decorate necklaces adorning her mother’s breast, a possession of a relative recently lost. Many feared the wolf-men because of the way their wolves woke, satisfied only by Death herself. But what was little known, was Death did not discriminate. She did not care either way, if the death you witnessed was dealt by your own hand or by the cruelty of fate. The Alpha himself had befallen such a trial, his wolf woken the day of his father’s death, taken by the floods of a great storm that had robbed his mother of her mate. Death was Death, a notion that transcended all languages and cultures, timeless in its power and prestige. Just as there was a Beginning, there had to be an End. And only through seeing death, did one truly understand the nature of life.

Does that make any sense? Lol there's a lot to it (and tbf there's probably more I'm forgetting to say). Klaus, despite Mikael's abuse, never triggered the wolf for reasons that will be explained in The Little Wolf.

Thanks so much again, I've had the shittiest day and your ask arriving in my inbox really brightened it. So thank you ✨

[chadxroyalx]

27th B-Day - Thank you 500+ Watchers (Read Desc.)

Hey guys! First of all I'd like to show my appreciation for you watchers! I've reached another milestone on deviantArt which I'd never thought I would: 500+ watchers and also amazing 30k+ page views! And each new page of "TotH" receives so many faves and views, it’s been a joy for me to watch that so many (old and new) readers join Renga’s backstory (which turns out to be one heck of a long one and not a short story…).

Thank you, guys! Thank you for your interest in my art and my stories. Thank you for your patience, continuous support, and comments! It makes my day every time I upload something, and I hope that many more will join in the future! ♥

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What else? Oh well… another year has passed, and I’ve officially turned 27 today.

And what a year it has been! Many ups and downs happened. But mostly ups! And since this week is also transgender awareness week (november 13th until november 19th), I'd like to write again a few words about my own journey: Read more about this week here (for example): https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Transgender_Awareness_Week

Just two months before my 26th birthday (September 9th, 2022) I was able to start my hormone-therapy and therefore the journey to become my true self. And exactly five weeks and one day ago (October 11th, 2023) I was able to take another big step into that direction: I’ve had my top-surgery, which lifted a lot of weight (both figuratively and literally) off me. The wounds are healing very nicely, and I am a lot more confident going through my days already! And in one week I’m allowed to walk around without the chest binder!

Last weekend I’ve also finally took the chance and got a haircut. After over 15 years with a ponytail, I am now ponytail-free and wow what a difference that haircut made! I just love it and I am glad that I took that step. 😊

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For now… Thank you guys again for everything! You are awesome and I hope you keep enjoying my content ♥

Take care, keep being awesome and you guys know the drill: stay safe, stay strong and have a nice day! ♥ 😊

Chad

[m-y--p-a-s-s-i-o-n-s]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love 💙

Ah! Thank you :D <3 Wow this was way harder that I thought. At first I couldn't decide, then I decided on too many, it was so hard to narrow it down, so I'm not saying these are my top five, but I love each of them <3

The One That Got Away

Pairing: Jim Kirk/Spock (TOS)

Rating: E

Words: 30k

Summary: At Starfleet academy Jim and Spock were friends (with benefits), but when Spock left to serve on the Enterprise under Captain Pike, Jim was left heartbroken. Years later Jim was given Captaincy of the Enterprise after Pike's promotion. Aboard he was reunited with his old friend, but how much had changed over the years? Could there ever be more between them, or would Spock forever be the one that got away?

~~~ I've been proud of a lot of my fics, but this one is my one of my most recent bigger fics and I'm actually in love with it. I thoroughly enjoyed writing the entire thing, and I've reread it several times because I just love it so much. I put my heart and soul into it, I did my best, and I'm so happy with it.

2. First Day

Pairing: Balthazar/Lucifer (SPN)

Rating: E

Words: 14k

Summary: It's Lu's first day at a new school as a Math teacher and he instantly falls for the French teacher, Balthazar, who has an affinity for skinny jeans and v-necks. Balthazar's ex shows up and wants to get back with Balthazar, will he go back with his ex or stay with Lu?

~~~ This is an old one of mine (which I'm intending to write a sequel for one day), and while my writing has improved significantly since this fic, I still love it. I love the rarepair, I love their dynamic, and I think the smut is hot (I should, I wrote it, right?). This is an example of me writing a fic purely for me.

3. In Search of the Sun

Pairing: Jim Kirk/Spock (AOS), Jim Kirk Prime/Spock Prime

Rating: T

Words: 7k

Summary: Spock Prime awakens from a dream about his long lost bondmate, but was it really a dream, or was it the answer to bringing his love back?

~~~ I needed a fix it so badly for the Primes cause I just have sooooo many feels about them, so I wrote out my headcanon for Spock Prime getting his Jim back, and I love it dearly. It satisfies my Primes feels so well.

4. When Fantasy Becomes Reality

Pairing: Hank/Connor (DBH)

Rating: E

Words: 8k

Summary: Connor is away helping Markus for the weekend, so Hank thinks he’s safe to do whatever he wants, including an afternoon wank. What happens if Connor comes home early though?

~~~ I'm particularly proud of this one for the way I wrote it, especially the first chapter. It wasn't exactly something I'd written before, but I had a vision, and a strong love for these characters and this ship, and I did my best, and it's one that I go back to time and again because I'm so proud of it (and because its hot AF and I enjoy reading it a lot).

5. Under the Shape of Dessert

Pairing: Greg Lestrade/Mycroft Holmes (BBC Sherlock)

Rating: T

Words: 2.5k

Summary: After his divorce Greg finds himself lonely, so John sets him up on a blind date. When Mycroft shows up at the restaurant Greg can hardly believe it.

~~~ This is one of my favourites out of both of my Under the Mistletoe series' and an unexpected one at that. I sort of struggled for an idea for this ship, and then once it came to me I needed to flesh it out, and a whole story came with it, and sometimes those are the best types of fics. I thoroughly enjoy their whole interaction too, and the way Mycroft is with Greg.

[stew-chan]

been listening to 30k books in the main story line and I really like the difference in internal culture of the various space marine chapters

lunar wolves: rally Brothers to the beautiful and mighty form of our fallen primarch! his gracious physique laid low through treachery! rally to his side for all the good that is left in the universe! *they then beat 200 civilians to death to get him to a doctor*

emperors children: god I love being perfect. we are so perfect we are beyond perfect. perfect at everything. perfect at combat. perfect at art. but you know what will make us even more perfect? listening to evil music and bathing in the blood of innocents :)

thousand sons: take heed Brothers and comrades for there is scary mind things going on here the lesser beings cannot comprehend and honestly arent even affected by. I will lead us now into 30 minutes of guided meditation in this active war zone so we can stay strong in the face of this massive danger :) *everyone else just steps around them and fights most of the battle*

death guard: wow I love being immune to poison and toxins. when we eat dinner together I really wish one day daddy mortarion will share the Super Poison DrinkTM with me as if I could ever be worthy of such an honor

[baelonthebrave]

'til queendom come, ch. 10 (finale)

[masterlist] [Ao3] [playlist]

aemond targaryen x targaryen oc

wordcount: 15,249

ch. 10, soldier, poet, king: "No matter what comes after this life, no matter what comes in this life, I fear you’re rather stuck with me, Prince Aemond.”

His laugh was boyish, high and sweet. “Then eternity shall have to do, Princess Visenya."

warnings: canon-typical violence, canon-typical incest, abusive parent/child relationship, nsfw/18+, rough sex, choking, mentions of canon sexual violence & abuse (including against minors), spoilers for HoTD/F&B

a/n: wow 🥹 that's it, folks! So emotional to be at the end, but I'm so freaking glad this has been so warmly received and I cannot wait to hear if you all liked the ending. Comments, asks, reblogs, replies <3 it all means a lot to me! And I think there WILL be a shorter 20 - 30k sequel at some point in the future, although when exactly I cannot say... but watch this space!

Once King’s Landing loomed before Sena and she officially had a crown upon her head, she no longer had the luxury of worrying by Aemond’s bedside in peace. The work of piecing the realm back together started and it didn’t stop, in fact it was all she could do to stem the tide. She threw together a Small Council based solely off of people she felt she could afford a basic level of trust and in those shaky early days she often wondered what in the Seven Hells she had gotten herself into. But Princess Rhaenys came into the role of Hand of the King like she was born to it, lending experience and steadiness where Sena had little and less. Lord Cregan Stark thankfully took up the role of Master of Laws at her bequest to right some of the furious mess the kingdom was in, and Lord Corlys Velaryon retook his role as Master of Ships. From there, Lord Tyland Lannister as Master of Coin returned the crown’s fortune to the royal coffers, Ser Criston Cole resumed his role as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard and the newly legitimised Lady Alys Strong of Harrenhal arrived in the capital to serve as Mistress of Whispers. 

And so, they got to work. The great roads in and out of the city were thrown wide open to trade, as was their ports on the Narrow Sea. Despite some initial hesitance, slashed taxes encouraged traders back to the market squares and the smallfolk to go out and spend their hard-earned coin. The Faith of the Seven worked with the crown through Queen Alicent to feed and clothe the most desperate; it was amazing what the royal coffers could pay for when they were not fielding armies and paying sellswords.

A smaller, more personal victory for Sena was convincing Daeron to knight Jarrad for her in recognition of his loyal service during the Siege of King’s Landing, so she might take him on as a sworn shield. The first morning she was able to steal away from the castle for a few hours, she visited Ser Jarrad and his wife, Marigold in their new home just past Cobbler’s Square.

It was on her return from that visit that she finally slipped down a familiar hallway of Maegor’s Holdfast.

She had been trying to see Helaena since she had first set foot back in the city, nearly a whole week ago now, but she was continually rebuffed by the former Queen’s household, telling her she was receiving no visitors. So, Sena finally took it upon herself to sneak in. As much as anyone can sneak anywhere when they were attended by a Kingsguard.

The guard on Helaena’s door took one look at the distinctive missing fingers on her sword hand and her white-cloaked companion and stepped aside for her without a word. Sena nodded a thanks and opened the door.

The air was stale and sour as she slipped into the room.

Through a slim gap in the curtains, a little light spilled in, and dust motes danced on the air. At the table in the centre of the room were abandoned dishes and food that was growing fur. Sena fought to keep from wrinkling her nose, her already sensitive stomach churning.

On the bed, there was a mound of furs and blankets. Sena drew closer on shaky feet. “Helaena?” She whispered. “Helaena, sweetheart?” The mound of furs did not stir, but there was a change in the steady rise and fall. It grew a little quicker, a little more harried. “Helaena, it’s me, it’s Sena.”

Helaena finally raised her head, letting her blankets fall, and she looked so tired. Her beautiful hair was a wild tangle with what looked to be matted clumps in the back. The neck of her nightgown was yellowed with sweat. “Oh Helaena,” Sena breathed.

“Sena,” Helaena whispered. She let out a breath and let her head fall back to the pillows, watching her oldest friend approach.

Sena nodded. “It’s me,” she said softly. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here sooner.”

Helaena shook her head. “You were here. For months, you were here, locked up and alone and I did not come to you. Not even once.”

“Helaena, do not…” Sena trailed off. She reached the side of the bed. “May I?”

Helaena watched her with large, lamp-like eyes and nodded slowly. Sena climbed up onto the bed, burrowing under the covers, and pulled Helaena into her arms. The girl smelled sour, like sweat and filth, but Sena just pulled her closer, tucking her head under her chin. “Sweet girl, do not apologise to me,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to Helaena’s hair, wiping at her cheeks with her healing hand. “I am so sorry you had to do this alone.”

Helaena was moving in slow motion, so Sena held herself steady as the girl reached up and took her disfigured hand in hers. Helaena had bitten her nails to the bloody quick. Large rashes splayed down her fingers, the backs of her hands, turning her skin to scales and flakes. Sena’s heart ached in sympathy. “Your sword hand, Sena- what happened to you?” Helaena asked softly, wetly, taking in the bandages that covered Sena’s hand.

Sena reached out with her left hand and gently pulled Helaena’s gaze up to meet hers with a finger. Dark bruises marred her under eyes. She could not get out of bed and she could not sleep. What a hellish limbo to be stuck in, staring at the wall, the ceiling, seeing her children’s bodies every time she closed her eyes. It gripped Sena in a dark pool of fear, resisting the urge to reach for her own belly.

“I won, Helaena,” she said, pressing a kiss to the girl’s forehead. “I won. That’s what happened.”

Helaena met her eyes shakily and nodded. Tears tracked down the bridge of her nose, dampening her already soiled pillow. Sena pulled her into her chest, kissed the crown of her head. She felt a growing damp spot on the throat of her gown as Helaena weeped against her. “Shh, shh,” she soothed. “We ended it. We ended it. I know it will not bring them back, Helaena, I know. But we ended it.”

“I do not know how to go on,” Helaena sobbed. “I do not know how to get out of this bed. Even the ladies, my maids have given up on me. I cannot… I cannot…”

Sena nodded against her head, smoothing down her hair, sliding her hand over the top layer so she did not catch on the tangles. “Do not worry about that, Helaena. Let me worry about that,” she drew back and met Helaena’s eyes, pressing their foreheads together. “We can make a deal. We can make a deal right now. You let me figure it out, you let me find out how we go on from this. In return, you promise me - you breath. You blink. You sleep. You sup water. You eat when you can, whatever you can. Do you think you can promise me that, Helaena?”

Helaena blinked away more tears. She curled her fingers into Sena’s. “I will do my best, Sena.”

Sena nodded, relieved. “And that is all I can ask of you. That is all you can ask of yourself, sweet girl.”

They lay like that for awhile, Sena cradling Helaena against her chest, holding her as she cried, tears tracking down her own temples. She held Helaena as she shook and shivered and sobbed. She breathed for the both of them, drawing deep, steadying lungfuls of air. Her hand ached where they were twined into Helaena’s, throbbing with pain but she did not pull away, just gritted her teeth.

“Helaena,” she whispered after what felt like hours, after the girl had awoken from a fitful slumber. “Helaena, can I ask you to do something for me? It is a big ask, but it is important.”

Sena met soft lilac eyes and Helaena nodded shakily. “For you? Anything.”

Sena kissed her cheek and drew a breath. “Will you come with me? Get up with me? It’s your brother, it’s Aemond,” she whispered softly into the space between them. “He wants to see you but he cannot get out of bed. He is okay, he is growing stronger every day, but the journey to the Capital was hard on him.”

Helaena drew breath. “I do not want Aemond to see me like this, Sena.”

Sena shook her head. “Aemond loves you,” she said softly, “exactly as you are. He asks for you day and night. We can take the hidden passages. Remember we used to sneak through them as children? Do me this one thing, Helaena, and I swear I will never ask anything of you ever again.”

Helaena drew a deep breath, steadied herself, and nodded.

The sky was darkening outside as Helaena was gently coaxed from bed. Sena helped her shirk off the old nightgown, replaced it with a fresh one. She pulled Aemond’s hair ribbon from her own hair and bound Helaena’s hair at the base of her neck loosely. She cupped Helaena’s cheek in her hand. “There is so much beauty in your strength, it makes my heart ache, Helaena,” she murmured.

Helaena shook her head weakly. “Do not jest, Sena. I am not strong. I wield no sword, I sit on no council-“

“You endure. With a kind heart, with love for every living creature the Gods put on this world,” Sena said, holding Helaena’s gaze with the sureness of steel. “You have been to hell and back and you are still kind, Helaena. What could be stronger than that? I need you in my life, Aemond needs you. You let us see the forest, not just the trees. You keep us kind, Helaena. There is no nobler fight than living in a cruel world and remaining kind.”

Helaena nodded, her eyes brimming with fresh tears, and allowed Sena to lead her from her rooms. Into the hidden passages, through the walls of Maegor’s Holdfast. Sena rested her hand on a rusting handle and pushed.

The hidden door creaked on its hinges, and Aemond’s rooms opened out before her, her fingers still twined tightly into Helaena’s, keeping her going.

A valiant fire crackled in Aemond’s hearth - Alicent had taken over keeping it stoked for her for the day - and the Prince perked up in bed, raising his head from his pillows. Their mother raised her head from her reading - a ledger for the next planned soup kitchen for the needy, by the looks of things. They both took in Helaena, gaunt and tired, and gave her pure looks of love.

Sena helped her friend to the edge of Aemond’s bed and Helaena rested back against the headboard, sitting next to her recovering brother. 

Daeron had left for Dragonstone at Sena’s command, to take his brother Aegon home once they had received word of the former king’s seizing of the keep. Sena would trust Daeron with her life, knew he would bring Aegon back safe so they could all kneel at the foot of Aegon III’s throne alongside Rhaenyra. 

But there would be time for all that tomorrow. Right now, Aemond reached out for her. He was growing stronger and was awake for most of the day now, weaning himself off of the pain relief so he could claw back his mind. The maesters had not yet assented to him replacing his sapphire eye, so the socket still gaped where his left eye had been, but none of the women who loved him in that room minded at all. Sena rounded the bed and sat down on his other side, pulling his hands into her lap and pressing a kiss to his head. Helaena smiled softly at them.

“My darling girl,” Alicent breathed. “I have so missed your smile.”

Helaena turned to look at her mother, her eyes glimmering with unshed tears. Aemond took one hand from Sena’s lap and reached out to grip Helaena’s fingers. “Hello, sister,” he said in his croaking voice.

Helaena squeezed his hand. “It seems you two have been getting yourselves in trouble,” she said quietly.

Aemond laughed, low in his throat. “Oh, you have no idea.”

Alicent raised her eyebrows. “We are lucky to still have the both of them, Helaena,” she said, shaking her head minutely. “Fools, the pair of them.”

Sena grinned, remembering the look of pure exasperation the Queen Dowager had given them when she had arrived at Harrenhal weeks ago to find one of them near death and the other with child. But then the emotions had caught up and she had burst into tears of joy, pulling Sena against her and weeping into her neck. Sena had held her tightly, a little bewildered, combing her fingers through rich brown waves and patiently answering every question about a wedding, and what they would serve, and who they would invite, and would she be showing by then? The scandal. But she supposed she understood - a certain amount of scandal would be inevitable in their situation. Even if you put aside the entire civil war, there was still the small matter of a broken betrothal and a child conceived out of wedlock, and the scandal would only grow as her belly did and she remained unmarried. 

In truth, Sena could not wait to wed Aemond. She would have found the first septon she could lay her hands on by now if it was not for the fact they would not do it without Helaena at their side. And what was scandal and gossip to the House of the Dragon? Seeing as there was currently no higher power in the land than Sena other than her own seven-year-old brother, her dissenters could answer to Vermithor.

“Did you tell her?” Aemond asked his betrothed, looking up at her with a soft smile. Sena looked across them and met Helaena’s eye.

“Tell me what?” Helaena asked, taking in the looks on their faces and thankfully smiled with them. Good news, at last.

Sena twined her fingers into Aemond’s and brought their hands to rest on her stomach, where a small bump was growing, day by day. “We are to be married, Helaena,” she told her softly, “but we might have put the cart before the horse, I’m afraid. The Grand Maester thinks me due in five moons.”

Fresh tears broke free of Helaena’s eyes as she tackled her brother to the bed, kissing his cheeks and giggling happily. Aemond protested weakly, not meaning a single word of it, and held her to his chest, laughing his boyish laugh. Alicent smiled at them from her seat by the fire, her own eyes glistening. “Do not attack me!” Aemond laughed, “Sena is the one with the bastard in her!”

“Your bastard,” Helaena grumbled, smacking his chest playfully. “Honestly, brother. Pious, honourable Aemond! Have you no shame?”

There was no heat in her words though and brother and sister laughed heartily. Then, Helaena reached over her brother to pull Sena into her arms. “Oh Sena,” she breathed.

Sena held her tightly, feeling a lightness in her chest at long last. “I have so missed you, Helaena. We will never be apart again, I swear it.”

Helaena kissed her cheek, gripped her hands. “I will make sure you have the most beautiful wedding ring in the known world. I swear it.”

Aemond made a sound of protest, lying between them. “Perfectly capable of doing that myself, thank you,” he grumbled.

“Shut it,” Helaena said.

“Stop ruining the moment, ñuha prūmia,” Sena chided.

The Prince lay back on his pillows with a playful scowl and shook his head at them. “I do not think I deserve you three,” he said, gazing at them all with a happy smile.

“Four,” Helaena corrected, cradling Sena’s tummy gently.

“You will never have to earn our love, sweet boy,” Alicent said, watching the three of them with a misty, joyful look. “You earn it just by being you.”

Sena laid herself down next to her Prince, her betrothed, the father of her babe and kissed his shoulder. 

The only fear in her was that she felt so light she might float away.

-----

The rising sun was just breaking over Blackwater Bay when the small congregation convened. In the depths of winter, there was a distinct chill on the air in Vhagar’s cavern, and Sena was grateful for the heavy robes covering her from neck to wrist, shoulder to ankle. The journey down the sloping, rough-hewn hallway had been difficult for Aemond on his cane, but he maintained with gritted teeth that it was worth it to keep the little ceremony secret.

Sena and Helaena helped Aemond down to sit on a boulder, Sena gripping her betrothed by the elbows until he was down, and allowed him to catch his breath. “Vhagar?” She called, and the large dragon still looked a little disgruntled with her temporary cohabitant, Vermithor curling at the mouth of the cave. Nevertheless, she looked to Sena, looked to her struggling master, ready to obey. “Māzigon kesīr se gaomagon zirȳla bāne?” She asked gently of the dragon. Come here and keep him warm?

After long years spent together and watching Aemond grow from boyhood, Vhagar had a certain fondness for her rider and shuffled closer, coiling her tail around the rock the Prince sat on. Aemond’s strained breathing softened as his dragon kept the cold at bay with her fiery blood and warm breath. Sena pushed his hair behind his ear, unbound today, and kissed his forehead.

Helaena was watching them with a distant look on her face. “Dragons mate for life,” she murmured, “no matter the size of the clutch.”

Aemond looked up at Sena and gave her a wry grin. “It will be a large clutch of eggs if I have any say in the matter,” he said.

She rolled her eyes. “When I no longer have a kingdom to run, I’ll give you all the hatchlings you desire, my Prince,” she said. “But until then, you’ll have to make do with one.”

Helaena giggled. “Do not worry, Sena. As soon as he is getting up for a crying babe five times a night, his ambitions will lessen.”

Aemond scoffed in protest. He did not care for the implication that he would be anything but the most energetic and dedicated of fathers, but the ladies laughed. “Come, Aemond,” Sena said, squeezing his shoulder. “It is to be a busy day, we should perhaps get started.”

Helaena turned and looked around. “Will you be okay to stand, brother? I can do it here, if that is better?”

Aemond shook his head and rose with a grunt, one hand firmly on his cane and the other gripping Sena’s for steadiness. “No. No. Sea air and sun, we shan’t do this any other way.”

They came to the mouth of the cave, standing on the edge of a cliff that overlooked the bay, and with Sena commanding a little help from Vermithor, they lit a brazier.

What came next was so sacred, Sena felt entirely bewitched in the moment.

She had stood witness to her father and stepmother’s ceremony, of course, but nothing compared to actually being in it. Holding Aemond’s gaze in her own, his face uncovered, sapphire eye back in place, with only Helaena and the dragons to bear witness as they spoke their mother tongue.

Helaena had been overjoyed to be asked to officiate for them and had learned her words well. She spoke softly and slowly, her voice enchanting and she gently pressed a shard of dragonglass into Aemond’s palm. 

Their blood brimmed from their cut lips, their cut palms as the brazier burned. When their blood joined between their palms, the sun fell on Aemond’s fine features, making his white hair shine silver, and Sena could have sworn there was never a more beautiful being in the entire world.

Helaena spoke the final, sacred words and Aemond met her halfway in a kiss that tasted like iron and eternity.

And they just stood like that for a moment, holding each other, their growing child cocooned between their bodies.

Once they returned to the red keep, the rest of the castle was only just starting to stir. Aemond kissed her gently at the door of her childhood bedroom. After today, there would be no more separate rooms for them, and it sent a thrill through her to think of it. “I’ll leave you here, before my brothers come to hunt me down,” he said with a smile. “See you soon, wife.” 

“See you soon, husband,” she said with a little thrill, and watched him until he was out of sight, proudly noting he had not put his eyepatch back on when they had come into the keep.

Once they were back in Sena’s childhood room, Helaena helped her out of her robes and headdress and into a gown of rich, deep blue. Strategically chosen for its meaning of peace, secretly chosen for its resemblance of a glittering sapphire.

Helaena dabbed sweet, smoky perfume on both Sena’s wrists, on her throat, behind her ears and then began to twine her curls into braids. Her maiden cloak was a deep, consuming black with a fiery red three-headed dragon clawing at her shoulders. A few errant curls framed her face and her mouth was left bare to let the cut on her lower lip heal, but it made no difference, as once she was ready, she could not take her eyes off herself in the looking glass.

“My beautiful friend, finally my sister,” Helaena said, leaning down to meet her gaze in the reflection. She lay her hands on Sena’s shoulders and Sena reached up to take them in her own. Even the stitched, healing stumps of her right hand could not mar the beauty she saw in the mirror, staring back at her. If anything, it added something, showed what they had both done, what they had sacrificed to be here. “Thank you for including me this morning.”

“It only felt right,” Sena said. “From day one, it was you, me and Aemond. I only wish you could come to the ceremony in the sept, I’m rather afraid to face them all alone.”

“Not alone. Aemond will be there,” Helaena gave her a watery smile. “I wish I could come too, though.”

Sena nodded. “Too much too soon, isn’t it?”

“I just… could not bare to have everyone staring at me. And Jaehaera,” she said softly.

“You have been so brave today, Helaena. We’re all so proud of you,” Sena said, and squeezed her fingers. Helaena kissed the crown of her head.

There was a light knock at the door, and a page made himself known. “The sept is ready for you, Lady Regent,” he said.

Sena inclined her head to him as her stomach twisted with nerves and she stood, rounding the dressing table.

“Wait!” Helaena squeaked, and Sena turned back to her, alarmed. “Wait. Your crown.”

Sena scoffed, so anxious had she been to go and get married before every lord and lady in the Kingdom that she’d nearly forgotten. She sat herself back down and watched in the looking glass as Helaena crossed to the mantle and returned with the golden crown of the Conciliator.

Jaehaerys’s crown still rested heavy on her brow, but Sena considered it a good reminder of the weight of the responsibility on her. As she did every time she donned the crown, she sent up a silent prayer that whatever Gods were listening - whether they be her mother’s, her father’s, or Aemond’s - would give her the strength and wisdom to wear it.

Then, she kissed her goodsister farewell and followed the page from the room.

The city’s largest sept, atop Visenya’s Hill was already brimming with lords, ladies and knights from each corner of the Seven Kingdoms when they arrived. The only major exception was House Baratheon, Lord Borros having made some weak excuse about not being able to be absent from Storm’s End for a wedding and a coronation. In truth, he still smarted over Prince Aemond’s spurned betrothal, but that was a problem for another day, Sena said to herself with a resolute firmness. 

Sena walked the length of the Sept, standing on her own without an escort. She mounted the marble steps and took her place by Aemond's side, her husband casting her a jubilant smile. Daeron mounted the steps and together, the two brothers helped her remove her maiden cloak. Sena looked out over the Sept and the gathered worshippers, could name nearly every face in the crowd at this point, from her own family to Lord Benjicott Blackwood, Lord Ormund Hightower, Lady Sabitha Frey and more, all assembled for the nuptials of Aegon’s Regent.

In the front row of witnesses, King Aegon III took pride of place. He was to be coronated in the Dragonpit a week from today and Sena noticed with a pang that the circlet of Valyrian steel and rubies on his brow was very nearly too large, slipping low over his brow. He was too young right now but she hoped when he was a man grown he would understand why she had put it on his head in the first place.

To his left, seated in a wheelchair was the last king, Aegon II, looking impressively put together for once. He caught Sena’s eye and sent her a wink that made her begrudgingly smile. The high collar of his black doublet hid the burns on his throat and clavicle, but he was weaning himself from the milk of the poppy at his younger brother’s insistence, day by day. To Aegon the Elder’s left stood his mother. Queen Alicent beamed up at Sena, ready to finally call her daughter.

To Aegon the Younger’s right was his mother. Rhaenyra was resplendent in crimson red, brow adorned with a circlet of gold and rubies that befitted her station as Queen Mother and had once belonged to Queen Rhaenys the Conqueror. Then was… Prince Daemon. 

Sena stopped looking then. She had laughed in his face some weeks ago when he had asked at dinner if he would be escorting her in the Sept, like she was some prized bovine in his possession that he was finally deigning to hand over ownership of to Prince Aemond. What stilted communication they had had between them had ceased and they had not spoken since, but she could not tell if her father’s pride was hurt or if he was secretly relieved.

Once Daeron had carried off her maiden cloak, she turned back to the High Septon who stood above them. To her side, Aemond felt her nerves and reached out to grab her hand, giving her a little squeeze. “Breathe,” he reminded her and she had not even realised she’d been holding it. He looked positively beautiful, the silver fastenings of his black doublet that he preferred today replaced with bronze, just for her.

This ceremony did not quite hold the same magic she had felt that morning. The sense of wonder and eternal binding was replaced with sickening anxiety, with everyone in the realm watching her and the crown weighing heavy on her head. At least that was how she felt until Aemond stepped away from her and took a cloak Daeron had ready for him, placing the heavy mantle over her shoulders, two dancing bronze dragons on her back. Then, Sena’s heart surged, her head feeling impossibly light, and they stood together at the altar, husband and wife, cloaked in black and bronze.

When Aemond kissed her, she took his face in her hands and held him to her as long as she dared, applause and cheering echoing raucously in her ears. When they parted, Sena took her husband’s hand in hers and turned them to the Sept to face the witnesses. They stood tall, daring anyone to doubt their dedication to their kingdom, their family or each other ever again.

After the applause quietened down and Daeron’s voice had grown hoarse with cheering, Aemond and Sena walked arm in arm down the steps, Aemond leaning his weight on her as much as he could without it being obvious. 

At the foot of the steps, they turned to the altar with the fewest candles at its base - the altar of the Stranger. There were six unlit pillars lined up ready for them and Sena lifted one of the half-melted candles, letting the flame spread from wick to wick as the nobility looked on. 

King Viserys, Ser Otto, Jacaerys, Lucerys, Jaehaerys, Maelor. She counted them out under her breath.

Just as they were about to turn away, Aemond stopped her and pulled a fresh candle from below the altar, setting it aflame from the six she had just lit and setting it down. She raised her eyebrow in question at him and he pressed a kiss to her hand. “For Lady Rhea,” he said and she smiled at him as a tear sprang to her eye.

Once in the open carriage outside the Sept, Aemond breathed a sigh of relief, wincing a little as soon as he’d brought his weight off of his bad leg.

“Are you well?” Sena murmured, only loud enough for his ears. “It has been such a long day for you, love-“

He quietened her with a kiss. “And I would change nothing about it. Wedding you in the tradition of our house, just us and Helaena and the dragons, then wedding you again for every last noble and knight and peasant to see we belong to each other? I’ll do it all again, if you wish it.”

That made her laugh and she leaned over in the carriage, kissing his cheek. “I think I have been married enough for one day, my love,” she said.

“For an entire lifetime, I should hope, my Princess,” he quirked a brow at her and she laughed once again. 

As their guests spilled out of the sept and the procession readied to pull away, Daeron halted their progress and boosted himself up the step of the carriage, leaning over them with a wild grin on his face. “Brother, sister,” he said with a glint in his eye.

“Daeron,” Sena quirked an eyebrow. “What mischief are you up to?” She asked, eyeing the brothers and then- was that Addam Velaryon behind Daeron, giving her a shy smile?

Daeron gave her a wounded look and pulled a small box from his doublet. “Just following an older brother’s orders,” he said with a devilish wink and passed the box to Aemond. “Congratulations, Visenya, Aemond.” He gave them another sweet smile and dropped back down to the ground, hurrying off with Addam to their horses as the procession set itself into motion.

“What in the Seven Hells was that about?” Sena asked, laughing heartily as the carriage rolled forward. The streets were lined with smallfolk celebrating the official end of the war and they began cheering as they laid eyes on their King escorted by his Kingsguard, then the Princess Regent and her new husband. Sena leaned into Aemond’s side as hundreds of pairs of eyes watched them.

“The fool was supposed to give it to me in the Sept, but I suppose this works too,” Aemond said, a grin on his face. “Better, maybe. Just you and I.”

Sena gestured around. “We’re hardly alone, Aemond.”

“Well, alone as we’re like to get today,” he said with a roll of his eyes. “Shh, just- stop bickering with me for one second and come here, insufferable woman.”

Sena laughed heartily and turned towards him, allowing him to take her left hand in his and pulling it into his lap. “Insufferable wife,” she corrected.

“Darling, insufferable wife,” he said, running his thumb over the back of her hand, then opening the box. “A token of our union. From your devoted, bullheaded husband.”

Sena’s breath caught in her throat. A sapphire glittered on a band of smokey, dark metal, catching the light every way it turned. “Aemond.”

“The band was your predecessor’s wedding ring, when she married the Conqueror. We have no smiths who can craft Valyrian steel, but I found one in Braavos who can rework it. I just had the ruby removed, replaced with a sapphire mined on Tarth…” he trailed off, watching her face carefully with his serious gaze. “Do you… like it?”

Before she could stop herself, she practically seized him and pulled him against her in a searing kiss. The crowds of smallfolk around them roared and Sena laughed happily into the kiss, Aemond holding her chin in one of his hands, his tongue flicking over the cut on her lip. “Devoted, bullheaded husband… ñuha prūmia, I love it,” she said, kissing the cut on his own lip. “Put it on for me?”

Aemond gave her a nervous smile. “I hope I got the size right,” he said as he took her left hand again, pulling the ring from the box. “I knew Helaena would stick her nose in and argue with me about it if I asked her to borrow one of your rings for size, so I might have guessed.”

Sena laughed. “Fool,” she said, watching as he slipped it snuggly onto her finger. “I would have worn it on a chain if I had to.”

He looked down at the glittering, irregular sapphire on her finger and grinned. “Fits perfectly. Look at that.”

“I shall,” she said, “every day for the rest of my days.” He gave her the softest, sweetest smile. “Now I just need to dream up a ring for you.”

They were the last two to enter the great hall, set up for a subdued banquet given the circumstances, but a merry one nonetheless. When they make their entrance, everyone in the hall stood for them, applauding as they made the long walk to the high table. Aemond’s cane clicked on the flagstones and a bright blush bloomed in his cheeks. Sena held her head high so the crown did not slip but gripped her husband’s arm in hers with all her strength. He felt it and leaned into her, reassuring her with his presence.

At the foot of the plinth that the high table sat at, Sena swept into a deep curtsey before the boy king and Aemond bowed at the waist. Little Aegon thanked them politely for their obeisance, as he was prompted to by his mother, and Sena helped Aemond up the steps and to his seat.

When she finally sat, her head was spinning. Under the golden crown, the weight of her dress and her cloak, she felt ready to pass out. She pressed a kiss to her little brother’s head. “You’re not terribly bored, are you?” She asked him.

Aegon considered it for a moment then gave his blonde locks a shake. “It’s okay, Mother said you are serving lemon cakes for dessert,” he said with a little smile. “You look pretty.”

Sena smiled at him and Aemond grazed his fingers over the back of her neck, evoking a little shiver. “Doesn’t she just, nephew?”

The entire high table had been carefully arranged to show the end of their family’s division to the realm. Aegon III sat at the centre of the table, with his mother to his left hand and his now-Princess Regent sat to his right. To Aemond’s right hand was Lord Corlys to act as a buffer between the Prince, Princess Rhaenys and Prince Joffrey, then Prince Daeron, who was doing a good job of charming Addam and Alyn Velaryon. Queen Alicent was sat on Rhaenyra’s other side, speaking as easily and amicably as they could manage. Little Jaehaera was at her grandmother’s side, then Aegon II, then - unluckily for them - Sena’s sisters.

She had apologised to Baela and Rhaena profusely ahead of time for seating them where she had. But in truth, she could not think of anyone else who would have been able to keep a tight leash on their father, who sat moodily on their other side, taking in the proceedings with something between stark disinterest and open malice. Sena gritted her teeth. How she wished she could have a glass of wine right now. Or, come to think of it, maybe the entire flagon.

“You’re tense,” Aemond murmured in her ear, rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand where she gripped the arm of her chair. The servants were bringing out the food now and everyone around them was filling up their plates, but Sena felt so anxious she could not truly stomach it.

She gave him a look. “Can you blame me?” She asked and caught his hand in hers.

He smiled. “No,” he said. “But please try to relax. We have an entire room of spectators to save face in front of. Nothing can go that badly.”

She cast him a mournful look. “If it were up to me, we would have had a small dinner with our sisters, Daeron, maybe your mother and that would be it.”

“Well, Baela is looking at me right now as though she is ready to eat me, so I would still have my objections to that,” he murmured low in her ear and Sena surreptitiously glanced up to see Baela was indeed glowering down the table at her new goodbrother. “Besides, if it were up to me, it would just be you and I and a bottle of Arbor red. And that’s all. Not even any clothing.”

She smirked at him and shook her head. “Well, I cannot drink the Arbor red, so you must be confident you would still be able to perform after drinking it all by yourself,” she said with a wicked grin. “I like confidence in a man, even when it is utterly foolhardy.”

Aemond shook his head with mirth. “I would take you up on the challenge but I intend to remember my wedding night. Every detail, Princess.”

The title still sounded so strange to her ears and she fought the urge to correct it even as it sent a thrill through her. “We have the rest of our lives, I suppose,” she said.

He raised their joined hands to his lips and kissed her. “We do, don’t we?” He said. “Now, pass me your plate. I know you struggle to eat when you’re tense but as your husband, I am going to politely ask that you keep our daughter fed and growing strong.”

She shook her head and laughed but passed him her plate, watching as he started loading it up with the best cuts of meat, a reduction of foraged snowberries and potatoes roasted in goose fat. Okay, maybe she could eat. “It could be a boy, Aemond,” she pointed out.

Lord Corlys gently broke in and Sena found herself hoping desperately he had not been listening the entire time. “It could be, but fathers have a sense for these things. I called both of mine correctly and all the grandchildren,” he said proudly, raising one snowy eyebrow at her.

Aemond tensed a little at the mention of Lord Corlys’s grandchildren but Sena squeezed his hand and smiled warmly at her cousin’s husband. “I suppose I have seen too much already in my life to laugh at the claim of a sixth sense among fathers, my lord,” she said.

Lord Corlys laughed. “Imagine what you will be prepared to believe in when you reach my age, Princess Regent.”

Under Aemond’s watchful eye, Sena dug into her wedding feast and the second she had actually managed to force down a bite, some of the nerves in her stomach abated. Maybe this wasn’t so bad. Fine food, treasured company, a band of musicians playing merrily. After she had eaten, she looked out across the hall and managed to catch the eye of Lord Cregan Stark, her Master of Laws, who inclined his head warmly to her. She smiled and nodded back. It was pure luck and force of will that he was even still here, so desperate was he to return to the frozen north, but Sena was beginning to suspect that had more to do with the dark-haired maid of House Blackwood sat to his right than it had to do with her skills of diplomacy.

Aemond followed her line of sight and grimaced, causing Sena to smirk. She leaned in to her husband and spoke in his ear, “I don’t understand why you don’t like him. You know every hour I manage to keep Cregan Stark from running back to the frozen north is a victory, Aemond. My small council are practically holding the realm together.” 

Aemond raised an eyebrow and gripped her hand. “You are holding the realm together, dearest. And Lord Cregan is far too handsome and spends far too much time in your company for me to like him.” 

She laughed with her entire chest. “Lord Cregan does not have eyes for me, beloved, he is hopelessly transfixed on the Blackwood girl,” she told him, giving his arm a reassuring pat. “Besides, even if he did, there has only ever been one man for me, and I have already tricked him into being mine for eternity.” 

“My love” Aemond said, “it was I who tricked you.” He hooked a finger under her chin and pulled her in for a lingering kiss.

Unfortunately, a flicker of movement in the corner of her eye broke the spell and caused her to turn her head. She saw the exact moment her father rose from his seat. The meal was winding down and the front benches were being pushed back to make room for dancing, but some of the din eerily quietened as Prince Daemon got to his feet.

Sena braced herself and Aemond squeezed her hand. How she wished her father was not here. How she wished she did not have to invite him. But they were trying desperately to sew a war-torn realm back together, and that would not be done without uncomfortable truces.

Daemon rounded the high table and stopped before the King, inclining his head to his young son. Aegon smiled at his father happily and resumed eating, missing the thick tension that had settled over the family. Then, Daemon looked to her. Their eyes held each other’s for a moment, and Sena straightened her back to hold the crown of the Conciliator high. “Princess Regent,” her father said, giving her the barest nod of obeisance.

“Father,” Sena greeted coolly.

He drew breath as everyone around him seemed to hold theirs. “I thought with my goodson’s health, you might need someone to begin the dancing with. Prince Aemond will need to conserve his energy for the bedding, after all.”

Sena gritted her teeth and valiantly resisted the urge to lunge at her father with her butter knife. In truth, she had not thought of how she would open the dancing, had just hoped someone would eventually take the responsibility off her hands, maybe Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys or Queen Alicent and Prince Daeron. Because it was true, Aemond was in no fit state to dance. He had struggled enough with standing in the sept for the ceremony.

Sena met Daemon’s eyes, tried to read into the murky violet. There was a slight shuffle in his walk these days, a pronounced tremor in the fingers of his right hand that could have only been a result of the brain bleed, but otherwise, he remained as unreadable as ever. “In truth, father, I had not considered it.”

Daemon quirked an eyebrow. “Well then, let me do the honour, as father of the bride,” he said, then turned his gaze to Aemond, “if my goodson consents.”

“You address the Princess Regent, and a grown woman besides,” Aemond said in a grating tone, “she does not need my consent to do anything. Address your request to the correct person, Uncle.”

Daemon turned back on his daughter and smirked. “Sena.”

“Kneel,” she said calmly. “Kneel and address me as befits my station and I will dance with you.” He glared at her, and the entire hall was watching them now. She lowered her voice. “I wear your brother’s crown, father. Kneel to it if you cannot bring yourself to kneel to me.”

Under the table, Aemond was gripping her knee, lending her a little of his strength as she fought to keep from trembling. Daemon eyed his daughter, then shakily lowered himself to one knee. He bowed his head, slowly and reverently. “Princess,” he murmured. Then raised his voice so the whole room could hear. “Princess Visenya, Princess Regent and Protector of the Realm. Will you do me the honour of giving your father a dance?”

She rose from her seat, her maimed hand resting on the slight swell of her belly, and Aemond watched her warily. She grazed her fingers over his shoulder, willing him to know she would be fine and rounded the table, bypassing her Hand and Prince Daeron’s worried look. She came round the front of the table and took in her father’s bowed form.

Had he always been so small? Had he always been just a man at the end of the day? Barely as tall as Aemond, barely taller than her. His hair short at his left temple where she had struck him and the Maesters had tended to him. His eyes were ringed by dark shadows and deep lines. His right leg trembled where he kneeled on it. “Rise, Ser,” she commanded, loud and clear for all to hear. Her father obeyed, bringing himself back to his feet, standing the step below her. She offered him her hand - the one he had not maimed, adorned with a sapphire set in Visenya the Conqueror’s band of Valyrian steel. He took it and led her to the floor.

As if unsure what to do, the musicians were a little slow to take up a tune. Daemon’s hand felt like a lead weight in hers, icy cold and heavy. When the band kicked in, he drew her into his arms and began to spin her around with what grace he could muster. The whole hall watched with bated breath, none more disquieted than the high table. Prince Daemon pulled his daughter in for a spin and in the closeness of the hold, he whispered, “Everyone is staring.”

Sena raised an eyebrow, eyeing the scar on his neck so as to avoid his violet gaze. “Can’t imagine why.”

“I fear I have not given you enough credit, daughter,” he said as they faced each other, spinning around with their hands palm to palm. The lyre was drawing out a solemn melody. “By your age, all I had done with my life was champion my brother at our grandfather’s Great Council, and I did not even get the title of Prince of Dragonstone for that. You… have done well. You have risen far. You are finally starting to wear that name of yours well.”

She shook her head at him. “I am not a Visenya the way you meant for me to be when you named me,” she told him, their hands intertwined. “I am not here because I covet power or a crown for my babe’s head. I am no Conqueror. Visenya is my name now, father. And I intend to make it mine, just as I made Sena mine.”

Her father nodded thoughtfully and spun her so they were facing the high table. Sena’s gaze caught on Aemond’s and her breath caught in her throat. Would there ever come a day where he did not make her falter, her heart fluttering? 

“Do you know why we call you Sena?” Daemon asked her.

She looked away from her husband to give her father a confused quirk of her eyebrow. “It is a shortened version of my name.”

Daemon shook his head. “No, do you know why we started calling you Sena?” She shook her head. No. It had just always been that way, for as long as she could remember. Because no child could bear the name of her legendary forebear, especially not one as gentle-hearted as she had been. 

Daemon gave her a small, lilting smile. “When you were a year old, I took you to court for the first time, to present my child, my blood to the King,” he said. “I had little interest in you, as I’m sure you will be shocked to learn. I pawned you off on the Queen so my brother and I could start drinking.” He spun her once more, and when he pulled her back to his chest, he caught her hands. “The Queen had three children at that point, the youngest only a week younger than you. He could not say your name properly. He babbled it in that way babes do. Sena was all he could manage. And by the time my nephew had all the other children calling you Sena, well… it stuck. We started calling you that too.”

Sena’s heart was in her throat, and she turned her gaze to the high table, not caring for the dance, her eyes brimming with tears.

Aemond was still watching her. Beautiful Aemond, with lavender eyes and a soft, rasping voice and lips so sweet she could get drunk on them. 

“So,” her father continued. “I guess, in a way, this day was inevitable. You were always meant for each other. And I was the fool trying to sail into the wind.”

Sena watched her husband, barely registering her father’s words. Aemond raised his goblet to her, giving her a soft smile. “No,” she said, barely audible. “Today was not inevitable. Today nearly did not happen, a thousand times over.”

Daemon pulled her back into the dance, into the final melody, spinning her round and round. “Do you doubt that you were meant for each other?”

She shook her head. “No, we were meant for each other,” she said. “But today… today was not given to us. Today we had to earn.”

Daemon had nothing to say to that, just bowed to her deeply as they finished the dance and escorted her back to her seat. As they left the floor, the spell around them seemed to break, and other couples took to the floor. Married lords and ladies, friends, allies, Lord Cregan and Lady Alysanne. Sena felt safer as soon as she was back in her seat, and she pulled Aemond’s hand into her lap, her heart swelling with her all-consuming love for him. He gave her a slightly confused look, but squeezed her hand anyway.

“One more thing,” Daemon said and in truth, Sena had not even realised he was still there. He walked back down to his seat at the table, on the far end beside Baela and Rhaena, and drew something from below the table.

Fear surged through Sena for the barest second and she felt Aemond stiffen beside her. But the sword was still sheathed, and Daemon lay it on the banquet table before her. He nodded to her. “It is probably my son’s to award as he sees fit, in truth, but until his coming of age, I think there is only one Targaryen suited to wield her.”

There were tears in her eyes as she let go of Aemond’s hand and reached for the ruby-studded, cool hilt. “I have no sword hand,” she pointed out to her father. “No thanks to you. I am hardly fit to wield her.”

Daemon raised an eyebrow and held up his shaking hand. “And I cannot swing a sword without nearly severing my own foot, so neither am I. No thanks to you. Your namesake wielded her, my grandfather wielded her, then my father, then me. It is less about what we do with the blade itself and more about what we can do with the promise of it, Visenya. Take it.”

“Father-“ she breathed.

“It’s a gift,” he said, and every one of their family was watching them with wide eyes. “You will learn how to use her again with time and practice. Same as you learned all the rest by yourself… with no one to guide you.”

She lay her right hand on the scabbard and drew Dark Sister with her left. The sword was weighty and unwieldy in her weaker hand, but Daemon was right. She would learn. She always had.

“Thank you, father,” she breathed, turning the sword over and over in her hand.

Daemon nodded and left her without a further word.

-----

“No, Princess, you promised.”

Over the past three years, Sena had grown used to the slight nagging tone in her husband’s voice as he urged her to take a break. He was not wrong, she had promised, she just wished he would not point it out in front of her entire small council. Maegor’s Holdfast was eerily quiet with most of her family already having left, Vermithor and Vhagar had been saddled for two hours at this point and Sena had begged off leaving at first light because there was just one more thing she needed to speak to her council about. Aemond sat to her right as her advisor, giving her a hard look right now, and Princess Rhaenys to her left, a small smirk on her lips. The rest of them avoided her gaze as she gritted her teeth. All except for Alys, who had always enjoyed the married couple’s bickering as long as she’d known them.

“It’s just- this trade deal with the Summer Isles is important,” she complained, a little childishly, shuffling the papers before her and avoiding Aemond’s eye.

“You’re running an entire country, love, it’s all important,” he said with a note of exasperation in his voice, “but so is the King’s tenth nameday and the first major gathering of our family in the three years since the coronation.”

Sena bit her lip. That was precisely why she was a little reticent to go, the thought of so many Targaryens in one place setting her teeth on edge. It was ridiculous, because what had they fought for years ago if not precisely for moments like this? But Sena had found that the thought of family gatherings were a lot sweeter than the awkward, stilted reality of them. “Baela is not going, nor is Princess Rhaenys.” Baela, now Mistress of Laws after the departure of Lord Stark, shot her an irritated look as if to say do not bring me into this.

Aemond was not impressed. “They remain so you can leave for a few days. Princess Rhaenys has more experience than any of us and Baela will fly to you as soon as you are needed.”

Baela arched an eyebrow at her sister’s husband. “Is that the extent of my contributions at this table, goodbrother? Messenger?”

Aemond winced - he had not meant it like that - but Ser Alyn Velaryon, successor to his grandsire as Master of Ships, thankfully intervened, laying a hand on Baela’s wrist. “He only seeks to appease the Princess Regent that if her presence is needed, she will be fetched, ñuha zaldrīzes.” My dragon. 

Aemond valiantly repressed a look of disgust. Sena knew he had little taste for public displays of affection if it was not him displaying his affection for his wife, but she was grateful he had learned to bite his tongue before her tempestuous sister. Even now, the two firebrands tended to throw sparks when they clashed.

Ser Criston Cole cleared his throat to speak. “Forgive me, Princess, but you did promise,” he pointed out, “and Queen Alicent did write me to say how excited Helaena is to see you.”

Okay, so they were guilt tripping her now? Sena groaned. “The realm will not survive my own small council mutinying against me, my Lords and Ladies,” she grumbled, glaring around the table at them all in turn. Lord Tyland Lannister was the only one not openly enjoying all of this at her expense.

“But it will survive you taking a week off,” Princess Rhaenys pointed out, levelling Sena with a hard stare that she still found difficult to refuse. “You have worked hard these last few years, Visenya. Now, go and take a break and remember what it is all for. Enjoy a little of the peace that you have created.”

Sena gave the Hand a look, then pushed back her chair with a scrape. “My Lords and Ladies,” she said with a nod.

There was a scattered chorus of farewells and she swept from the room, Aemond looking pleased with himself and hot on her tail. “Enjoy your holiday!” Alys’s distinctive voice called behind her, and Sena had to repress a snort of laughter.

As soon as they were in the air above King’s Landing however, soaring southeast on dragonback, the stress of the last few years seemed to melt away and Sena wondered why she had been dragging her heels at the chance to get away from it all for a little while. Ravens could still reach her at the country palace in the Reach that Helaena had lovingly dubbed Dragonhall. House Hightower had relinquished the summer palace and its earnings to the Crown as part of the nationwide effort at reconstruction after the war and whilst the surrounding farms and lands added handsomely to the Crown’s depleted coffers, King Aegon III had little need for another palace and had relinquished it to his future goodmother at the gentle prompting of Rhaenyra. Helaena loved the place, walked its halls and gardens dreamily, barefoot and far away from the smog and choke of King’s Landing for months at a time, with her daughter and husband close at hand and her mother visiting often. Her only regret was that it took her away from Aemond and Sena, but that was easily rectified by Dreamfyre, who slept soundly in a stable that had once housed twenty horses.

The King’s retinue would follow Sena and Aemond to Dragonhall by horseback, including the Queen Mother and the entire Kingsguard. The Regent and her lord husband were second last of the family to arrive then, the largest living dragons touching down in one of the orchards that had already been trampled by a dizzying array of fire breathers. Sena winced. They would have to rethink this in future.

Sena dismounted, pulled her gloves from her hands and approached Vhagar to help her husband jump the final six feet to the ground. Aemond’s hip would never be what it had been before the war, but he was no longer in a great deal of pain. He just felt the ache on cold, damp mornings which were becoming lesser and lesser as winter gave way to spring at long last. The only indication of discomfort was a little quirk of the corner of his mouth as he landed on his feet, and Sena kissed it away. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “For dragging me away. I needed it, even if I wasn’t exactly grateful.”

He smiled at her wryly. “You forget I know you, issa jorrāelagon,” he said, brushing her windswept hair behind her ear. “No thanks are required.”

“Thank the Gods,” came a man’s exhausted, pitiful voice. “You’re here! Please, show some mercy, take her.”

Sena turned around to see Daeron at the opening of the paddock and a small, blurry shape streaking towards them.

Aemond fell to his knees with a little grunt and opened his arms wide, a wild grin on his face, and the tiny, blurry shape crashed into him. “Kepa! Kepa!” She cried. Father! Father!

Sena’s heart melted in her chest as she watched Aemond stand and swing their daughter round and round, laughing joyously. He settled the little girl on his hip and smacked a wet kiss on her cheek, laughing when she grumbled and swiped at it with a “Yuck.”

“Tala, vūjigon aōha muña,” he said. Daughter, kiss your mother. 

The little girl reached for Sena with grabby hands, hanging on Aemond’s hip at a precarious angle. “Muña!”

"Rhaea,” Sena kissed her daughter, laughing when she found the child’s face sticky. That explained why Daeron was so ragged and exhausted - he’d clearly been plying his three-year-old niece with sweets. She smoothed down the girl’s wild, tangled silver curls. “Have you been behaving for your grandmother and your Aunts and Uncles?”

Rhaea gave her a somewhat awkward look, as if trying to conjure up an answer that wasn’t an outright lie, and Sena and Aemond shared a knowing glance. Daeron stumbled up to them, giving them a look that said his niece had been doing everything but behaving. “Addam made the mistake of telling her he’d bring her up on Seasmoke if you both allowed it and she maybe hasn’t stopped mentioning it since?”

Aemond grinned. “I think I’ve owed Jaehaera a ride on Vhagar for five years now, so I guess we can maybe arrange something, brother,” he said. He looked down and saw his daughter playing with his hair, promptly pulling it out of her grasp. “When you’ve got clean hands, mayhaps, my lady?”

Rhaea gave her father an affronted look and stuck her bottom lip out so far it would have been impressive if Sena did not see it every single day. Daeron laughed. “You’re fighting with yourself there, brother,” he said, giving his niece a wink.

Dragonhall was bliss, pure and simple.

Sena awoke uncharacteristically late in the morning to find her husband had seen to their daughter so she could sleep longer. She came down to the dining room in her robe and kissed him as a thank you at the table, much to his family’s amusement. He was without his eyepatch, his lips tasted of jam and Rhaea uttered her new favourite phrase, yuck.

After breakfast, Rhaea ran and played in the gardens with Jaehaera, Joffrey and Viserys, two years returned safely to them by way of paying ransom to Lys. Rhaenyra had openly sobbed on the docks when she held her youngest son.

After Sena and Aemond had taken a turn of the gardens with Aemond’s mother, they settled on the grass to watch the children play as Alicent, Helaena and Rhaena took tea behind them. Sena leaned back into Aemond’s chest and watched their daughter run rings around her cousin and uncles, the older children in disbelief at her boundless energy. Aemond was smiling softly, combing his fingers through Sena’s hair. She caught his hand - the one with a bronze signet ring emblazoned with two dancing dragons - in hers and pressed it to her lips.

“Mm?” Aemond murmured into her hair. He had developed a sixth sense for when something was wrong with her.

She watched the children run, shrieking and playing and splashing pond water at each other and she sighed deeply. “I’m so sorry, Aemond.”

He leaned back and tilted her head towards him with a hand. His brow was furrowed in confusion. “What are you sorry for, darling?”

She swallowed hard. Watched their child - their only child - play at dragons and knights. “I know how much you wanted a large family.”

Aemond tensed against her. “Sena, do not ever apologise to me for that again,” he said sharply but not unkindly. “You cannot truly believe I bear a grudge against you for that, do you? If so, I have not done a good enough job as your husband.”

The day Sena had brought Rhaea into the world had been… traumatic, to say the least. There had been so much blood and somewhere in the royal archives, there was a hastily-drafted document with bloody fingerprints and her shaky signature signing the regency over to Princess Rhaenys in the event of her untimely death. Rhaea’s shoulder had been stuck on her pelvis and it had been long, long hours of agony, with her body getting closer and closer to giving up the fight with each push, each effort of the midwives and maesters to get the babe unstuck. She sighed. “I just… can’t help but think about how, if you had married the Baratheon girl, you’d likely have a son by now.”

He shook his head, barely repressing his upset at the very suggestion. “A son with a woman I do not love and could never love, not while you lived and breathed. Not while I had ever known you and loved you,” he pressed a firm kiss to her temple, attempting to pour the fierceness of his affections into her very mind. “The Gods have a plan for us all, my love. And their plan for us was to end the suffering of our family and foster a new era of peace for our daughter to grow up in. Peace we deserved but never knew in our own childhood. I would not change a thing.”

She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. In truth, she had no idea where this was coming from. She had had years to accept it. Maybe it was because she had thrown herself into her work, into piecing the realm back together to distract herself, and it was only now that she was taking a break that all the emotions were flooding to the surface? A month after Rhaea’s birth, Aemond had broached the subject while they were sat in bed together. He had been cradling their daughter to his chest and told her in no uncertain terms that his preference was for her to not have another child, not when the first had been so dangerous. The Grand Maester says it is just one of those things, some women have more difficulty than others. It’s not uncommon in our bloodline - our grandmother, my father’s first wife, your father’s second wife. We can talk about it, Sena. I know it is not my choice to make but I wanted you to know my thoughts. I would be utterly lost without you. You once asked me not to make you carry on in this world without me. Now, I’m asking you.

She had been so weak and so close to death when she had brought Rhaea into the world and even a month later, the agony of it all was still so fresh in her mind and her body that it had been a straightforward choice to start the regular moon tea.

“You won’t remember it, but…” Aemond said, his voice a croak against her hair, “on the day of Rhaea’s birth, one of the maesters asked if I had a… preference.” He choked out the word and it sounded dirty coming from his lips. “If they wanted me to prioritise my wife or my child. I- I threatened to gut him like a fish if he asked such a question again. Or at least that’s what my mother tells me I said, I don’t recall. She made me apologise to him after, thank him for saving the both of you.”

She rested her head against his, felt his steady breathing against her back, gripped his fingers in hers. “I’m sorry for scaring you like that.”

He laughed wetly. “Only you,” he said, “only you would apologise for such a thing. I have scared you like that before. I understand how you felt, now, carrying me back to Harrenhal and sitting by my bedside for weeks.”

“Six years,” she said. “Six years, and Aegon will reach his majority, and we can relax a little. We can even step away from it all if we wish, retire to the country, tame our wild-thing of a daughter.”

Aemond chuckled. “I don’t know what we expected. She has the best and worst of both of us, love. I would call her perfection, but I fear she would hear it and it would be entirely too good for her ego,” he said, watching the little girl play. “Maybe we can come here more often. You, me, Helaena and the girls.”

“I heard my name,” Helaena said, settling herself down on the grass beside them, cup and saucer in hand. 

Rhaena smiled and sat down before them, spreading her skirts in a ladylike manor. “In truth, we thought you two looked awfully serious. We thought we had best intervene, remind you both you’re on holiday.”

Sena smiled, but the smile evaporated into a look of shock when Queen Alicent appeared at her other shoulder and settled herself down on the grass next to her son. “My Queen, you do not have to- we can get the servants to bring a chair-“

“I am four-and-forty, not an old crone,” Queen Alicent chided with a smirk and her daughter and son smiled.

“I more meant for your dress,” Sena said quickly, a blush rising in her cheeks. Aemond’s knees squeezed her where they bracketed her thighs. Nice save, he seemed to be saying.

The Queen looked down at her dress, a soft, dreamy blue silk perfect for the spring. She had long since cut green entirely out of her wardrobe, and in truth, Sena never saw Rhaenyra in black anymore. It seemed they were both trying to put their grudges and their mourning behind them and enjoy what was left. “I have long since learned there are more important things in life than propriety and preventing grass stains. Such as watching my grandchildren at play,” she sipped at her tea as Jaehaera chased after Rhaea with a pretend sword in hand, Rhaea flapping her imaginary wings manically.

There was a beat of contented silence before Helaena chirped, “what were you both looking so serious about? Honestly, I’m going to instate a no working policy at Dragonhall if you seriously all struggle to take a break this much.”

Sena grinned and Aemond shrugged his shoulders. “I was just telling my wife how blessed I am to have her and our perfect, mad daughter,” he told his sister with a glint in his eye.

Helaena laughed loudly and Sena wished she could bottle the sound and put it on her shelf for a rainy day. How lucky she was to be able to hear Helaena laugh freely and often again. “She is a little mad, isn’t she? Like her mother at that age.”

“Hey,” Sena balked, and her little family broke into laughter around her. “I wasn’t so bad.”

Alicent raised a perfectly manicured brow. “You were a daily challenge. It was a battle to get you into a skirt or scrub your face, listen to your septa, think of anything but swordplay. We can ask Rhaenyra when she arrives, she will recall it as well.”

Sena shook her head in protest but did not have a good rebuttal. None of it was false, after all. “And Rhaenyra loved me for it,” she pointed out defiantly.

“As did we all, darling,” Aemond said with bemusement in his voice. “Gods, if you grew up to be a Princess Regent, I dread to think what our Rhaea will accomplish.”

Sena groaned at the thought. “She’s going to raise Old Valyria out of the sea, I can tell.” She shared a grimace with her sister then turned to her best friend. “Any hints, Helaena?”

Helaena turned her lilac eyes on her niece and bit her lip a second as she thought. “Nothing,” she said after a moment. “She has a clean slate, as far as I can tell. Thanks to you.”

Sena smiled and rested back against her husband’s chest. She let out a deep, happy sigh, soaked in the sun on her skin and, after awhile, drifted into a light doze as soft voices chattered around her.

That was how the following days at Dragonhall proceeded. The King arrived with his retinue in late afternoon the next day. They all stood in the front courtyard of the palace to receive Aegon, completing the appropriate bowing and scraping, and then came Rhaenyra, hugging and kissing them all in greeting without exception. Sena’s father convalesced on Dragonstone still, attempting to remaster control of his movements and his mind just as Sena trained herself to wield Dark Sister in her left hand in every rare quiet moment she got. She had no doubt her father would one day return to the fold and guide his son as King and she looked forward to the moment with equal measures of fear and anticipation. But for now, they remained in their separate corners of the Kingdom and did their best to heal their wounds.

Sena was amazed to see for the first time how her family conducted themselves when there was no running of the realm to be worried over, no dynastic struggles to settle. Each morning, she lay in bed with Aemond dozing against her back and watched out of the window as Rhaenyra and Alicent took long walks in the gardens together. Sometimes they were chatting and laughing and sometimes they were not speaking at all, just remembering. But either way, they did it together.

The peace would be disturbed before long when the children would beg to go riding or practice sparring. Some mornings, Aemond and Sena would oblige them. Sena would oversee Aegon and Viserys sparring each other with wooden swords and Aemond would instruct his daughter and niece on the basics, play fight with them and always made sure to valiantly and heroically lose to his superior opponents. Other mornings, Daeron, Addam, Rhaena and Joffrey would take to the sky and race each other on their dragons for the younger children’s entertainment. 

When Daeron and Addam thought no one could see them, the two men would kiss sweetly in the gardens. But they were not nearly as subtle as they thought they were, coming back from long walks among the groves with ruffled hair and rumpled clothing. Aemond and Helaena would just smirk and respectfully not point it out so as not to embarrass their little brother, and Sena and Rhaena would eye each other over the rims of their teacups knowingly, repressing a laugh. 

On Aegon the Elder’s good days, when his mind was not so addled, Aemond would roll him out into the garden under the shade of a great oak tree, and they talked for hours. Sena had quietly asked Aemond one day what it was that they talked about, and Aemond shrugged. “Nothing and everything,” he said. “Our boyhood. Mother, father, the war. Everything that has happened. But sometimes, it is nicer things. He asks about you and Helaena. Jaehaera and Rhaea. I think he likes it here. He perhaps finds it a little boring at times but I think the peace is good for his soul.”

When Aemond was spending time with his brother, Sena would take to the library and pull out volumes of the books she had sent for from Oldtown as Helaena’s last nameday gift. A full set of encyclopaedias on the natural world, as comprehensive a study as there was to be found in Westeros, with full-page illustrations in vivid colours. They had been a damned fortune but worth every penny, she thought, as she sat with Helaena on the grass and studied them with their daughters. She read aloud passages on the properties of peppermint leaves and how to tell insects and arachnids apart. They would lean down close to the surface of one of the ponds and show Jaehaera and Rhaea the pond skaters, and the girls would pick roses in white, pink, red and blue for Sena to braid into Helaena’s hair. A crown that suited her better than any other ever had and, most importantly, made her smile.

Sena’s last night at Dragonhall before she was due to return to King’s Landing came dreadfully quickly. She was catching herself up on missives from Princess Rhaenys she had somewhat neglected when Aemond came into their bedroom after putting Rhaea down to sleep. Aemond gave her a fond sigh and took her by the hand, pulling her away from her writing desk despite her protests. Out on their balcony that overlooked the gardens, he pulled her down onto the soft chaise longue next to him. “Relax, please. Breathe.”

She drew in a dramatic breath to please him and allowed herself to melt into his side, laying her head on his shoulder. Their hands intertwined in their laps. “It’s just… a lot. I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologising,” he said and turned his head to look into her eyes. He had been without his eyepatch all week and Sena knew it would be strange to see him don it again tomorrow before they left. “It is a big weight you have on your shoulders, Sena. A job I certainly do not envy you. But my job as your husband is to keep you sane and help you whenever and however I can.”

“I could not do it without you,” she admitted. “Couldn’t do it without you fussing over me. Telling me to look at the whole picture, see the forest instead of just the trees.”

He turned her head with a thumb to look out over the gardens at the lines of rose bushes and the willow trees that swayed gently in the wind. “Have a look at them,” he said, and dipped his head to press a kiss to the corner of her jaw. “We planted the whole bloody forest together, dear. With our bare hands. Never forget it. Never forget how far we have come together.”

He moved his lips lower, to suckle at a sensitive spot on her neck as he brought one hand up to grip her thigh, and she said breathily, “Aemond.”

“Lay down,” he murmured into her skin. “Lay down, sweet girl, and let your husband show you how he loves you.”

He guided her down to the chaise longue with firm, steady hands and leaned over her. His hands pushed up her skirts and he took hold of her thighs, his thumbs stroking the sensitive insides. He watched hungrily as her breath quickened, lilac and sapphire eyes glinting in the torchlight. She attempted to reach up towards him, to touch his face and his hair but he pushed her back down gently. “Not tonight,” he murmured. “Touch yourself, pretty girl. Your hair, your breasts, whatever you like. Make yourself feel good. Let me handle the rest.” Then, he pushed her skirts up around her hips and dipped his head to kiss the inside of her thigh, dragging just the very tip of his tongue across her skin.

“Aemond,” she whispered like a prayer. “Why are you so good to me?”

He looked up at her over the bunching of her skirts and smiled, pulling aside her undergarments in a deft, well-practiced movement. He kissed the height of her pubic bone and his warm breath blustered against her skin. She shivered. He eyed her cunt hungrily. “The real question is why do you give this to me? Why are you so generous, letting me worship you whenever I wish, however I wish?” One long finger flicked out and parted her lips, catching on the edge of her hole and gathering slick before coming up to gently stroke that little bundle that made sparks fly behind her eyelids. “You give me my family back, my daughter, my entire life, and you do not think that is generous enough. So you give me your cunt, too. You must be some saint, so limitless is your propensity to give.”

Sena stifled a moan as he bowed his head to lick at her hole. “Yes. Truly selfless, Aemond. Laying back and letting you pleasure me with your quick fingers and your clever tongue. What a hard task it is for me.”

He laughed and the vibrations sent a shockwave through her, making her abdomen seize with pleasure. “Every moment spent worshipping you is a gift, Visenya.”

She shivered. He rarely used her true name, only when he was very upset with her or very turned on by her. She looked down and saw him rubbing at himself through his trousers with his spare hand. She sighed happily and leaned back against the cushions. Reached up and pulled down the sleeves of her dress, pulled down the neck. Aemond watched hungrily as she lifted her breasts from her gown. She had insisted on feeding their daughter herself and it had caused the skin of her breasts to stretch and sag, but Aemond had never seemed to mind, tracing the silvery scars as reverently as he did the multitude of other scars on her body and she did on his. Reminders of their power, their strength, their bravery. His lilac eye was nearly consumed by black right now as he watched her circle her nipples with her fingers, pulling and squeezing as they hardened quickly in the cool night air.

She should have maybe been ashamed - this was far too open a place to do this. Outside, on a balcony, where an ill-timed guard or servant could catch a glimpse or hear them or a family member on their floor or above could open their curtains at the wrong moment. But when she watched her husband in all his glory, tall and lean, his hair hanging freely about his handsome face, one hand on his cock and the other on her cunt, she could not bring herself to care at all.

He dipped his head and kissed her nub, running the tip of his tongue over her folds as one finger plunged into her, then another. She let her head fall back against the cushions in a breathy sigh. Squeezed her breasts as he brought his hand from his cock and pinned open her thighs to allow himself full access to her. “Good boy,” she moaned as he slipped his fingers into her past the first knuckle and gently started to crook, move, scissor them apart. His tongue laved just below her pleasure, building her arousal, watching her steadily for every spasm of pleasure, every breathy moan. “You’re so good to me, sweetheart,” she whispered, reaching out a hand to tuck his silver hair behind his ear.

He pulled away from her for a moment and she whined at the loss. “Don’t whisper,” he said, “don’t stifle yourself, don’t hide.” Then, he pulled his fingers from her hole to swap them for his tongue.

He mouthed at her hole then pushed his tongue past the resistant ring of muscle, and it was so wondrous that Sena threw her head back, unfortunately cracking her skull off of the arm of the chaise longue. “Ow!” She winced and Aemond pulled back hastily, his lips and chin glistening with slick and spit.

“Are you alright?” He asked quickly, worried he had hurt her, but when he watched as she rubbed at her head and dissolved into a fit of giggles, he smothered his own laughter in the crease of her hip. “C’mon, wife. Focus.”

That only made Sena giggle harder. “Focus on what? Coming on your face?”

He gave her a playful scandalised look. “Dirty girl,” he chided. Then raised an eyebrow as he filled her hole with his fingers once more, drawing a hearty moan from her. “You like that, don’t you? Riding my tongue, making a mess of your husband?”

She nodded and her eyes flitted shut as he pushed in another finger. The drag of the third felt divine and his fingers crooked inside her, pressing against a place that made her toes curl. “Mhm,” she moaned in the affirmative, grinding her hips against his hand, trying to find some friction for her pleasure on his palm. “Especially like it when you’re thrusting your tongue and your- your nose nudges me-“

“Well, then, your wish is my command.” With that, he plunged his face down into her cunt. His spare hand looped around her hip, holding her flush against his face and he lapped and suckled at her pleasure as his fingers pumped in and out of her. She let herself melt into the pillows, let her every sense be overtaken and devoted to Aemond working at her between her legs. It was pure ecstasy and she could see a little movement in his hips, see how he was grinding his hips into the chaise longue as he poured all his concentration into pleasuring her.

Aemond pulled his fingers out of her with a slick sound and before she could even whine and complain, he had replaced them with his tongue, grabbing her other hip and holding her down before his onslaught. The probing, thick muscle lapped at her insides as the wave inside of her gathered height and momentum. The juices that Aemond could not catch with his tongue dribbled down his chin and neck and between the cheeks of her arse. It was sticky and dirty and hot. And just as she thought she had reached heaven, he began to roll his movements, thrust his tongue, and his long, straight nose bumped against her nub repetitively. The rhythm was so perfect it was like he could read her mind, like the spasms of her walls around his tongue directly translated into his brain. Faster, harder, make a mess, make me forget every word but your name.

“Fuck,” she moaned, and it sounded tearful and desperate. She reached for a pillow to hold to her face, to drown out her sounds but Aemond reached up to grab it out of her hand.

He pulled away from her cunt. “Every time you try to hide, you bring yourself further from your goal,” he warned her as the wave inside her subsided from its peak. And Gods was he a sight like this, his lips red, his chin glistening, her slick dripping onto the collar of his jerkin. "Don’t hide, darling wife, let them hear you. Let the whole realm hear you. Let them know you are mine, and I am yours.”

She nodded desperately, her curls sticking to her forehead, damp with sweat and watched with all-consuming fire and hunger and he lowered his mouth back to her. His tongue plundered her, his nose rubbing her as he breathed harshly. He even spared a hand from her hip to slip down between her arse cheeks and thumb at the ring of muscle there, spreading her dribbling slick. Her hands flew down and knotted into his hair as she felt herself lose control, and she was grinding her hips up into his face, listening to his heavy breathing, watching the jerking of his hips against the pillows. She watched herself, watched her hips roll against his face in a jerky, desperate rhythm, watched her breasts jolt and bounce with their movements, watched her legs thrown over his shoulders, somehow urging him closer.

Her orgasm felt as thought it was punched out of her and she moaned loudly, her head falling back, her hair tangling wildly around her. “Aemond,” she whined and he groaned against her core, sending impossible shivers through her. Her juices gushed, her walls spasmed around his tongue and the sensation where she totally lost control - she could not breathe or moan or do anything but shiver against him - seized her.

She fell back against the pillows with a tired, happy moan, and Aemond pulled his tongue from her cunt, nosing and kissing at the dark, damp curls just above. “Come up here,” she moaned.

He grinned. “Do you mean it?”

It took her a second to catch on in her tired state, but when she did, something wicked glinted in her eye. “Yes.”

He did not need to be asked twice, moving up her body and straddling her chest. She helped him unlace his breaches and pull his hard, leaking cock free and then they worked at his erection together. He used her slick still coating his hand and chin to wet his grip on himself and positioned himself over her face which was red and sweating. He stroked himself hurriedly and she looked up at him hungrily, mouthing at the swollen, red head of his cock with bitten, plush lips, tasting the sweat on his skin and reaching up to fondle his balls. He grunted like an animal and tugged harder, faster. “Sena,” he moaned. “Sena, I’m going to-“

She pulled back as his hips snapped erratically and closed her eyes as his balls went tight in her palm and he coated her cheeks and tongue with his seed, warm and salty. He groaned loudly, gripping the back of her head with his spare hand and milking the last of his seed into her willing mouth. “You’re fucking perfect,” he hissed as she opened her eyes again, her cheeks glistening, looking up at him with innocent violet eyes. “Fucking perfect, you know that?”

She reached up and helped him through the final shivers of his orgasm, watched with wonder as his cock softened and his seed dripped from her chin onto her breasts. Gods, how she loved his cock. “That at least makes me worthy of seeing you like this,” she breathed and he moved back on shaking thighs so he could kiss his own cum from her lips.

“Fuck,” he sighed shakily. He looked around. Grimaced when he could see nothing to clean them off with, so he pulled off his shirt over his head.

“Aemond,” Sena scolded, but in truth loved to watch the ripple of his body, his slim waist and strong shoulders in motion. 

He grinned at her as he wiped her cheeks, then his face, then cleaned up some of the mess on her cunt and his cock. “You’ll have to delay leaving for a further hour tomorrow, Princess Regent. I’m afraid I’ve left you in need of a bath.”

She laughed and settled back down into the pillows, pulling him down on top of her and wrapping her legs around him. “Mm, as long as we can take the bath together.”

He kissed her, his breathing still ragged. “Now, that sounds like a plan. How does an early morning ride sound, wife?”

She laughed and slapped at his shoulder but let him drag her into a comfier position, her back to his chest. He peppered her neck with little kisses and she sighed happily, relaxing against him. “Eighteen years,” she said with a little smile, closing her eyes and listening to his breathing. “That’s how long I have loved you.”

He kissed her bare shoulder, tucked her hair behind her ear. “We could make it eighty and it would not be enough, couldn’t we?”

She shook her head. “No, I rather think this is eternal. No matter what comes after this life, no matter what comes in this life, I fear you’re rather stuck with me, Prince Aemond.”

His laugh was boyish, high and sweet. “Then eternity shall have to do, Princess Visenya."

She fell asleep like that, half undressed, outdoors with a spring evening on her skin, nestled into and warmed by Aemond’s chest, Aemond’s breath. 

He carried her inside to bed, took off her dress and tucked her under the covers. Once he’d rid himself of his own clothing, he crawled in next to her and pulled her against his chest. 

Tomorrow would come, with all its trials and challenges, but tonight… tonight belonged to them.

taglist (dm/ask/reply to be added): @stargaryen22 @trap-house-homiecide

[ellz9800]

Teen Wolf Fic Recs (Sterek)

...Because I’m re-watching the show and am now in a hole :) 

All fics have happy endings, are complete, and are on the longer side  >53k

As always, mind the warnings and tags. Happy reading!

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Baking My Way into Your Heart by theSilence   178k

Derek is an uptight college student, all work and no play. His carefully scheduled life is thrown kilter when his regular barista is replaced with someone new.

This is literally my fav sterek fic I’ve found so far. Talk about slow burn, wow. It’s a college AU, but has everything from pack goals to tooth-achingly fluffy moments,  I constantly read it and it never gets old. Absolutely wonderful! 12/10

When I’m Gone by MissYuki1990   108k

Stiles is leaving. For good if he has any say in it. He gave everything to them and received nothing in return, so who can blame him for wanting to leave and find his place in the world. Apparently? Everyone and their uncle.

Stiles is such a badass in this one by the end, and who can resist a little angst in the beginning? 8/10

The Feelings That I’m Under by wearing-tearing   294k

Stiles is a paramedic and Derek gets into a bike accident. It's kind of love at first sight.

I cry every time I read this. It’s an AU, but focuses on how much Kate fucked him up. Stiles is the biggest cinnamon roll and Derek’s family is amazing throughout it. 9/10

I know that you love me, even when I lose my head by LunaCanisLupus_22   135k

“We’re not mates, Cora,” he insists. “I mean look at him-“

“Ouch,” the kid says, no longer pushing that shit eating grin.

“He’s- he’s,” Derek tries, at a loss of how to explain why this can’t be possible. Why it shouldn’t be possible.

Or the one where Derek gets attacked by hunters, ends up with amnesia and forgets Stiles is his mate

The obligatory amnesia fic, at your service. Stiles and Derek are mates, but Derek gets amnesia. Hurts in the feels, but Stiles is such a badass and Derek is basically along for the ride that the ending totally makes up for it. Plot is strong and there isn’t a lull at all 9/10

We Are All We Are by  Takara Phoenix   83k

After everything with Gerard, Stiles wonders where his place in the pack is. Or rather, to which pack he belongs and what is going on in general. New faces and the threat of an Alpha pack are really not helping him there. So now he’s stuck-- once again-- rescuing a bunch of werewolves while trying to deal with his own feelings not just romantically, but friendship wise because he really needs to help Scott sort things out. 

Kind of crack-fic but has some plot! Basically just entirely packmom!Stiles. It’s a feel good fluff piece, essentially. 7/10

stuck in reverse by crazyassmurdererwall (smartalli)   65k

Look, Derek is the worst. Everyone knows that. Their fearless leader is a total and complete failwolf.

Which means the rest of them? Are kind of the worst too. They’re a ramshackle, slap dashed, sorry excuse for a pack that’s about a half second away from getting one of them killed. And this is a problem, because Stiles would really like to survive high school. Thanks.

Still, nobody deserves what Derek has gone through. Nobody.

And it’s about time somebody told him that.

Basically, Stiles goes with Derek’s pack because Scott is kinda an asshole in this one. Jackson is a GOAT tho and totally makes up for it. It’s cute. 8/10

Sound of Setting by SilverFlameAlchemist   30k

“Is she a mermaid? Did you find a mermaid on your doorstep? Why didn’t you just say so, man, what—who is she? Why are mermaids turning up at your place with bullet wounds in the first place?” “She’s not a mermaid,” Derek explained (far too) calmly. “She’s a siren.”

This one has it all, fluffy moments, crack, and a good plot. I love the OFC in this one. Definitely a good light-hearted read for fun! 8/10

Lead Me Wild (series) by iamthelightning   158k (in total)

Beacon Hills is the newest target in a pattern of attacks on werewolves designed to 'out' them as a violent threat to humanity. Derek Hale should have more important things on his mind than wondering what Stiles Stilinski sounds like getting fucked into a mattress.

Another all-time fav of mine. If you are a fan of angst, this series is perfect. The first part sets up the plot (kind of crack, but the plot is definitely there), but the second part is kind of entirely angst that features Derek’s classic self-pity. Kind of graphic, so mind the tags in part two, but definitely worth a read. 9/10

With Feeling (Series) by Crimson1*   53k (in total)

"Derek Hale, if you refuse to learn from your past…then you will be doomed to repeat it." In which Derek is turned into a 16-year-old and has to stay with Stiles until they figure out how to turn him back. 

What happens if Stiles fell in love with Derek when he was 16? It’s super cute and sweet. 9/10 

*Love this author, btw!! She writes amazing ColdFlash fics if you like that ship and wrote a phenomenal Supernatural fic on FFN called Incubus (sorry for the shameless plug, I’m just obsessed with this fic)

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I have more...like, a lot more : )

[itsnothesameasitwas]

hiii! this month I’ve read a lot of great fics, so I decided is time to start my monthly fic rec… that means I’ll be doing a short fic rec and recap every month with my favorite fics of the month

note: the fics I’ll be mentioning weren't necessarily posted recently

!!! - please be careful and read all the tags and/or warnings before start reading and left kudos and nice messages to the authors <33

❀ Divinely Blessed by thinlines @thinlinez  | 17k | Explicit | ABO | fic post

“I heard you, Ni. But what do you mean?”

“What do you mean what I mean?”

Harry rolled his eyes as he shoved his alpha friend down onto a seat. “Did you mean you lick someone out or…?”

“Nah, mate! It was me! I got licked out!” Harry could only stare at Niall in horror.

Alpha Harry prides himself on having the bravest and most caring omega who might or might not just fulfill his sudden curiosity.

note: for some reason i don’t know i fell in love with the ABO and found this fic someway and WOW! it’s really fluffy and sweet and while i was reading all i could think about was “god! i really want someone who love me like Harry loves Lou and viceversa” and also has a great smut scene, funny and well writen (cliff ily babe)

❀ Promise me you won’t run away by thinlines | 23k | Explicit | ABO | Español

“Does kissing me stop you from having bad thoughts?” Harry asked, voice muffled into the collar of Louis’ dress shirt. Louis chuckled at this. He trailed a hand down Harry’s back, feeling the muscles tensing along with his touch.

“I guess you can say that. You’re a good distraction.”

“Then I will be the best distraction.” Harry answered, pulling back and watched Louis’ lips unashamedly.

“Come distract me, then.”

Or the Prince/ Knight AU in which Harry left Louis, but the omega never once gave up on them.

note: this fic is beautiful and really REALLY well written, i need to say i cried and im the most cold person in the world but this caught me and I LOVED IT! but also when i finished it i got mad because in the end notes was the spanish translation and i read it in english lmao; anyway i love it!!!... summing this up, the fic made me thought about that LOVE ALWAYS WIN <33

❀ Twist the knife by jishler @jishlerfics | 6k | Explicit | Angst / Smut | fic post

Infuriating, but Louis missed it. Louis missed him. His thighs and his chest and breath and warmth and toothbrush next to Louis’. He missed sex with Harry but he missed his presence more: Louis would settle for watching Harry get himself off if it meant he got to see him; hear the voice that was like a soothing balm over all his wounds.

Two weeks after their breakup, Harry wants his toys back.

note: i definetely don’t read smut in purpose and the reason i’ve read this was because i love the moodboard BUT i need to thank the person who put it on my dash because i liked it so much!! was fun to read and the smut is pretty well written :))

❀  Hold you now by solvetheminourdreams @solvetheminourdreams | 131k | Angst with happy ending | fic post | playlist

The string within Harry's own sweatpants is now dangling outside of his pocket, stretched so far out that the seams of his pants have tightened. His eyes remain hyper focused on Louis, how oblivious he is—scrolling through his phone without a care in the world, while Harry feels his tilt on its axis.

Three years ago, Harry Styles said goodbye to communications consultancy firm McQuiston Worldwide, leaving a life of travel and agency PR behind. When he accompanies his best friend to a family wedding across the Atlantic, he'll be forced to reopen old wounds and face his past—one that no one wants to hash out, but may just have to.

note: at the end of the first chapter i was emotional, is the kind of fic that you feel every single emotion, the one you literally feel are part of it... it’s perfectly well written and please give it a chance and  check all the stef’s works because she’s a super talented writer... if i say something else i’ll probably do spoilers so, shut up ana.

❀ The money mark by brightgolden @brightgolden | 52k | Explicit | ABO | fic post

Harry's heart beats faster in his chest as the name sinks in. The Tomlinson name is awfully familiar, and he isn’t sure how many rich Tomlinsons are out here in London, but he knew one. Seven years ago.

Like all fine things in the world, Louis Tomlinson ages exceptionally well.

OR

Where Louis is Harry’s first sugar daddy who dumped him over text and their paths cross, seven years later.

note: THIS IS MY FAVORITE FIC OF THE YEAR. sorry, but this fic is super well written, is omega harry + alpha louis and find smth like this is almost impossible! but i loved the fact that harry could be an omega and a sugar baby but he’s independant and strong and wow! it’s amazing; everyone should read it because it’s really good!! (ps. louis is the alpha of my dreams, he’s a complete gentlemen)

❀ Sweet like candy by neodiamond @neondiamond | 4k | General Audiences | ABO | fic post

Louis is an Alpha with an odd obsession for gummy bears. Harry is an Omega who makes friends a little too easily. They meet on the bus.

note: this is the cutest fluffy fic I have ever read! strangers to friends to lovers <333

❀ Literally making love by Brooklyn_babylon @twopoppies | 30k | Explicit | Robot/Human Relationship | fic post

Holding up one of the android's eyes to the workshop’s windows, he smiled as the light picked up the gold flecks in the pale green of his irises. Louis had always paid attention to even the tiniest details.

--

All Louis intended to do was rescue someone in need from loneliness. He had no idea it would be himself.

note: science + me = signal error BUT this fic. OMG. how to say this is one of the fics would be in my recap at the end of the year; i have read another fic by Gina and was really good but this is probably my favorite between both of them... all i know and want now is to create my perfect partner lmao. 

❀ I’m gonna keep this love, if you let me by pixies @tomlinbuns | 26k | Explicit | ABO | fic post

Louis makes Harry pretend to be his boyfriend one night out. The rest is history.

note: this one is simple to discribe... the best of the best. one of my favorites abo fics, funny, teasing and very romantic. i enjoyed so much read how these two guys fell in love with each other. god bless this fic <33

❀ Beautiful stranger by lovelarry10 @chloehl10 | 66k | Explicit | ABO / Mpreg | fic post

“Did you want to- oh. Uh, sorry, I-” Harry stuttered, licking his lips as he looked over Louis’ bare torso, not focusing on the ocean ahead of him. “You’re very distracting, Lou.”

“Trying to tell me you haven’t seen a topless Omega before?” Louis asked, walking back to his rucksack and grabbing a bottle of suncream out of it before returning to stand by Harry.

“Not one as stunning as you,” he thought he heard Harry mutter as he started to rub the cream into his shoulders.

*****

When Alpha Harry Styles attends the Gucci Cruise 2020 show, he knows what to expect: clothes, clutch bags, and a few too many pretentious people. What he doesn’t expect, however, is to run into an Omega who is more beautiful than anything on the runway.

note: this fic is from 2019 but who cares, i loved it so much and i want to thank/blame @justalarryblog​ because she unintentionally recommended it to me in her abo fic rec post and now i want someone like this harry in my life... is it too much to ask? because is one of the most beautiful abo fics i’ve read this month and wow. if you haven’t read it yet, what are you waiting for??

❀ Waiting on you by beckywritesthings @beckydoesthings  | 21k | Mature | Mpreg | fic post

“Do you want to touch?” Harry asks, taking one of his hands off to tangle with Louis’. His open invitation finally drags Louis’ attention away from his baby and up to his face, blue eyes wobbly with emotions. It’s clear that he’s too taken to really form words, so Harry takes the initiative to press their laced hands against his shirt fabric, warmth from the skin radiating through.

Louis pushes his shirt up to his chest, taking Harry’s hand and pressing it to hold the fabric in place. His hands return to warm skin, palms even more scalding now that there’s nothing in between them. And then, as if that wasn’t enough for Harry’s heart to handle, Louis leans in, pressing his lips right above his belly button.

“Hi, baby,” he says, lips moving across his skin softly. “I’m your… I’m Louis.”

Or Harry is pregnant with a stranger’s baby and Louis doesn’t know. It’s a minor detail that Harry’s both living with Louis and in love with him. No big deal.

note: this fic is really new, someone reblogged the fic post and when i saw it first i was like ‘huh?’ and then suddendly (in less than a minute) decided it was the next thing i’ll be reading and now i’m completely in love with it. Lou i need to say you’re the kind of guy everyone wants in their life <3 

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❀ all the love, ana. xx

[joyfulhopelox]

content tag game ʕ￫ᴥ￩　ʔ

Tagged by the lovely @kithtaehyung i also just realised that i am that awful at tumblr and making sure to sort my tags that i missed an important person who tagged me 😭 @bangtanhome 💕 i am so sorry, i had this in my drafts and i could swear i tagged you but it didn’t since i was not on mobile 😭 i have also been tagged by @secretum-scriptor 💕 (wow tumblr is doing a great job with notifications)

thank you for the tag it’s such a wonderful way to get to know someone and i thoroughly enjoyed reading yours ❤️

I am tagging: @hobipaint  @hobiandsprite @missgeniality @mochi-molala @rosietae @pjmsdior​ @rosereveries @yoonjinkooked @randombtsprincessa (you do not have to do this also! please ignore if so!) there is a message for everyone at the bottom if you wanna jump straight to that.

1. what fandoms have you written for (but do not currently)?

Once Upon A Time, Dr Who, Sherlock, tried my hand at Haikyuu, Naruto, MCR, The Maine, Suits, The GazettE, Gackt, Big Bang, Infinite...ok, i never realised how much stuff i had....this is shocking to me

2. what fandoms are you currently writing for?

Just BTS

3. how long have you been writing? 

Since 2008? On and off so i still consider myself a newbie

4. on which platforms do you post your stories? 

Used to post on Quizilla, ff.net, asianfanfics now just on Tumblr

5. what is your favourite genre to write? 

Fluff, angst with happy end. Anything that ends well, even if the ending is open, it just needs to have a glimmer of hope in there. 

6. are you a pantser or a planner? 

well, both? i aspire to be a planner, end up being a pantser most of the time. I just let my characters take me where they want to.

7. one shot or multi-chapter? 

One shot, multi chaptered (even though i have my Voir Dire series) makes me feel bad when i can’t meet the posting schedule.

8. what is the perfect chapter length in your opinion? 

10k-30k? Depends on a lot of things (that is for one shots though) as a chapter i would say 5k

9. what is your longest published story? is it complete? 

Voir Dire as it is a chaptered fic, stands at 27k at the moment and it is not finished (got a long way to go) but my one shots, the longest is my yoongi hogwarts au one which is 13k (for now-they seem to be getting longer)

10. which story did you enjoy working on the most? 

tough one, i enjoy all of them, each has left their mark on me and helped me grow and experience things, but if i had to pick i would say Voir Dire as it made me do a lot of research plus mafia au has always been something i have wanted to write or sleeposal! It was only a drabble but working on it has been such a fun experience for me! 

11. favourite request you’ve have written and why (if any?) 

there is one coming out soon, it was an arranged marriage au yoongi which was meant to be a drabble, and it ended up a 12k one shot.

12. are there reoccurring themes in your stories? 

i had to ask the person who has read the most of my stories about this because i try to not have any reocurring themes if i can help it, i like to diversify depending on the story. and seems like i have succeeded somehow, i think?

13. current number of wips? 

mostly collabs for now this monts is quite collab heavy, and some drabble requests but i think the other ones that i have planned equal all those in number so i would have to say in between a lot and a lot

14. three things you have noticed about your own writing? 

i have a lot of expressions i use repeatedly throughout my fics (i am trying to get better at that), i have improved on the heaviness of the plots and emotions quite a bit and my grammar (always gotta be careful with that), i also like metaphors...like...a lot

15. a quote you like from a published story. 

I was quite proud of this one, it’s a drabble called i wish you knew 

‘Life is never simple. Life doesn’t care about the wishes of two young lovers. Life doesn’t stop just because you want to hold his hand forever. Just like the heat of the summer, your fire dwindled to a steady heat. Like the remnants of a bonfire, your flame became hot coals. A summer was not enough to keep your love burning, and the scare of your first fight reduced it to smoke in an instant.’

16. a quote from an unpublished story. 

this is hard, because this has been in my drafts for so long, and i do not know if it will ever see the light of the day as it is so close to home that i may chicken out of actually publishing it but: it is meant to be part of my Love Blossom Series, Taehyung’s Story, it would have been entitled White Tulip;

‘You knew that it was soon to be over;  the warm smiles, the secret touches, the pads of your fingers brushing against each other. You could feel it in the hugs that would end up with you, a giggling mess swept off your feet, the loving stares, the kisses you would steal from each other during your short break. You knew, behind all that, there was heartbreak lurking, waiting to strike. Your foundation was not strong enough to hold everything up. ‘

17. space for you to say something to your readers. 

i never know what to say, which is funny because i write, i should be able to express my feelings easily, yet i can’t say enough thank yous, and i cannot express how much each and every one of you means to me. whether you have commented or not, reblogged or not, followed me or not, or just stumbled upon one of my fics randomly but still stayed and read, it all means the world to me. It makes me so happy to read comments and see what everyone things of my 2am musings, and i feel like even if i have or not interacted with you i’m surrounded by friends who get to see this side of me. thank you and i love you all! 

[amjustagirl]

hellu nikki jie how have you been!!!! i am baCK omg it's finally week 6 im so happy im only left with 1 lecture and 1 more tutorial for the week and term break is next week thank goodness asfdskj

kendo has been pretty fun but today was like suddenly so intense help im gonna stretch somemore so that hopefully tmr my arms and legs dont drop off 😭 oo and i saw you do boxing and like so many other things pls nikki jie you damn cool (and this is like super late and you didnt even show your face but you looked damn chio in your wedding dress omg woW)

and omgomgomg the bOKUTO FIC 23K WORDS???? SO EXCITED omgg idw to see bokuto sad but i really cant wait 🥺 8 CHAPTERS OMG ASDKHJFKS and i totally did not reread love knows not its depth just cuz it was back on my dash help i have like no self restraint but i loved it as much as i did when i read it the first 3 times; in other news i rewatched kimi no nawa yesterday instead of getting ahead on my tutorials oops LOL and it made me want to reread dream catcher again asdkfjs heLP do not perceive asfdjfsk HAHAHA

anyways hope you have a good rest of the week nikki jie!! <3 ~ann :>

Hello Ann!!! Jiayou jiayou, term break is coming soon! Hang in there and all the best! I rmb mid terms and projects are always after term break, not sure if it's the same for you. Make sure you stretch and rest, kendo can be q intense!

Haha I'm not cool I've always just been hyper active though I was never in any sports cca (much to my regret) and boxing and yoga and gym are fun!! Great way to relax hehe. And thank you!! I think I did stun my husband for once cos I usually don't dress up or even wear make up hoho.

Pls I loved your rb tags so much on dream catcher 🥺🥺🥺🥺 it truly means the world that you're not only rereading it, but you're like slowly picking out the little details I put into it? Omg I'm so happy I cld cry - yeah the reader's name is moriko, and she's such a happy whimsical soul but she's strong and brave and ugh I love her I love her and akaashi tgt cos he's such a poetic melancholic stressed out little bean. That fic is prob my least popular fic so I'm esp touched whenever anyone gives it a chance - yeah I was inspired by kimi no nawa but like I wanted my own twist on it? If that makes sense.

Hehe the bokuto fic is gonna hit 30k words istg I have zero self control whatsoever (I'm a card carrying member of the ding dong nation) but dw its not as angsty as my other fics rly rly. Its got so much more romance in there so dw - bokuto won't be tortured (much).

But must sleep hor, don't stay up and read all night!! Take care and chiong thr the week and have a fantastic break next week ❤️

[soldouthaz]

hii! I'm not having the best night and I felt like compiling a list of my favorite fics that never fail to make me smile when I'm down or have provided me a beautifully worded escape for a while :) 

disclaimer: I will list the specifics for those interested, but there is a mix of bl / bh so be aware of that please. these are the fics that make ME happy and I want to spread some positivity for the talented authors that have gotten me through some rough times, so please leave any negativity out of it and stick to your own preferences. 

thank you and happy reading! ♡

✰ enter the rose garden (GA, 10k, imp. b!L) by @angelichl

Soft heats make omega Louis clingy. Enter alpha Harry. 

✰ before we knew (E, 40k, b!L) by @risthebrave / falsegoodnight 

Louis has been skeptical of soulmates for years so it seems like fate when he finally bumps into the owner of the obnoxiously large signature printed into his skin since age sixteen: Harry Styles, a human rights attorney who is firmly against soulmates.

✰ baby we could be enough (I'll make this feel like home) (E, 57k, b!H) 

“Did you clean the table?” Harry asks Louis once Rose is done speaking, now occupied with trying to see if she can reach over and touch Harry’s hair from where she’s sat. At Louis’ nod, Harry frowns. “You didn’t have to do that. You’re my guests here, I could’ve dealt with it later.”

Louis just smiles easily, though, adjusting Rose on his lap so that she’s facing Harry better. She manages to tug on a loose wave of hair, and she makes a noise of triumph that both Louis and Harry smile at.

“I don’t mind,” Louis murmurs to Harry, even though he’s looking at Rose. “This one here seemed very excited to talk to you.”

And, okay. Harry can’t help but think of how domestic this feels, all of a sudden.

[harry is a photographer who's trying to find his place. louis is a single father with a smile that feels like home.]

✰ when you touch me, paint me like a van gogh (E, 4k, b!L) by TurismoEmocional 

(Harry has been away for a month. He comes home to Louis in the middle of the night - dramatics and smut ensue.) 

✰ undone, undress (E, 134k, b!H) by @angelichl

Louis' new roommate is shy, skittish, and flinches at the slightest sounds. He's an art major who gets drunk on cherry wine, wears lacy lingerie, and shows up late at night covered in bruises that blossom across his skin like flowers.

Obviously something is wrong. Louis just doesn't know what it is.

personal note: this fic is amazing and has been very validating for me, but please make sure to check the tags and author’s note for any possible triggers before reading and make the best choice for yourself! 

✰ ours are the moments I play in the dark (E, 30k, b!L) by @holdingthornsandroses / edensrose

Jane Austen's Persuasion AU. Nine years ago Louis Tomlinson was persuaded to break off his engagement to Harry Styles, a poor sailor. Since then Louis has come to regret being so easily convinced to give up his one chance of happiness. Now Louis' family is in debt and his childhood home is being sold. In a complete reversal of fortune, Harry has returned to England a wealthy bachelor looking to settle down. Events conspire to bring them together once more though Louis is- must surely be- the last man on earth that Captain Styles would think of now.

✰ hot and heavy, pumpkin pie (E, 10k, b!L) by @sunflowerstyles

Louis and Harry get separated at a Green Bay Packers game. Harry finds him and helps his baby relax by buying Louis things that get him to smile and making love to him for quite a while. 

✰ laundry room (E, 10k, not specified/no penetrative sex) by @thelovejandles / beautlouis

[Louis and Harry are both students living in the same apartment complex. They end up having the same laundry night and time. Louis can't stop staring at Harry and he can't figure out why Harry consistently points out Louis’ inside-out shirts, and his untied shoes, and messy hair. Enter slow burn-ish flirting, banter, awkwardness, and a lot of laundry.] 

✰ everywhere and nowhere (E, 16k, b!L) by @2tiedships2 

Niall took a seat and said, "Apparently Louis' downstairs neighbor is a fan of giving Louis creepy gifts. Maybe I should go introduce myself and tell him that Louis actually prefers food."

"What has he given you?" Liam asked.

Louis shrugged as it were no big deal. "There was a rabbit's foot keychain on the door a little after he left from introducing himself and there was a small teddy bear sitting by my door tonight. Obviously I can't prove it's from him, but they seem to have his scent. I could be wrong though."

"Wow," Liam said, looking deep in thought. "That's old school."

"What's old school?" Niall asked. "Giving creepy gifts?"

"I've never known an alpha to do it, to be honest, but he's courting you."

Louis couldn't contain his look of disbelief directed at Liam. "He's courting me. Like some sort of romantic shit they'd do in the 1800s or something?"

✰ thinking about the t-shirt you sleep in (E, 52k, b!L) by @absoloutenonsense / nonsensedarling

Harry's alpha fraternity donates to a local thrift shop (because of Liam's latent crush on a cute beta in his lecture). Louis' financial situation (and confusing omega instincts) lead him to make some interesting fashion purchases. Lots of pizza, feelings, and not-really-lying.

✰ the case of the (definitely not haunted) styles mansion (E, 40k, b!H) by @briannamarguerite / briamaria

The Nancy Drew AU where Marcel is a man of logic, Louis is a private detective who believes in ghosts, and the Styles Mansion is definitely, absolutely, positively *not* haunted.

✰ building castles in the sky (GA, 22k, no smut) by @whileatwiltshire

"D-dad? You think I c-can do it? Y-you think i c-can..." Evan trailed off looking down at his chest. And Louis' heart melted.

"I think you can do everything, love. Everything." Louis said while pulling his boy closer. "Because you, my little dandelion, are very brave! And so strong and wonderful and so very bright! You will go up on that stage, and you will blow everyone away. I just know it."

They laid there on their porch while they hugged each other tightly. His little boy was so brave. Louis didn't need to see him on a stage to be proud. He was proud of him already.

"You know,” Evan mumbled aloud again. “Mr. S-Styles says the same t-thing. He s-says I c-can do e-everything too.”

And Louis couldn't help but smile.

or,

Where, Louis had a four year old with a stuttering problem. Harry was always there to help.

✰ a trail of honey through it all (E, 27k, b!L) by faeriestyles 

the TPH* fic we’ve all been waiting for. 

* (trailer park harry)

✰ we should open up (before it’s all too much) (E, 43k, b!H) by @disgruntledkittenface

Struggling with grieving and depression since his dad died, Harry has never felt so alone. It’s too much to cope with on his own, but he feels like a burden when he tries to open up with people.

Then he meets Louis.

personal note: I cannot stress enough how much this fic means to me and it is very close to my heart, but I strongly suggest checking the tags for any possible triggers before reading!! 

✰ my love’s not simple (it’s fragile) (E, 27k, b!L) by @risthebrave / falsegoodnight 

Harry's new job is threatened by his impending rut. Desperate for a solution, he allows Niall to introduce him to Louis, an omega whose heat begins the same day. They click.

✰ swept me off my feet (took my heart and took me down) (E, 25k, b!L) by jennifer_kaid

When Louis had decided to reopen his mother's bakery, he never thought a charming alpha would walk in through the door, let alone fall in love with him over tea, dessert and music.

✰ knock knock, I love you (E, 86k, b!H) by @thelovejandles / beautlouis

[Harry and Louis get kicked out of a statistics exam for passing a knock knock joke note, and subsequently fall in love. Harry's a virgin, there's a cat, a hot cocoa date, a lot of sex, even more knock knock jokes, and everything is lovely and happy.] 

✰ enjoy the ride (E, 11k, imp. b!L) by @2tiedships2

the one where Louis, an omega more than tired of being treated as lesser than alphas, is forced on a road trip by his beta besties only to meet Harry who might just be the alpha he never knew he wanted.

✰ fading (E, 202k, b!L) by tothemoonmydear

Louis knows about beauty; the combination of qualities that pleases the aesthetic senses. He creates that combination every day in the garments he designs while studying fashion at uni. The cut of the design, the color of the fabric, the intricacy of the stitching; it all comes together to create something beautiful. When the science student with the long legs and dimpled smile agrees to model for him, Louis decides he’s found beauty personified. Harry just thinks Louis needs someone to show him how beautiful he is.

personal note: another wonderful and realistic story but please check the tags for triggers before reading! 

all of these fics and authors mean a lot to me and have unknowingly made me incredibly happy during some dark times. if you visit these fics, please make sure to leave a kudos or a comment to spread some positivity, or feel free to let the authors that have made your life better know! :) 

(as always, please let me know if I tagged or linked anything incorrectly! happy reading!) 

[monsieur-hadrien]

Quarantine Harry Potter Fanfiction *READING LIST*

I’ve spent the past months reading copious amounts of fanfiction and now my amount of AO3 bookmarks is absurd. I really need to share these because if I don’t I think I might implode. Drarry-centric but not all!

These are in no particular order nor is there a particular time frame that these were all posted. I have a little bit of everything in here just you wait.

On Punching Gods and Absentee Dads by Enigmaris 

56 Chapters, 247k Words, Complete, no slash, T Rating

Marvel, Norse Mythology, Harry Potter Crossover

TW: Past Abandonment

Harry finds out that his dad is alive, has been the whole time. Instead of being overjoyed, Harry's disgusted. His dad left earth and abandoned his friends. Every painful thing he's ever gone through can be traced back to one man. Now Harry's got super strength he can't control and an almost unnecessary amount of magical power. His dad might be living it up with the Avengers now but not for long. With the help of his friends, Harry comes up with a plan for revenge. Get ready Avengers, Harry's out to punch a god.

We’re starting off strong with a Marvel crossover fanfic wow. Who knew that crossovers could be done tastefully as 2013 Wattpad kind of ruined it for us. However, this fic changed my mind! This fic is funny as fuck and is just a goodass time. I love a good multi-chapter fic (as you’ll soon see) and this one is a showstopper.

The Man Who Lived by sebastianL

42 Chapters, 254k Words, Complete, Draco/Harry, E Rating

TW: Major Character Death, Graphic Deptictions of Violence

Draco breaks a cup, and one thing leads to another. A story of redemption, tattoos, dreams, mistakes, green eyes, long conversations, and copious amounts of coffee.

With all of the Black Lives Matter protests happening right now, I think that this fic is super relevant. Draco has moved to New York City and is working as a receptionist at a tattoo shop and a mentor for inner city kids, but he accidentally gets forced to work out his differences with Harry, who at this point hates his guts. This fic is pretty serious, tackling themes of mental health, suicide, and police brutality. Every OC in this story is completely lovable and I cried my eyes out many times. When people ask me for a fic reccomendation this is the one I give people. Dare I say that this is my all-time favorite fic.

Warm Bodies by Betty_Hazel

Work in Progress, 37 Chapters as of 6/12/2020, 108k Words, Draco/Harry, E Rating

TW: D/s Dynamics, Graphic Porn, Dubious Relationship with Food

Draco Malfoy has spent his whole life wanting to go down on his knees for other men, and that's by far the least of the depraved things he fantasises about. He's wanted it all for so long that he's stopped believing that there might be someone out there who might be able to give it all to him; it comes as something of a surprise to find that maybe Harry Potter can, and that maybe Harry's looking for something too.

ALRIGHT MY PORN LOVERS THIS ONE IS FOR YOU! Don’t lie I know you’re horny. Somehow this fic is so fucking gorgeous and sweet yet so sinfully hot. It’s literally two boys who have never felt like their emotional needs have been satisfied learning to help and love each other like how much more wholesome does it get. I mean it’s all fine and wholesome until you get to the kinky sex which is WONDERFULLY WRITTEN MIGHT I ADD! I always say that if porn can make you feel something other than just horny, you’ve found a winner, and this story does just that.

Definitely check all the tags and I mean all the tags before you read this, but this is definitely one of my favorite porn with plot stories.

Running On Air by eleventy7

17 Chapters, 75k Words, Complete, Draco/Harry, T Rating

TW: No Archive Warnings

Draco Malfoy has been missing for three years. Harry is assigned the cold case and finds himself slowly falling in love with the memories he collects. 

Might I just say that classics are considered classics for a reason. This is one of those stories that has the vibe of high school summer after senior year where all you do is try to escape reality and figure out your place in the world. While the plot is wonderful and the characters are great, I think what shines the brightest from this story is the writing style. It’s so enchanting and poetic with the best one-liners that make your heart hurt. On my AO3 bookmark i captioned it, “This just ripped my soul in half and restitched it together again,” and I still stand by that.

Lokison (Series) and How To Train Your Godling (Series) by sifsshadowheart

Main Story (Lokison): 33 Chapters, 244k Words, Completed, Harry/Various Characters, E Rating

14 Spinoffs/ Sequel Stories, Completed, Harry/Various, Various Ratings

Norse Mythology, Harry Potter, Percy Jackson, Various Fandoms Crossover

TW: Major Character Death, Graphic Violence, Underage Sex, Spiralling Mental Health

James and Lily Potter had a secret, one which led to Thanatos saving young Harry from a dreary life with the Dursleys and changed the face of the Second British Wizarding War before it ever began.

This story feels much more like a 12 season television show than a two hour movie if you know what I mean. The plot is pretty slow going but the character development and interation makes it worth it. The story blends the lore and events of the HP and PJO to make a completely new story without making it feel like a goddamn recap. The reader follows Harry from when he’s young all the way into adulthood and it’s a fun time to watch him grow as a character and bond with his parental figures. Also some of the spinoffs are really wild and I never would have thought of the pairings but they just work somehow?? My personal favorite spinoff is the Pirates of Caribbean/Calypso and Leo arc like HELLO?! hot pirates. The total word count of the two series is 465k so beware it takes a hot second to chug through this one.

This Worship of an Extinct Fire by Lomonaaeren

Oneshot, 30k Words, Draco/Harry, M Rating

TW: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Emotional and Physical Abuse, Deppression

Unspeakable Draco Malfoy has planned for nearly six months how to take down Thomas Linwood, a man who has discovered the secret of converting wizard bodies to pure magic. He was prepared for anything--except the discovery of the missing Harry Potter in Linwood's compound.

This one, I don’t know how it’s not considered a classic. I’ve seen it floating around on drarry tumblr and wow is it good. I especially like the detailed magic system and mechanics that Draco is investigating. How the author managed to have so much detailed and gracefully planned out backstory in 30k words is beyond me. Also gentle Dracoo Malfoy is my favorite Draco Malfoy :) absolute angel mode.

Little Compton Street (One Rainy Night in Soho) by LLAP15 and Writcraft

Oneshot, 66k Words, Draco/Harry, Past Sirius/James, E Rating

TW: Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Light D/s Dynamics, References to Cancer, References to HIV/AIDS

Draco is lonely, Harry hates the press and it won’t stop raining in London. Harry discovers a magical street that’s close to disappearing forever and Draco realises he’s one rainy night in Soho away from finding everything he’s been searching for.

This fic is, in every sense, a masterpiece. Especially for pride month, the story surrounding LGBTQIA+ activism, the AIDS Epidemic of the 80s, and the gentrification of historically queer communities is one that should be read by everyone. Every single place, OC, and historic event has real world ties and is historically accurate, making this fic even more enchanting. Everything about this fic is graceful and slow burning I can’t help but fall in love with it. I’ve only seen this fic once on HP tumblr, but I feel like it should be considered a classic as it is truly a moving piece. This fic is one of the biggest reasons why I became so enthralled with LGBT history and am writing a fic that takes place in a wizarding version of the AIDS epidemic.

Sensitive Touch by Raserwolf

45 Chapters, 194k Words, Complete, Draco/Harry, E Rating

TW: Racism and Racial Slurs, Homophobic Slurs, Ablism and Ablist Slurs, Rape and Sexual Assault, Sensory Overloads and Mental Breakdowns, Extreme Bullying and Hate Crime, Past Abuse, Anxiety Disorders, PTSD wow this is a long list

When Draco Malfoy encounters a struggling and frustrated Harry desperately trying to tie his shoes after a meltdown in the Great Hall, his curiosity regarding the incident leads him to seek the help of the two people closest to Harry: Ron and Hermione.

After even they are shocked to hear the extent of Harry's issues, though Hermione had her suspicions, he discovers more about the man than he ever thought he knew before.

As a Neurotypical, I found this fic to be absolutely wonderful. I don’t know much about the typical traits of those who are one the autism spectrum and how they affect their everyday lives, but from what I was reading in the comments from those who are on the spectrum or who have family who are, this fic was pretty accurate and realistic. Harry, who lives with aspergers, goes without a known diagnosis until 8th year and it’s just heightened by his PTSD and anxiety and ugh I just want to hug the boy. The story follows Harry and Draco and the rest of the 8th year gang through the year and has multiple arcs in which the wizarding world are just dumbass bitches who can’t fucking seem to accept people for who they are. Not only is Harry on the spectrum but he’s also Desi with a purpose and not just mentioned and forgotten which is wonderful. The boys go through a lot of trauma in the story but there’s also a lot of teeth-rotting fluff that I live for. This is one of the fics that I have read and reread because I love it so much.

This definitely is not my full list I have a ton more stories in my bookmarks if you are curious. I’ll probably post a part two to this just cause I have so much and read so often. These, however, are definitely the biggest highlights.

[jlf23tumble]

Hello, and happy Halloween! I had two people message me privately about an h/l-specific H’ween rec list, so without using an official ask about it, here you go, [names redacted]!! Note: there are literally THOUSANDS of h/l H’ween fic, so these are just a handful of my personal faves, most of them are older and some of them have tenuous connections, so I hope you enjoy the ride! Also note: there is a tremendous 1D trick or treat fest that posted recently, all with fics that are exactly 666 words each, I’m obsessed, they’re all so good, so for sure, check that one out if you’re pressed for time, my god, do I love short shorts. Anyway!

Cat & Mouse, jaerie, 2k. I’m not the biggest hybrid fan, but this one’s great, Harry brave enough to expose his ears at a party, and Louis figuring it out.

all you ever did was wreck me, by supernope, 2.8k. That Miley Cyrus H’ween costume in a party setting, nuff said!

come on, jump out at me, by g_uttertrash, 7.3k. Not even gonna get into all the vampire Louis stories (or witch Harry), but this kick off to a series is such a meet cute (non-costume costumes! h’ween fairs!!).

like how your hands feel me up and down, ballsdeepinjesus, 7.5k. Harry buys a Snow White costume, sigh, one of my very favorite stories by one of my very favorite long-gone authors, hot on every level.

i'll fuck you like the devil, by crybaby, 8.9k. I’m gonna bet that a lot of the purity crowd avoids this author, but yeah, I think about them and their tags and the reaction to their tags and their name.

a moth to your flame, by sarcasticfluentry, 9k. Old but gold, part of an entire series about vampire Louis, but this is where it starts, at an H’ween party.

An extra special halloween treat, by harrysprostrate, 10k. The class of 2013, on the FOREFRONT of Harry in makeup, and yep, another Miley costume work of art (bonus points for author handle).

The Section, by bananaheathen, 11k. TA Louis and student Harry and costumes and school, and this is a newer author not on tumblr (SMART) who writes amazing banter on top of it all. Nice!

Epilogue: Halloween Princess, Noelle1224, 15k. You know my feelings about momrry, and MAN, this entire series kills me on that front, but this epilogue is where the holiday magic happens.

Baby, It's You, Bearandleonardwrite, 18k. I need every single footie Louis/model Harry AU on the planet, this one at a meet-cute at a masquerade party.

precious little thing, by mercutionotromeo, 21k. Phone sex operator Louis, rise! (And if you’re into daddy and spanking kink, this’ll sort ya, too).

Fictober 2019 Collection, flowercrownfemme, 30k. I don’t think Chloe was able to do one for all of October 2020, but last year’s is so good, so many cute stories delivered up daily.

hush., by wankerville, 41k. Yup, rec’ing it again, I love it so much, and rich Nick’s H’ween party is PIVOTAL to this story, as is Harry’s ghost costume, so I have rights!

Drifting, Weightless, by dinosaursmate, 41k. The way this cruise ship-based reunion fic cracks my ass up just in general, but there’s a funny H’ween part here, too.

Want You More Than A, by TheCellarDoor, 77k. An AU that always makes me ache, but wow, the fall/H’ween vibes are strong in this one.

knock knock, i love you, beautlouis, 86k. Another one I rec a lot, but the way Louis edges Harry until and around H’ween, beautiful.

The Night Sky is Changing Overhead, by orphan_account, 124k. Tenuous connection alert, but that H’ween party is so visual and so pivotal, it’s here!

[xfanfics]

Destiel Fic Rec List Part 3

Last Updated in October 2014. Posted in May 2020 for posterity. Listed in no particular order - the total rec list will have ~250 fics. Header graphic used with permission.

This part of the list contains: 37 fics.

Other Destiel Rec Lists: [1]. [2]. [3]. [4]. [5]. [6]. [7].

—–

Teenage Dirtbag by littleartemis E | 7k | Canon!verse, Hot, sub!dean, dom!cas

Dean gets magically deaged so he's physically young again. Problem is he's a 'twink' once more and he can't hunt like this. Frustrated he takes it out on Cas who's getting to the end of his patience and decides a spanking is in order. He just didn't figure in that Dean might enjoy it.

The Perks of Playing Quidditch by noangelsinthegarrison G | 1k | Fluff,  Wizarding World AU

“So,” Dean coughs, drawing Cas’s attention back to his eyes, “Any chance this taught you not to fly when you’re sick?    Cas chuckles low in his throat and thinks that if Dean Winchester catching him mid-air, strong arms holding him against a solid, warm chest, was his reward, he hasn’t learnt any such thing. He pushes the thought down before he can say it out loud and instead raises an eyebrow. “Dean, you played through a broken leg last year.

AGGHHHHHHHHHH SO CUTE  

Adiago by noangelsinthegarrison G | 6k | Fluff,  Dancer AU

“His name’s Dean," Cas sighs, "And he’s really stupidly attractive, and when he dances, he feels it, you know? And it makes me feel like I know him, even though I don’t. He makes me feel like… like he’s dancing just for me.    Gabriel rolls his eyes, “Wow you’re overdramatic when you’re horny.

This fic is super adorable. Lovely and full of pining, which happens to be my fave.    

Good Clean Wholesome All-American Kink by Amelia_clark E | 2k Hot, Canon!verse

Dean's stronger than Cas now, and Cas kind of hates that. So Dean finds a way around it--he just needs to be tied up.

ImmMmMMmm HOT    

Roots and Wings by Elensulev E | 51k [WIP] | BDSM AU, soulmate AU, sub!dean, dom!cas

In an alternate universe where you learn your soulmate sometime around puberty, Dean Winchester is shocked not just that he is a sub, but that a man's name appeared on his wrist. John Winchester doesn't suffer subs gladly, and Dean takes the brunt of his father's misogynistic attitude. Can the mysterious Castiel convince him he is worthwhile? AU where Sam and Dean are raised apart, Cas is human, and John is a hunter raised by a disgruntled Man of Letters.

A fusion of the soulmate's-name-on-the-wrist and the dom/sub verses. Though the John parts are painful to read (this fic is NOT for John-lovers), the over all effect is worth it, and gentle-dom!Cas is my absolute favorite. Edit from 2020: Holy SHIT this fic is long now.  

Highwaymen. by orange_crushedv M | 66k | Harry Potter AU

Dean closes his eyes. He is under a blanket in his memories, fabric pulled up under his chin and his face pressed near to hers on the pillow. His father is asleep, snoring slightly, hands loose and expression happy, curled around her on the other side. She's speaking in whispers. He knows that she was already pregnant then, that Sam was on his way into their lives, even though he'd had no idea what exactly that meant at the time. He can almost see her face still, warm and orange in the light of her lumos circling their heads like a firefly, but every now and then she blurs in his vision, like a lost thread of consciousness, something half-remembered. Bit by bit, he's losing her.

The Wizarding World AU I never knew I wanted!    

Understanding your body in ten easy steps by almaasi E | 12k | Canon!verse, Masturbation

All Dean has to do is track down a decent porno for Cas to watch, help him find his sensitive spots, then hang back and let him do his thing. Easy-peasy. No homo. ...Absolutely no homo at all.

Casturbation. Fuck yes.    

Blackboard by lemonoclefox E | 76k | College AU, BDSM elements, sub!dean, dom!cas

Castiel Novak is a college English teacher, in a rather inappropriate relationship with Dean Winchester, who happens to be one of his students. But although their arrangement is one that works perfectly for the both of them, Castiel is starting to worry that maybe keeping it impersonal will be harder than he thought.

Perfect. The story is actually 8 chapters long, but the other 8 chapters are told from Dean's point of view.  

On Air by wincechesters E | 21k | Fluff, Radio Host AU

Cas and Dean are radio DJs who host the second most popular morning show in Lawrence. They’ve been co-hosts for years at different stations across the country, and they own a house together out of necessity, even though they’re just friends. But for some reason, a lot of their listeners and even some of their friends and family seem to think that they’re secretly in some kind of relationship, which they’re totally not (besides that one time that totally doesn’t count). In spite of that, Dean thinks he’s got everything figured out, until an ill-fated on air game of Truth or Dare turns everything upside down (and the billboards around town aren’t helping either).

FLUFFY CUTENESS AWW    

Courage of Stars by mcpadalacklesv T | 3k | College AU,

Dean's brain is stuck on 'he's leaving me he's leaving me' and he thinks about saying don't go or I'll come with you, but what comes out of his mouth is, "I don't think you get loose-leaf tea on the moon.Wherein Dean (who owns a bookstore) and Cas (an astrophysicist grad student) have been best friends since they were kids, NASA nearly screws things up, and tea is mentioned far too often.

THIS IS ADORABLE JFC. I loved the part about tea strainers omg  

How to Improve a dull day by arigatou_sunshine E | 7k | Soulmates AU, ABO, omega!dean, alpha!cas

Dean's about to pick up something not on his grocery list.At 28, Dean meets his alpha while shopping for groceries.

I just... Um. Yes. I have a sweet spot for the true mates trope and this is a very sweet example of that :)  

Ignite by angelofthemoorv E | 86k | Vampire AU

While investigating a lead regarding a serial killer, Dean Winchester suffers a beating. When he wakes up, he discovers a stranger named Castiel has been caring for him. But Castiel has a secret--he is a vampire. He is not like other vampires, however. His mission is to protect humankind, and he has been pursuing the serial killer, too. Will the friendship between Dean and Castiel endure the trials ahead? Will their mutual attraction develop into something more?

Feels 'Verse  by Gemmiel E | 18k | Fluff,  Alt!canon

Castiel discovers that being human is very different from being an angel, physically speaking, and Dean helps him explore the differences. AU for season 9 in which Cas goes straight to the bunker and Sam heals spontaneously from the trials.

Wow this verse is so lovely and fluffy that I just want to cuddle it. Basically how Season 9 should have gone.  

Thunder & Angels by pm_lo E | 51k

Castiel’s family owns the shoddily-regulated coal mine where John Winchester works, so Dean storms Cas’s mansion, demanding answers from the drugged-out trust-fund kid. In exchange for his help repairing the mine, Cas demands Dean live with him for three months and give Cas a shot at seducing him by allowing him one kiss a day.

AHHHH!!! This was PERFECT. Love the characterizations, plot, fluff and angst amaze. read the thingggg    

Cockiness by robomanticv E | 7k | Hot,  AU Panty!kink

Dean didn’t usually come to this kind of place, but Sam had given him the puppy dog eyes and argued and pleaded and even bribed him with pie. He was seeing some new girl who apparently very into the alternative burlesque scene and she had invited them to come see a show on her night off. Aka: The one where Dean sees his first burlesque show, learns that male burlesque performers are a thing, and tries a lot of new (sexual) things. Also my Castiel underwear kink makes an appearance because I'm weakkkk

Bunker 41 by CaptainMercy42 T | 25k | Fluff, Scientist AU

Dr. Castiel Novak is giving Lieutenant Dean Winchester a simple tour of BUNKER41 when an explosion traps them both inside. They'll get out eventually. Some days that thought is very comforting, and other days it makes Cas a little sad (DENIAL: a lot sad).

CUDDLING.

Pulled From The Wreckage  by DarkmoonSigel M | 30k | Alt!canon, wing!kink

Angel and shameless wingfic. Dean notices that he is changing into something but is it something that he can accept? Mature for a reason for later chapters so bear with me here.

The Auction by TamrynEradani E | 8k

Dean's a firefighter and Cas is a police officer, and they both end up at the bar, miserable after their auction dates. Lucky for them, the night is still young.

I just um... Hnng. Firefighter!Dean and Cop!Cas.    

Welcome to the Dork Side by TamrynEradani T | 15k

Dean's handing out pie when he has an odd encounter with Castiel Novak.

Super cute! :)    

Both Sides Now by TamrynEradani T | 21k |Alt!canon, genderswap!dean

Dean solves a hunt and realizes he's in love. He does most of this while cursed into a female body which means he's also dealing with being a woman, and it's more complicated than he had realized.

Shut Your Mouth by runoutofwit E | 2k | Hot, Dom!Cas

Dean’s not sure how they ended up this way, but he doesn’t care. He didn’t expect this. He didn’t expect Castiel, Angel of the Lord, to be the equivalent of a hormone-ravaged teenager, and he sure as hell didn’t expect him to be an asshole about it.

Hella dom!cas with bossy!bottom dean mmm.    

What I need by xaandria E | 46k | Medical AU

A joking phrase commonly heard between a surgeon and his tech is "Give me what I need, not what I ask for." Dr. Novak and his tech Dean will soon learn the impact this phrase has on life outside the operating room.

Surgical AU! Very terminology heavy, so I didn't understand some parts. But very good regardless.    

Starborn by riseofthefallenone G | 12k

Dean’s obsession with the stars starts all thanks to Sam. He just didn't know where that would take him in life. Or who - or what - he would meet.

This is LOVELY.    

Love Out of Chaos by mar_map E | 30k

Sam needs homework help, Dean likes to cuddle (although he won't admit it), John gets shot, Gabriel teaches Castiel to loosen up, and Balthazar likes to flirt. That's not what's important though. What is important, is that Castiel and Dean were always meant to be (even if the two of them have trouble seeing it at first), and though Castiel lost his family, another one just might have sneaked up on him while he wasn't looking.

You Deserve This by ticklethetoastl E | 2k | Fluff,  PWP Canon!verse

Sex with Cas was never supposed to be an emotional experience, and Dean doesn't deserve to be made love to.

Praise!kink is my ultimate weakness.    

S'only you. by louise97 T | 3k

Dean wasn't sure about what exactly had led them there—the cuddle accident, morning wood issues or the growing tension between them for the past few days—but yet there they were, and he had no fucking idea what to do (at first).

*keyboard smash* soOOoOoO CUTE  

Freckles by 2spooky4u E | 7k | Fluff

"I had to draw all them perfectly," Cas insists, and Dean suddenly can't get rid of the image of Cas, clutching on to a Crayola washable marker, jamming it into his skin forcefully like a little kid mashes his markers on the paper in a vehement attempt to make the color deeper. ”And now you're insulted 'cause I don't appreciate 'em?" Dean asks, bewildered. "No," Cas lies petulantly. "Huh." The stubborn child version of Cas Dean has painted in his mind is now clutching his paper possessively, shielding it from scrutiny. They drive in silence for a while. "Thank you for making my freckles," Dean grouses finally, knowing that it's the only way Cas will forgive him. ((((OR, IN WHICH CAS LIKES DEAN AND HIS FRECKLES, AND DEAN IS STUBBORNLY HETEROSEXUAL))))

Simple and adorable. Pining!cas and Discovering his bisexuality!Dean. Addresses Dean's self worth issues :D️    

Appoggiatura by ceeainthereforthat E | 121k | College au

Castiel leaves the religious commune of Heaven Farms to study classical piano after winning a full scholarship paid for by the Deanna Campbell Memorial Foundation, and answers an ad in the campus newspaper: 1 bedroom to let. Meals provided. 50mb wifi, quiet odd music student preferred.

Super interesting world building. Love the imagery and writing style.    

Good Books, Bad Movies by Amelia_Clark E | 17k | Fluff, Hot, ��Bookstore AU

Castiel Novak is an award-winning, heavily tattooed writer of dark fantasy (think China Mieville). Dean Winchester runs a quirky book/video store called Good Books, Bad Movies. There's a reading, some lit-nerd flirting, and eventually smut amongst the shelves.

First of all, this is adorable. Second of all it's smoking hot.    

Alone Together by ScarletPhoenix E | 26k | Dean/Cas/BennyA/b/o AU

Dean Winchester has never expected to be happy. As an omega, his only hope is that he’ll end up with an alpha that’ll think of him as a human being and take him away from his abusive father. Castiel Novak isn’t allowed to be happy. As a beta, he’s forced by his parents to hide who he is under fake bravado and forced hormone therapy. The one thing that keeps him going is his love for his best friend, Dean. Benny Lafitte has given up on happiness. As an alpha, he should be mated with little ones running around under feet, but that isn’t how life played out. Instead he focuses on running his restaurant and ignoring his empty house. When these three meet, will they finally find the happiness they deserve?

Come Clean by snuggycas E | 3k | Hot,  A/B/O AU, PWP, Omega!dean, Alpha!cas

When Sam makes Dean help for the Universities annual car wash fundraiser, he meets Castiel Milton, a business intern who is finishing his masters degree. When they go on a date and Dean's heat suppressants fail, they make a discovery that will change their lives forever. This is all porn to be honest.

Hot and Cute <3 Also this hit all my kinks haha.    

grip them tight and raise them from pernicion by flux E | 20k | Fluff,  Much ado about nothing au, highschool au

Dean and Cas have been at each other's throats for years, but Anna and Sam are determined to change that for the better. With a well-placed love letter and some careful direction, they manage to get the two into a semi-antagonistic, fiercely competitive, and emotionally confusing game of relationship chicken. Now they just need to get to prom.

Fucking adorable and hilarious. I love much ado about nothing so much, and this was a wonderful rendition!  

The face of heaven. by orange_crushed T | 9k | Fluff,  AU

"This is the best day of my life," Castiel tells him, when he comes back. "You’ve been so kind to me." His cheeks are glowing a little from the cold, or maybe just because he’s an otherworldly being full of light. Dean doesn’t know. "If I burn another million years, I won’t forget it. "Oh," says Dean. "Good." (In which Castiel is a fallen star.)

PERFECT! Oh my heart!    

Hold Me Close by twisting_vine_x E | 7k | Star trek AU

Pon farr Destiel AU. In which Castiel is a half-Vulcan scientist, Dean is an engineer, and they’re best friends who are stationed aboard the USS Enterprise for her first five-year voyage. An away mission going wrong. Getting stranded together on some deserted planet. Just another day in the lives of a couple of Starfleet officers, but when the Vulcan side of Cas suddenly makes itself know, he and Dean are put in a position that has the potential to either make or break them.

Ghost Dance  by omphalos E | 51k | Angst, Alt!Canon

In post-apocalyptic isolation, Castiel nurses Dean back to something like his former self, but will a time come when Dean's recovered --and rediscovered-- too much?

Very angsty, very sad. This wrecked me with perfection. Be sure to read the tags.    

  Meringue by SurlyCat E | 23k | Dean/Cas/Jimmy, Hot, College AU

Dean and Cas have been together for about six months, when Cas starts to get antsy about their sex life. The sex has been good and all, but what Dean doesn't know is that his shy, sweet little boyfriend has been holding back. One confusing spur of the moment date with his boyfriend's twin later, and Dean finds out that Cas may not be as innocent as he thought.

*fans self* well basically this is really hot and you should read it. if you're into d/c/j of course.    

A Room Of One's Own by NorthernSparrow E | 94k | Hot,  alt!canon

All Dean wants is a little privacy. Cas doesn't understand.

Omfg. This was hilarious, wonderful, and hot. A+. Basically crack, but with emotional moments and hot porn. so, yep.

[eirabach]

Dangerous Games [2/2]

Oh my God, finally.

This fic really really wanted to be 200k of pining and zero plot. I managed to cut it down to just under 30k. You’re... welcome? I guess? I don’t really know if anyone will read it, but if you’re brave enough to do so I wish you godspeed. See you on the flip side! I really really hope the read more works.

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go

Rating: M 

Wordcount: This part, 15k give or take 80. 

AO3: Here

Summary:

In which Penelope plots, and lives to regret it. Possibly.

But then again, possibly not.

[or, Pen and Ink versus TOS episode The Cham-Cham. Except with hardly anything in common with The Cham-Cham. I don’t make the rules. They do.]

He sleeps, which surprises him. So does she, and that surprises him even more.

He wakes up to find that she’s tucked herself against him in the night, her hand pillowed under his shoulder, her cheek pressed into his chest, and every muscle is screaming at him to move, move goddamnit, but there’s a pretty solid chance he’ll never move again.

Penelope shifts in her sleep, her brow furrowing, her other hand coming up to twist in the cotton of his t shirt, and honestly if he died right now he’d be a pretty happy guy. Maybe a touch too happy. He tries to shift his hips away without waking her, but she just tightens her grip, her leg curling around his, her nails sharp where they scratch against bare flesh.

Aw, shit .

He squeezes his eyes tight shut and mentally recites Four’s start up sequence until he starts to lose all feeling in his arm. And, luckily, elsewhere.

“Pen?”

Nothing.

“Penny? Lady P?”

He opens one eye and squints down at her. Her face is soft in sleep, her lips gently parted, and he feels real bad but his fingers are starting to turn blue.

“Penelope, we have a situation.”

“Wh - Gordon?”

“The very same.” She blinks up at him for a moment, then sits bolt upright, her elbow making solid contact with his stomach as she does so. “Ouch! Damn, Penny!”

“Oh! Oh, I am sorry.” She looks around, hair sticking to her cheek. “What’s the situation?”

“It’s morning?” He nods toward the windows where dawn’s red light is filtering through the voiles. “I uh - thought you might want to know.”

“Well thank you for the alarm, I think.” She moves to get out of bed, then stops and turns back to him. “I’ll be out with Vishkin most of today. He wants to go skiing.”

Gordon balks at this for at least half a dozen reasons, foremost amongst them being that he has no particular wish to have Penelope out of his sight when Vishkin is around. Of course if he dares to tell her that he’ll be subject to another possibly well-deserved tirade, so he decides to go for wounded pride instead.

“Oh come on , you know I’m a better skier than you!”

“ Alan is a better skier than me. You cheat.”

“I don’t!”

“Gordon, snowball fights?”

“Strategy, Pen.”

“Well.” She huffs, and climbs out of bed. “Once was enough. And anyway, look at you. I can’t let you out on the slopes.”

Gordon follows her eyeline to the exposed skin of his stomach. The bruises are yellow and green now, fading away at his hip, but they’re still enough to have Penny folding her arms over her chest, her eyes fire.

“I’m -”

“Don’t. Even. Try.” She reaches for Pauline’s wig and heads for the bathroom. “Besides, I have another use for you.”

---

A Saturday morning spent propping up a free bar in a beautiful location. It would have been perfect, pretty much, if it weren’t for the company.

Parker grouses at him from the end of the bar, a constant litany of displeased muttering, and the other staff aren’t exactly up for a chat. He tries to watch the holovision, but the news is barely worth the name and every panel show is a repeat.

He gives up, wanders into the kitchens around lunchtime and makes a couple of sandwiches. They’re tasteless and sit heavy in his belly. He hadn’t expected this to be so boring .

He had expected Penny to check in.

“You look cheerful.”

He almost drops the renements of his sandwich as he hops to his feet, brushing crumbs off his sweater vest before he holds out a hand to Margot Mearns.

“Ms Mearns! I - is everything okay? Can I - do you want a sandwich?”

“Tempting,” she drawls, looking down at the renements of his, “But I’m fine.”

She’s nothing like the nervous, quiet creature who’d arrived on Vishkin’s arm. She drapes herself over the bar and clicks her fingers in the direction of Parker who drops his glass cloth with the altricity of a man used to following demands.

“Gin and tonic,” she tells him, then, with a sideways look at Gordon and a little smirk. “Make that two.”

“Oh I really - “ But Parker’s already sliding two glasses along the bar and glaring balefully at Gordon over that stupid moustache. Ingratiate yourself, Penny had said. He may need the lubrication. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me.” She takes one of the glasses and knocks the drink back in a single gulp. Even Parker’s eyes widen. “I’m not paying for it.”

She signals for another, then eyes Gordon’s drink, the bubbles having barely settled. “You going to drink that?”

“Uh,” Gordon nods quickly and takes a sip. Parker hasn’t been stingy with his measures and he’s not used to much more than the odd light beer, so it’s not really surprising that he struggles to hold back a cough. “Uh - wow.”

Margot looks down at him along the length of her precision perfect nose. “Your wife says you’ve hurt yourself.”

“Yeah - yeah, a bit. I need to stay off the slopes, take it easy, y’know?”

“Colin will be delighted .” She takes a solid gulp of her second drink. “She’s very pretty.”

“Pardon?”

“Your wife, Paula?”

“P - Pauline.”

“Very pretty. Colin will be pleased to have her to himself for a bit.”

“I uh -”

She pats his hand and knocks back the rest of the gin.

“Oh don’t panic, he never keeps them.”

“Sounds like a real swell guy.”

“Where are you from, Kansas? Yeah he’s a swell guy alright.” She takes a compact from her purse then pulls a little wrap of white powder from her bra and empties its contents on to the mirror. “Want some?”

Gordon’s pretty sure that if his dad has a grave he’s spinning in it.

“Uh -”

She shrugs, and moves to cut a line. “Your loss.”

Yeah, in more ways than one.

“I was a big fan, by the way. When I was a kid.”

She looks at him then, suddenly shrewd. “You still look like a kid to me. Tell me, Gerald -”

“Greg.”

“Gerald. Tell me. What do you think my manager and your wife are up to right at this moment?”

International espionage , or at least he very much hopes so.

Stick to the script, Gordon. He shrugs, tries to keep his expression neutral. He’s not too sure how Penelope wants him to play this game, but he’s going to have to pick up strategy as he goes along.

“I mean, I’m pretty sure, skiing?”

Margot’s smile grows wider, something cat-like in the narrowing of her eyes.

“Uh huh, come here. Let me tell you a secret.” She grabs a fist full of his sweater and pulls him to her. Her breath is hot against his ear and he struggles not to recoil. “Colin has never skied in his life .” She sits back, satisfied, and cuts another line. “Why on earth would he start now.”

“She’s not that sort of girl.”

“Do you know how many times I’ve heard that? How many times I’ve said it? Lemme tell you, if Colin wants you to be something, you become it. And sharp, too.”

“Not Pauline.” He shakes his head. “She’s one of a kind.”

Margot’s smile is full of pity, and topped with a tiny smear of white powder.

“He used to say that about me, you know. Funny thing is, when you say it, I almost believe it.”

“Hey, I’m an honest guy.”

She grimaces, bitterness suffusing her every word. “No such thing.”

“Hey.” He rests his hand lightly on her wrist before she can return to the dregs on her mirror for a third time. “If you want to talk…”

She laughs, and for the first time it actually sounds like genuine amusement.

"You're cute, Gavin. I can see why she likes you."

---

Penelope has never been jealous in her life. She’s never had any need for it having never coveted anything that she couldn’t have in a heartbeat, but there’s an unwelcome seething in her stomach at the way Gordon’s hand rests on Margot Mearns’ wrist. It’s uncouth. Unbecoming. Unacceptable.

“Parker? Be a dear and escort Ms Mearns to her room will you? She looks a little overtired, and we have so very many things to arrange. Mr Vishkin is waiting."

Gordon’s leaning forward, speaking lowly enough that Penelope can’t make out the words, and Mearns laughs, high and clear. Parker raises an eyebrow.

“She looks right enough to me, milady.”

“As requested, please Parker. And tell Greg that I require his assistance post haste.”

Parer looks down his nose at her, and she stiffens her spine in the face of his obvious disapproval.

“At once, mi- Mrs Jones.”

He slopes off to do the deed, but not before Mearns leans toward Gordon and drops a kiss to his cheek. Gordon looks gobsmacked. Penelope feels her stomach turn to stone.

Some of the tension slips from her shoulders as Mearns follows him from the room but it only fades completely when Gordon approaches, waggling his eyebrows, his eyes sparkling for her. Mine , her heart snaps. Mine.

“‘Sup? I hear I’m wanted.”

She doesn’t bother replying to the innuendo, only nods after Parker’s retreating back.

“You seemed to be getting along swimmingly.”

Gordon grins. “It is my strong suit.”

“Undoubtedly. Did you discover anything about our erstwhile guests?”

"Plenty of trouble in paradise by the sounds of it. How were the slopes?"

"Powdery. Trouble you say?"

"Seems old Vishkin isn't treating his lady as well as he ought to be."

Penelope suppresses a shudder at the memory of Vishkin's hand against her lower back. "Well that is a surprise."

"I know right? Who'd have thought. But Pen, do you think we could use that?"

Before she'd decided to bring Gordon, using Vishkin's sexual inconstancy against him had absolutely been in the plan, but that doesn't make her any less shocked to have Gordon be the one to suggest it, especially after his reaction the previous night. It stings a part of her she rarely bothers to notice.

"Gordon you don't like him touching my shoulder, I can hardly expect you to keep up the cover if -"

" Whoa whoa Whoa, wait, what ? I absolutely did not mean, Jesus Pen. What do you take me for?"

And of course the thought wouldn't have occured to him. That's why she - that's why she cares so deeply for all the Tracy boys. Those ridiculously big hearts and fantastical belief in the goodness of others. She's never been entirely sure she quite fits in.

"I'm teasing, darling," she says, bright smile to hide the shadow of the lie. "Now how about I fill you in on our guest's current business plans. Would you believe he's practically bankrupt?"

---

Gordon doesn't have much to do with Tracy Industries finances. As long as there's enough  money in the pot to fixup his sub every time some crazy guy smashes it to smithereens he's more than happy to leave that to Scott. Or John. Or Grandma. Anyone else.

Ten minutes in Penelope's company and he knows the ins and outs of every disastrous business deal and musical flop that Vishkin has faced in the last six years.

It's a lot. Penelope's a lot. Her face is flushed and her smile is wide and there's a horrible little slug of jealousy crawling up behind his breastbone and into his throat.

"You got all that from skiing with him?"

She beams up at him, eyes shining. He feels a bit sick. "I'm terribly good at my job, darling."

"I knew that."

"Did you indeed." She seems to find it funny. He wonders if it is. "We have fifteen guests flying in for tomorrow night. They're private charters so I need to ensure their pilots have all the correct paperwork."

"You mean make sure they're on your payroll."

She pats his cheek fondly. "You're catching on!"

"So what's the plan?"

Penelope furrows her brow, attention on something over his shoulder. There's noise in the distance - raised voices followed by the splintering of glass. When she speaks again her voice is hushed and urgent.

"What do you think about poor Ms. Mearns? Do you think she's the type to open her heart to our dear Greg?"

Gordon grimaces slightly. The whole thing is starting to leave an unpleasant taste in his mouth. "I can give it a try. I'm probably not going to - well - y'know."

Penelope wrinkles her nose in distaste. "I should hope not. Verne!" Verne, a tall dark haired guy who's been casually painting the same six square feet of walk for the past hour and a half, trots over to Penny with the sort of alcracity that only ex members of the military possess. "Verne will you be a dear and keep an eye on Greg's virtue? We are very recently married, you know. It would be a shame to spoil it."

He stares at her. Verne doesn’t seem perturbed in the least. Gordon isn’t entirely sure Verne would know how to look perturbed if his life depended on it. It’s weird. This whole thing is super weird. "Are you asking him to spy on me?"

"Gordon, darling," she says with the sort of pained patience he usually associated with Virgil after six hours out. "That is literally his job."

"It is, sir," says Verne, staring at a point three inches above Gordon's head. "If it helps sir, I think she likes you."

Gordon scoffs. "Everybody likes me."

"I don't like you," mutters Parker as he passes by, dirty glasses in hand. "I think you're a bleedin' liability."

Penny scowls. "Nonsense. Parker do keep your nose out . Gordon is doing exactly as I'd hoped."

"You hoped I'd get wasted with pop stars?"

The room seems to be spinning. Parker mixes one hell of a drink.

"If she trusts you, she's our in. You only need to encourage her."

Parker snorts. Verne's lip ticks upwards at the corner. And Gordon knows better, he does, but there’s a part of him - deep and dark and buried - that just can’t help himself. It’s the part of him that pranks Scott, that dives, that holds his breath that little bit longer, that just wants to try it and see .

"Is that what you've been doing, getting Vishkin to trust you?"

Penny goes to answer - something glib, he expects, a casual brush off - then stops. Scowls.

"I've been doing my job." She lifts her thumb and rubs at the mark Margot's left on his face. Frosted pink stains the pad of it and she looks down at it in distaste. "Parker? A word."

She stamps back outside, Parker morosely following, and Gordon is left standing in the great hall with Verne, silent protector of his virtue.

He wonders if Verne will be any better at it than Virgil ever was.

He hopes so.

---

It doesn’t take a genius to see the difference in Margot Mearns whenever Vishkin is around. They return to the bar together, Vishkin’s ruddy cheeks and booming laugh in stark contrast to the silent, wraithlike Mearns, and it’s enough to give Gordon whiplash. Where she’d been snide and bitter and a little bit scary she’s cowed and quiet and he hadn’t really liked her before, but now he really doesn’t like Vishkin one bit.

Whatever kind of person Margot really is, it’s not the person she is on Vishkin’s arm.

Verne has stopped his painting and moved to hanging great curtains of fairy lights around the bar itself - a ruse, Gordon suspects, to keep an eye on Gordon himself as he shuffles behind it and puts on what he hopes is his most ingratiating grin.

“Can’t get the staff these days I tell ya! What’ll it be, folks?”

"A hit, if you don't mind!" Vishkin laughs, his belly shaking, and Gordon notes the way Margot cringes away from the movement.

"Gin," she breathes. Vishkin deflates. Gordon does as he's told.

"Margot, sweetheart," he soothes, his big hand covering hers before she can reach for the drink. "Just try won't you? For me? I do so much for you."

Margot grabs her drink with her other hand and throws it back.

"Fine," she half whispers in a tone that suggests anything but, "you need to leave."

"Margot -"

"Now!" It's a shout do incongruous that both Vishkin and Gordon start in shock. Vishkin recovers quickly enough to eye Gordon suspiciously.

"I guess I'll go see if I can find my lovely ski instructor. Don't drink too much. You know how you get."

Margot says nothing, but mulishly finishes her drink. Gordon busies himself making another and Vishkin leaves only to be replaced almost at once by the big bald guy who appears as if from nowhere, brandishing a piano stool. Gordon wonders vaguely where they're hiding - how many of them are listening in to his every word. Still, bald guy sets the stool down and scuttles back off to god knows where, and Gordon is left to play gentleman.

"Take a seat. You wanna - you wanna talk about it?"

Margot drops heavily down on the stool and glares at the piano as though it’s mortally offended her, a single crease between her eyebrows. “I’m trying to write. I can never write when I try.”

“Oh,” he says. “Okay. Why?”

“Why?” She laughs bitterly. “Because Colin is determined to have another album out of me. That’s the whole point of this little trip. Spoil me, show me off. Remind his friends that I exist. Like anyone in the music business cares about a woman over forty. Like I can even remember how to play . God, it’s been years. Years.”

Her anger and her breath all seem to escape at once and Margot rests her fingers on the keys ever so lightly, as if to touch them would break whatever spell she’s fallen under. It’s an opportunity, he thinks, though he isn’t quite sure for what. Only that Margot Mearns looks in serious need of rescue, and well, that’s kind of his job.

“You know my brother plays the piano. He’s pretty good.”

And just like that, he breaks it for her.

“That’s cute,” she says but clearly doesn’t mean, and reaches for her drink. A discordant noise echoes through the hall. “Does he want a job?”

“Nah - I mean. He’s got one of those. Like, really got one. I guess he plays to relax. He always says you can’t force music. It’s a feeling, y’know?”

Margot snorts. “Quite the philosopher. I bet he’d be crazy annoying on tour anyway.”

“You think he’s right though? Maybe you just aren’t feeling it.”

“Do you know how I do feel? Too damn sober, that’s what.” She throws back the drink and Gordon winces.

“No offence, Ms Mearns, but I kinda don’t think that’s likely.”

She doesn’t really answer him, only clicks her fingers and points at the piano lid. Big bald guy obligingly sweeps her empty glass away and leaves a margarita in its place.

“I mean - when Vi- when Victor is feeling kinda shitty he hammers out all these old tunes my mom used to play us. Like all this folk revival stuff from when she was a kid? Maybe - I don’t know, is there something you could play to maybe… loosen those emotions up a bit?”

“I don’t know if you’re trying to help or if you’re always this annoying.”

“Pretty much both.”

“I bet you do yoga.”

“I’m very flexible.”

She sighs, and shuffles over on the piano stool. “Sit.”

“Um -”

“ Sit .” Gordon does so, and Margot hovers her hands over the keys. “If you’re going to be obnoxiously positive you can sit here and play muse to me for a bit. Your wife won’t mind. Colin’s keeping her busy.”

“Thanks for the reminder.”

She turns her head, her eyes narrowed. “You know, you really don’t act like a host. I could buy this place. I could buy you .”

Gordon knows for an absolute fact that that isn’t the case, but he attempts to look chastised anyway.

“Sorry? This isn’t really my strong point. Pauline’s the expert, I’m just here for the ride.” And that, that’s not even a lie.

“No.” Margot lifts one hand and idly tugs at a lock of hair behind his ear. Gordon’s heart rate ticks up, just briefly, and he wonders if Penny’s spies will report this back too. “No, it’s okay. I like it.”

“Maybe that’s where you should start,” he hazards. “With what you like.”

“And what will that achieve?” she half snorts.

Gordon risks a smile. “How will you know unless you try?”

“Try being happy and you will be?” She laughs. “Spoken like a true innocent.”

“Yeah, “ he says as she turns back to the keys. “Yeah. Maybe.”

---

Penelope cooks like she was taught by a cordon bleu chef, because she was.

Supper consists of a tiny tartlet drizzled in something unctuous, sides of gently grilled vegetables neatly stacked like cordwood on the fine bone china plates, and an atmosphere you could cut with a knife.

Mearns picks at her food, turning it around and around on her plate. Her eyes are bloodshot, her fingers shake, and there's a dusting of white powder in the ends of Gordon's hair. He's trying to keep up a conversation, bless him, but Mearns has nothing to say with Vishkin in the room, and Penelope is keeping Vishkin busy.

His tablet flashes constantly on the table in front of him, messages gently curated and occasionally created to ensure he's never allowed to forget even for a moment his precarious financial position. He's sweating, his food forgotten, and he speaks only to snap at Mearns as she requests another, expensive, drink.

Vishkin is getting desperate, and desperate men get sloppy.

“Colin, please -”

He stands, shoving his food away, his tablet crashing to the floor  followed by half a bottle of good wine that splatters over his too shiny shoes and up the legs of his too cheap trousers. “Please? Please? Haven’t I - Don’t I do enough ?!”

“Hey!” Gordon’s on his feet now, and Vishkin’s got six inches on him but righteous anger makes him the bigger person in the room by far. “Don’t speak to her like that!”

“Who the hell do you think you are!”

“Mr Vishkin! I’m so sorry -” Her turn, her role to lay a restraining hand on Gordon’s thigh and turn a beseeching expression on the other man. She beckons to Parker, who hovers, like all good staff, just at the edge of the drama. “Let my man clean that up for you.”

“Forget it,” he spits, turning on his heel. “For get it! Margot, come.”

He leaves, all bile and dripping wine stains, and Mearns stays. Her eyes are wide and adoring as she looks up at Gordon, and Penelope buries the sickness it brings beneath the thrill of success.

“Margot?” She lowers her voice. Confidential. A confidante. Gordon turns to her, but Mearns doesn’t. Mearns has eyes only for Gordon. Penelope can see the cracks spreading across her surface.

“Do you - did you mean what you said earlier?”

“About what?”

“Being happy.”

Penelope knows this - she’d been listening, down in the little boat shed by the lake, listening through the old-fashioned radio hidden in the old boat as the man she - as Gordon told Mearns stories about his mother that she’s never heard, as he laughed along to songs she doesn’t remember. So she knows, what he said about being happy. About how you have to just try , no matter what the odds. She knows. She doesn’t know if it’s worked on Mearns the way it has worked on her. She can feel Gordon watching her but she keeps her own eyes fixed on Mearns, waiting for the opportunity to turn those cracks into a fissure.

“Does he make you happy?”

“What do you think?” It’s scoffed out, a half sob, and if Penelope could allow herself to feel anything right now it might be pity. “I can’t get away from him, Greg. I can’t.”

“Maybe,” Gordon’s voice is cautious, so she allows herself a tiny nod. Go ahead. Ask. “Maybe, we can help you?”

“You? How ?”

“Tell us, Margot. Tell us about the people. Let us help them. Let us help you .”

And Margot looks up at Thunderbird Four,  her big eyes wet with tears, and Penelope -

Penelope smiles.

---

That night in the half breath before sleeping she tells him, "You know I think she's half in love with you."

"Who isn't?" he says, cocksure. Then, "She's not the one for me, Pen."

"No. No I should hope not."

It feels a bit like she might be trying, then.

---

The guests arrive in a series of private cars all with serious faced drivers who nod at Penny as they pass. The guests themselves pay them no mind, instead falling over themselves to greet Vishkin who holds court in the chalet's hall like a king.

Knowing what he does about the state of Vishkin's kingdom it reminds Gordon of the mass frenzy of little creatures that descend on the sinking corpse of a once great whale.

Penny watches too, her eyes narrow. Her hands folded neatly in front of her black satin dress, her posture perfect.

Knowing her as he dies, Gordon can sense the nerves coming from her in waves. Margot had told them between sobs of a shipment due to be dropped off tonight in the midst of the Indian Ocean, and from there to be ferried to those prepared to pay for an ounce or more of human flesh. He’d been disgusted, Penelope had been calm, Margot had asked for nothing but their secrecy - a promise he still doesn’t know if Penelope intends to keep.

"Remember. Secure the shipment, keep Vishkin distracted, notify Headquarters. Understood?"

That's all this is, now. An exercise in time wasting until the shipment is safely in GDF hands and GCHQ give permission to swoop in on Vishkin and put him away for good.

"Oh, totally. Got it. You look beautiful by the way."

She pats at the skirt of her dress, her nose wrinkling. "I'll do."

She sweeps away, the perfect hostess, and Parker appears at his elbow, a silver platter on his arm.

"Canapé, Mr Greg?"

Penelope approaches Vishkin, her arms outstretched, and Gordon's stomach sinks like lead. Distraction.

"Suit yourself," mutters Parker before stuffing one in his own mouth and disappearing into the glittering crowd. He’s caught by Margot, resplendent in sequins, and Gordon watches as she pulls him down to whisper urgently into his ear. Music strikes up from the speakers, staff whip guests coats away and return with trays of drinks, and it begins.

---

It's strange, the way there are two parties going on in one room and with Gordon both at the center and absent from both of them. It reminds him uncomfortably of the weeks of missed calls, of mission briefs given over and around him, and it makes his heart ache for island air and the roar of engines.

Penny dances at the edge of his eyeline, delivering drinks and instructions and all with a glint in her eye that smacks of a purpose Gordon misses with half his soul. The other half is lost to him, hanging in the spaces between her laughter and caught in the touch of her hand.

They've succeeded, Margot's evidence and the shipment they're to intercept enough to get Vishkin tucked away for many years, but there's still a sense of something lingering. Unfinished business.

Squid sense on high alert and a room full of liars to test it on, Gordon makes the executive decision to go get a drink. He's probably going to need it.

Luckily it's the big bald guy who makes it since his heads too much of a mess for any of Parker's overdone cocktails, and luckier still he knocks it back just as the music pauses, Penny moving toward him as Vishkin hands Margot the mic to polite applause.

She smiles like a shark, all teeth and no eyes, and he wonders if anyone else in the room even notices or if they're all too busy hiding their own secrets behind makeup and glitter and the greater good. She's good, hell give her that. She holds the room in the palm of her hand and it's hard to believe she's been dragged into this against her will.

Margot beams that liar's smile around the room and sweeps her skirts aside to sit at the piano.

"If you'll forgive me the indulgence," she says, "this is an oldie, but - ah." She laughs her tinkling laugh. A showgirls laugh, blisters and pain hidden behind the sparkle. "Someone told me it was a goodie. What would I know."

The staccato hits, and Gordon feels his heart lurch uncomfortably.

Heaven help a fool who falls in love, indeed.

Penny's half a step behind him, champagne flute in hand, and he barely even registers he's taking it from her before it's gone and her lips are pursed as though she's trying not to smile.

"Do you mind? I rather think I earned that."

He isn't denying it, but this feels like a moment and he's not letting this one pass him by.

"Dance with me?"

She's looking at him like this is definitely a moment. His heart skips once, twice…

And then his hand is in hers.

---

It would be a lie to say she thought he'd never ask; patience isn't one of her virtues.

She takes him by the hand and leads him, not to the centre of the dance floor where the guests mingle and sway, but to a shadowy corner hidden from Parker's prying eyes by the mass of the crowd. In her heels it's barely a stretch to rest her forearms on his shoulders and press her chest against his.

His eyes flicker downward at the motion and she treasures the little thrill that runs through her. Jeff Tracy raised his boys to be gentlemen, not monks .

"My team are tracking the package as we speak," she half whispers, "as soon as we have a location we'll have Vishkin."

"And Margot?" Gordon's hands hover either side of her hips, and really must a girl do everything herself? She lets her arms slip from his shoulders and run down his biceps. A gentle squeeze and a shift of her weight as the tempo changes and she rather loses her train of thought.

"Hmm?"

“Is she gonna be okay?”

Okay is a loaded term. Privately, Penelope thinks not. Margot Mearns has spent most of her life around Colin Vishkin or men very like him. Powerful men who made her powerful in turn. Covered her in diamonds and compliments and cold, hard cash. Penelope has seen enough in her own life to know that Margot’s propensity for little wraps of white powder may be the easier addiction to break.

“We will look after her,” she says instead, loathe to bring the mood down any more than she needs to. “Will that do?”

“I guess.” A beat, and his hand is firm against her lower back, drawing her closer as she allows herself to melt into him. “She tried to do the right thing in the end. That ought to count for something.”

Penelope sighs, and lets her eyes drift shut as they sway. “You do insist on thinking the best of everyone, don’t you.”

A smothered snort of laughter is followed by the gentlest of pressures on the crown of her head. “That’s me, the eternal optimist.”

“And do you find that your faith pays off?”

“I dunno.” He releases her, spins her around and pulls her back in to face him. “You tell me.”

The final notes of the song die away and leave in their wake a silence that seems to shudder within her, the ringing in her ears louder than any music. Champagne bubbles linger, tart on her tongue, and Gordon’s hand is warm and solid in hers.

From across the room, Parker gives her a nod.

Finished.

It’s finished.

And then Gordon’s squeezing her hand and Vishkin is cheering drunkenly and she thinks, no. No, it’s not.

It is, however, highly unprofessional the way she throws herself into Gordon, crushes her lips against his and swallows the shocked little sound he makes as she knocks all the air from his lungs. There’s bound to be a lot of paperwork. She does hope Parker’s taking notes.

Someone's hollering, wolf whistles echoing around the room, and if the way she pulls his tie loose serves to encourage them all the better, because he's kissing her back as though his life depends on it and she needs to get out of here.

Secure the shipment.

Create a distraction.

Call headquarters.

Two out of three is a solid start.

Gordon groans against her mouth and moves to cradle the back of her head in his hand.

He's going to pull her wig off.

She needs him to make that noise again.

"Get a room!" someone bellows, and there's a mumble of scattered laughter as she finally pulls away.

She's breathing heavily, but Gordon looks like he might faint. Oh well. In for a penny.

The music starts up again - recorded, now, Margot seems to have disappeared - and the guests turn away to look after their own interests again.

"Come with me?"

"Anywhere."

She beams. "The bedroom will do."

She half expects him to whoop, but instead there's just some little half sigh half whimper that makes her dash for the door just a little quicker.

Not quite quickly enough, unfortunately.

Parker clears his throat from the shadows, and Penelope tightens her grip.

"Pardon the intrusion," he says in a tone that suggests no such thing, "but the shipment?"

"Call it in," she says, "I'll -"

"I'll deal with it," Parker says, his expression one of abject misery. "You have… other doings, I h'xpect "

She releases Gordon just long enough to sweep Parker into a hug he has no time to return.

"Thank you, you darling man."

"Hmmph," he mumbles, expression unchanged. "Shall I tell them you were urgently called away?"

"Oh yes!" She calls over her shoulder, pulling Gordon behind her into the night as Parker disappears back into the party. "Very urgently indeed!"

---

It's bitterly cold outside, she's sure,but she doesn't feel it. The two of them stumble the hundred yards or so to their chalet in a tangle of limbs, practically falling through the door and slamming into the dresser with enough force to take Penelope's breath away - if she had any to spare.

She's torn his tie lose, shoving the jacket from his shoulders as his fingers fumble with the tiny buttons on the back of her dress.

"S'ok?" he manages as the first one comes loose and his jacket hits the floor. "Wanna stop?"

She doesn’t want to stop. Doesn’t have any intention of doing so - not now. Not when it’s taken so very terribly long to start. Not with his mouth at her throat and her hands in his hair and God but hasn’t she wondered what his laugh would feel like, puffed out in unbelieving breaths against the line of her collarbone? Hasn’t she dreamt of curling her fingers in sunbleached waves and daring him lower?

But the hair between her fingers is all wrong and it makes her hot blood freeze instantly. There's something she's forgotten, something terribly important, and she doesn’t want to stop, but she has to. She has to. Damn it all though, she just wants to try .

“Gordon -”

The worst part is how she doesn’t even have to say it.

The tiniest shift in her body, the merest trace of distress in her voice and he’s away from her in moments - half a room away and flushed the colour of Thunderbird Three. He rubs at his hair, that stupid hair, and stares, determined, at a point somewhere in the vicinity of Penelope’s left foot.

In that moment, she’s reasonably sure she feels her heart crack.

“Shit, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Pen - Lady Penelope - I really -”

“Don’t apologise.”

“But - I - “

“I believe I grabbed you . It ought to be me apologising.”

“Don’t.” He shifts his weight from foot to foot and scrubs at his eyes with a shaky hand. The half laugh he lets out makes her want to cry. “Jesus. Don’t apologise.”

Well now, of course, she must. And in doing so she must admit the truth of all of this - to him, even if not to herself.

Girlish nonsense, her Grandmother would have called it.

Would that it felt like it. Nonsense, she can laugh off. She cannot laugh off the look in his eyes, nor the pang in her chest.

“We mustn’t -”

“Yeah,” he holds his hands up. Surrender. She hates it. “Yeah no I super got that part, it’s fine, it’s - I mean -” he laughs again, and she hates that even more. “God I’m an idiot.”

“You’re not.”

“I really, actually think I am. It’s pathological, apparently. Ask John.”

“I could,” she says. Whispers, actually. “That's the problem you see. I could.”

---

Gordon’s spent the majority of his adult life submerged in icy water, but it’s never hit him as hard as this.

“What?”

Penny wrings her hands together, hair falling in her face, sweater askew, and he’d be amazed at seeing her so discombobulated - at having done that - if only he had the faintest clue what was going on.

“John’s watching,” she says again, and she won’t meet his eyes and she won’t make any sense because John isn’t watching. In fact Gordon can categorically state for an actual fact that John would rather blind himself with a rusty spoon than watch any of the events likely to unravel following a kiss like that. They’d hear his shrieks through the vaccuum .

Gordon knows this.

And Penny promised.

"It was the only way, you see."

" What was the only way?"

She reaches past him to the bedside table and tips up the communicator. A small green light flashes up at him.

"The disruptor?"

Penelope bites her lip. "Isn't.  Not entirely."

Gordon's brain stops. Reverses. Replays the night of their arrival.

"You lied about it?"

"I didn't think it would matter. It was Scott's preference." She just out her chin, and the action sets the confusion and stymied desire bubbling in his belly until the coalesce into something like anger.

Of course it's Scott. Listening in. Probably Virgil, too. Definitely Alan.

God, they'll have been taking bets.

“So, what? What are you telling me? That we’ve been on an open comm link to the island all this time?” Gordon looks around wildly. “Are they watching now? Am I starring in one of Grandma’s Space Operas? Hey, Grandma!” He cups his hands around his mouth and calls up to the ceiling. “Hope you didn’t burn the popcorn!”

“Gordon, please - “

“Gordon please what?” his voice is cold, colder than he meant it to be, but he takes a certain grim satisfaction in the way she winces as it hits her.

“It wasn’t intentional.”

“Penelope, you astound me on a minute by minute basis, but even I can’t believe you’d accidentally keep a secure communication line running when you’ve blocked every other transmission in or out of this place.”

“No - No that was - the lie wasn’t intentional. I didn’t set out to deceive you. I was going to tell you but you seemed so happy - it's not the island. It's only John.” Penelope wrings her hands together, her eyes darting between him and the holocomm as though undecided which offers the greater threat, and Gordon’s anger deflates into something close to defeat.

Only John, she says. Like the guy running the most effective communication monitoring device in the galaxy isn't an absolute gossip hound. As though he will ever, ever let Gordon live this down.

As though there was going to be anything to live down.

“Of course I was happy. I was here with you .” He shakes his head. “Shit, Penny. It isn’t rocket science. You don’t need Brains to figure this one out.”

“You said - about John -”

“Yeah, well.” Gordon drops into the wicker chair by the window. “Yeah, it was nice to think we’d actually get to spend some time alone. You know how I feel about you. If you didn’t - if you don’t - all you had to do was say so. You don’t need John to chaperone .” He laughs bitterly. “You’ve got Parker for that.”

“He shouldn’t have come. I don't need a chaperone. I don't want one."

Gordon rubs his hand across his eyes. He’s suddenly exhausted, tired beyond measure of all of this, but mainly just tired of pretending. Scott was right. Again. He isn’t cut out for this.

“I can’t even figure out what that’s meant to mean, Pen. Not everything has to be all intrigue and secrets. Some things are just better if you just let them be .”

“I don’t know if I know how to do that.”

There’s something in her voice, something beyond guilt or unhappiness or denial or any of the dozen other things he might have expected to hear. It’s honesty, real and seering and shocking.

“Sure you do,” he says without thinking, then, as he watches her, “don’t you?”

“That’s the thing about you, Gordon,” she says, stepping up to the chair and reaching for his hand. “You’re - everything is so horribly straightforward with you. You know who you are. You know how to - you’re just so much better at this than I am, darling.” She sniffs, and he realises with dawning horror that she’s barely restraining tears. "So much better.”

"I really feel like that's not true."

Penny smiles weakly and he can't help but smile back.

"No?"

"Nah I mean - for a start if I was any good at this we really wouldn’t need this much of an excuse."

Penny looks up at him through her lashes.

“Is that what this is? I thought we were bringing down an international smuggling ring.”

He stands up, moving close enough to tangle the fingers of his left hand through the ends of her hair. He taps the side of his nose with his other hand.

“What a cover, eh?”

Penny sways into him, his wedding ring catching in the carefully constructed curls.

“A double bluff, then?”

“Something like that.” He thumbs gently at her chin. There’s a smear of lipstick at the corner of her mouth. He wonders if he has it’s twin. “Gotta play both sides to guarantee a win.”

“Spoken like a true middle child.”

“Yeah, well, in my family the middle child is John .”

“I wouldn’t do this with John.”

Penny drops the communicator to the ground and he hears the crunch of electronics underfoot, but he hasn’t the time to worry about that - not when her arms are round his neck, her mouth hot against his own.

She pushes him back towards the edge of the bed, only pulling away as his thighs hit the mattress. Pauline’s wig is discarded in a heap at her feet, followed immediately by the little black dress.

Oh.

Oh shit .

She doesn't want a chaperone.

“Well uh - no I mean - you’re not really his - “ Penny slides one pale knee onto the bed, and pushes him back with two fingers. He’s still mostly dressed in Greg’s penguin suit, the tie loose around his neck. She’s still moving, coming to hover above him to rest a single finger against his lips and Jesus Christ is he still talking? He isn’t sure how he’s still breathing.

“Darling, I ask only one favour from you tonight.”

“Anything.” Anything, God, anything.

“Be quiet.”

He mimes zipping his mouth shut, and throws away the key.

---

Gordon isn't sure when, exactly, he'd fallen asleep. He remembers pulling the sheets up over their heads to form a soft, white cocoon, and the way Penny had pressed her laughter against him as he'd sworn never to leave, ever. He remembers that her hair had tickled his nose and his side had protested, but that it had been worth it - more than worth it. He remembers thinking that he'd happily never sleep again if it meant missing a single moment of her skin against his.

Guess his body has been betraying him a lot recently.

Still, he's awake now, wrapped in a curtain of white cotton and blonde hair and wondering, just a little, if this is what heaven would have looked like. Penny's hand twitches on his belly, her head pillowed on his shoulder and he figures yeah, yeah,it probably is.

There's a full moon tonight, pouring through the open curtains and bleaching everything a stark, otherworldly silver. Penny is bathed in it, beautiful and glorious, and he's absolutely fucked. Literally, figuratively and decisively. Forever.

Still, he really ought to at least close the curtains and retrieve Pauline's wig from its Ignoble resting place on the floor. If anyone were to approach the chalet -one of the staff, Margot, Parker - they'd get an eyeful of a while bunch of things Penny would probably rather they didn't.

Penny sighs and shifts against him just enough for his ribs to protest and yeah, he should probably get up.

Just the mental image of Parker's doleful face at the window is enough to get him moving. He extradites himself from her grasp as gently as he possibly can making certain to replace his shoulder with a pillow and patting her hand gently as he lays it on the mattress. She mumbles sleepily as he drops a reassuring kiss to get forehead.

"Nothing to worry about," he whispers against the crease between her brows. "Be right back."

He pads over to the window and is reaching for the curtains when a movement catches his eye.

"Shit!" He makes a frantic grab for the curtain to cover his dignity and peers out into the night. The moon casts the valley in sparkling white and blackest shadows, and the darkest if them all is the single figure at the edge of the frozen lake. Gordon squints against the windowpane.

"Margot?"

The uneasy feeling he'd managed to quash beneath the thrill of Penelope's affections returns tenfold, hurrying his efforts to pull on a pair of pyjama pants and grab the closest coat. It's pink and smells faintly of apricots. It absolutely does not fit and he doesn't really have time to care. Instead he stuffs his feet into unlaced boots and lurches out into the cold.

It’s really goddamn cold.

He's not quiet as he stomps down to the edge of the lake,but the figure out on the ice pays him no mind, their back to him even when he calls out.

"You okay out there?"

She doesn't turn to face him, but it's definitely her. She's still dressed for the party, her beaded dress trailing from her thick jacket.

"Margot? Margot come off the ice."

At first he thinks she hasn't heard him, but then she looks over her shoulder and smiles. It's a black slash in the moonlight. Her teeth gleam.

"No, I don't think I will."

"Oh for -" Gordon toes at the edge. It's solid, but probably only a couple of inches deep and best and he has no idea whereabouts the spring that feeds it might be. "It isn't safe."

"Then go back." Harsher, "I didn't ask to be followed."

"I -"

"Oh don't bother." She laughs and the mountains seem to laugh with her. The ice creaks. "Thought you'd take a nighttime stroll in your pyjamas and a woman's coat did you? Men always take me for an idiot."

"I really don't." He hesitates, then takes one step onto the ice. Another. Another. She watches his approach with that slash of a smile. "I know this must be difficult for you."

The ice shudders, the vibration reverberating up his spine.

“You don’t have to do this.” He holds out his hand, dares to let his body weight shift ever so slightly toward her. “I can help, just -”

The answering laugh ricochets around the valley and hits him full force in the solar plexus.

“You?” She sneers, dawn breaking behind her and setting the valley aflame. “Gordon Tracy, what possible use could I have for you ?”

Oh.

Oh, now that is a turn up for the books. Swallowing hard, he wills his heart rate to kick it down a notch, concentrates on keeping his voice steady. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Really? Because you can blame your father for it, you know. So many photographs .” She bares her teeth like a shark coming in for a kill.. “Enough to drive a girl mad . A pathetic little dye job might work on an idiot like Vishkin, but it was never going to work on me. I’d have thought your little spy friends would have known that. Tell me,” she folds her hands together as if in supplication or prayer. “Oh do tell me that you love her again, it was utterly adorable. She's got you wrapped right around her little finger hasn't she? Just like another  li ttle lapdog.”

There’s a lot to unpack, there. Like a whole lot. But the ice is snapping in the space between them and it won’t matter who Margot Mearns thinks he is when they’re both drowning in the depths.

“Margot, I swear, if you want to talk we can talk but we need to get off this ice -”

“And there’s that, of course. Dear, heroic Tracy boy. Trying so hard to fix me. Tell me, International Rescue , what’s it like to keep trying to save someone who doesn’t want to be saved?”

“Why wouldn’t you want to be saved?”

“Well, sweetheart, because I intend to save myself.” She opens her folded hands to reveal a little silver box. It’s pink in the dawn light. Innocent. He’d thought Margot was innocent, too.  “It’s a shame. It worked so well for years. No-one looks at a woman next to a powerful man, and Vishkin was a sap and an idiot. He's outlived his usefulness. It’s no loss." She sighs as she runs a finger lightly over the detonators surface. “But you, you were cute.”

He has time for one deep breath before the mountainside explodes.

---

Penelope bolts upright, her heart thundering, the remnants of her dream skittering away from her before she can even begin to get it under control.

She isn't usually one for nightmares.

She blinks sleep from her eyes and casts her bleary gaze around the room. It's darker than it was, the curtains drawn, and although the sheets beside her are rumpled they're empty and cold. She swings her legs out of bed and eyes the discarded clothes and shattered comm innards with a professional's seasoned eye. She didn't dream him, then. Not this time.

She's a little unsteady on her feet as she picks her way through the aftermath of her decision, muscles protesting slightly after months of under use. She peeks between the curtains to see a still,perfect night, bright moonlight diffused by the frost patterns on the glass. Almost dawn, then, and Gordon can't have gone far. She swallows the rising feeling that he shouldn't have gone at all and dresses swiftly and warmly. Someone, she certainly hopes Gordon, has lain Pauline's wig on the dresser but instead she reaches for one of his hats, pulling it low over her ears. In fact when she looks around she realises almost all of his ski wear is still in the chalet. Wherever he's gone he's likely wildly under dressed. Not that she minds that, of course, but she can hardly have him getting frostbite.

It’s that blue hour before the sun rises fully, and the valley feels like holding its breath, still, watchful. There are boot prints hidden beneath the frost, and a hushed, urgent whisper that carries across the lake. She can’t make out words, only the crisp, harsh tone of breath gritted out from too-cold lungs, and she finds herself wishing she’d had the forethought to bring Gordon’s ski wear with her. A prickle down her spine, a creak slam of a door, and she wishes she’d had the forethought to bring her gun.

Fifty yards from the edge of the lake, she comes across the source of the sound. The little boat hut door is hanging slightly from its hinges, swaying to and fro beneath its own weight. She’s about to walk by - she will send the carpenters round when this is all nicely concluded - when she spots the slick stain on the ice.

Blood.

She approaches as quietly as she can, back to the wall of the little hut, her ear pressed against it for any sound of movement. She hears nothing, but still she only peeps around the corner, fists ready, and into hell.

There’s a pool of gore glistening black in the moonlight between the old boat and the doorway, and at its centre - at its centre lies realization.

Penelope steps forward until the pool, dark and sticky, laps at the toes of her boots. Colin Vishkin smiles up at her through bloodstained teeth, his unseeing eyes turned toward the faint glow of Thunderbird Five, and for the first time in her life Penelope Creighton-Ward is faced with the terrible truth.

She’s got the whole thing wrong.

She’s failed.

It hits her at the same moment the world goes dark.

---

It's been a long day. Most of John's are. He doesn't really have the time for this.

“Say that again, Parker?”

“‘Er Ladyship ‘as been unexpectedly distracted.” Parker is hissing, his face far too close to his watch, and his one huge eye seems to float, Sauron-like, above Thunderbird 5’s central conn. “Most unfortunate it is, at that. Hi'm reportin' on 'er behalf such as she wishes but if you ask me she'd be better not -”

“Yes, I got that part.” John’s eyes flit over the other readings. Nothing unusual. No sign of any of IR’s personnel alarms being triggered. “Does she need help?”

“Not ‘arf,” sniffs Parker. “Brought the wrong bleedin’ brother if you ask me.”

“Are you - are you calling me because you want me to…” John fumbles for the words then settles on, “extract Gordon?”

Parker blinks. Considers.

“Leave ‘im. Damage was done there years back. Send Mr Virgil out to recover this cargo is what ‘er ladyship said.”

“Lady P wants Virgil to fish some cargo out of the Indian Ocean. Got it. Any particular reason, or?”

“And ‘ere’s me thinking you were the smart one.” The giant eye rolls, and John barely resists the urge to cut the feed. “‘Taint just any cargo this. Ms Margot Mearns 'erself asked me to call you not the GDF. ‘Er Ladyship doesn’t muck about with small time smugglers.”

“Just employs them,” mutters John, reaching for the link that’s been kept open to Penny and Gordon. He’s not bothered to test it since their arrival  - hasn’t really had the stomach for it to be quite honest - so it isn’t a complete surprise when it doesn’t immediately spring to life at his touch.

“EOS? Patch me in to Gordon. Signal disruption must be messing with the link.”

A pause, then, “I can’t do that John. The link is disabled.”

John frowns. Turns back to Parker. Somewhere beyond his great disembodied face he hears a sickeningly familiar crack and then -

Shit.

Scott’s going to lose his mind .

----

That first time, Sally heard it on the radio.

It wasn’t a radio, she knows that. Even back then there were a hundred newer, stronger, better technologies than she recalls from her twentieth century childhood. Her boy invented half of them, or paid the man that did.

Still, in her memory, she heard it on the radio.

In the chalet the little ones were tucked up, snoring, and Grant had left the supper to simmer while he headed out to the slopes to call the others home.

Supper burned, and she was on the wrong side of the mountain.

This time, she hears it from John. This time she’s on the other side of the world, tropical sun at her back, but in her heart, oh in her heart she hears it on the radio .

(And the avalanche swallows her whole.)

“Grandma? Grandma are you getting all this?”

"Loud and clear. Scott's on route."

"Scott's here ." Her eldest grandson barrels into the room, hair standing on end, shoulders stiffer than her hip. "Status, Five."

"Unknown. Communications are blocked. I've been unable to raise Parker."

"Anyone on the ground?"

"GDF won't get involved without consulting GCHQ."

" And? "

"GCHQ won't compromise the mission."

Scott presses his knuckles into the desk. Sally can feel the way his body trembles through the wood.

"Compromise the mission, " he scoffs. "Like Penelope's a soldier. "

Sally tried to keep her voice soft, her own fears tamped back in the face of Scott's furious terror.

"In their eyes, she is."

Virgil appears in the doorway,and Sally shakes her head briefly. Extra voices aren't likely to help when Scott's in this state of mind. His head dips and when he lifts it all that anger is directed at John.

"Why weren't you watching . Damn it, John! If you're not watching what's the point ."

John's expression darkens, his fury, so rare but so brutal, radiating from words muttered from behind clenched teeth.

" I'm not a spy, Scott."

"None of us are goddamn - " he runs a hand through his hair and pulls. "I shouldn't have let him go."

"You couldn't have -"

"Stopped him? I could have had him grounded on medical grounds - I could have locked him in his room - I could have- "

"No. No you couldn't." Virgil speaks slowly, tilting his head in an attempt to make eye contact with Scott as he paces. "He's an adult, Scott."

"As his commanding officer I -"

"Enough!" Sally slams her palms down onto the desk and waits for silence to follow the reverberation. "Enough."

"Grandma -"

"Grandma, nothing. We have a situation. Pull it together. John, play the call and raise Alan. We haven't got time for all this posturing."

“I’ll suit up,” says Virgil, already heading for his station, but John stops him with a single shake of his head.

“No can do, Virgil. Two is needed to pull some cargo shipment out of the Indian Ocean.”

“Excuse me, what?” Scott pauses with his shoulders already halfway into their supports. “A cargo collection?”

“It was what Parker was calling about,” says John. “This cargo, whatever it is. It’s what Lady Penelope was after.”

Scott blinks. “Will it be any use to her if she’s dead ?”

“I don’t know , Scott,” John grumbles. “All I know is -”

“If it matters enough for Parker to call it in, then it matters enough for us to do as he asks.” Her three eldest grandsons turn as one to face her. She hears Alan stumbling his way through the kitchen. “Have a little faith, boys. Virgil?”

“On it.”

He disappears. Alan blinks owlishly at her from the other side of the room.

“We go, Grandma? Scott?”

“You’re go,” she tells them, and lets their take off hide her fear.

---

"Scott, stop panicking."

Scott Tracy is the Field Commander of International Rescue, and the Field Commander of International Rescue does not panic.

"Scott?"

John, who clearly doesn't know what he's talking about, floats above One's console with his arms folded like a pissy school teacher.

"I don't panic," Scott grumbles,pushing One just that bit harder. "I'm just busy."

"Busy panicking."

"Busy looking for our brother , or have you forgotten he's already injured and now he's lost somewhere near avalanche central? Cause I'm not panicking, but you could do with looking a tad more concerned."

John's lips narrow until he's wearing what Gordon calls his 'detention face'. "We don't even know that Gordon's involved in this. All we know is that Parker was in the vicinity when -"

"Spare me the hope speech Johnny, please." Scott leans forward into the throttle and One roars in reply. "You and I both know that when Gordon's in the vicinity disaster is pretty much guaranteed."

"Where's Alan?"

"Securing the spare exosuit, why?"

"Because I don't want him listening in while I call you a prick."

Scott scowls. "Glad you're concerned about one of your baby brothers."

"Annnd there we have it." When he's feeling smug John taps his fingers again his upper arm just like dad did - does. Scott hates it. "Gordon isn't a kid, Scott."

The snow-capped peaks of the Alps appear in One's view screen, tinged pink with the dawn light, and Scott knows Gordon isn't a kid - not on paper and certainly not in Four - but in Scott's secret heart Gordon will forever be fourteen, waving his brother off to boot camp while wearing braces and sporting a recently broken nose.

Scott's last act before leaving Kansas had been to ensure the boy who broke it never, ever forgot Gordon Tracy's biggest brother.

He wishes taking vengeance on the world was that easy.

"He nearly died , John."

"But he didn't."

" John ."

" Scott ." John sighs, and Scott finally sees a little of his own fear in the way John scrubs at his tired eyes. "We get into situations like this all the time. We haven't died yet. He won't."

"No," Scott agrees, "he won't." And powers into the dawn.

----

When Gordon was five years old he’d started lifesaving classes down at the Y, and he’d decided very early on that pyjamas were a terrible piece of equipment when a life was at stake. It hadn't helped that mom had sent him with John's and they'd dragged three feet behind him as he'd tried to twist them into floats. He'd ended up tying himself into knots.

They’re not a fat lot of use now, either.

He strikes for the surface by instinct, fighting against the drag of his pants and the searing cold. His shoulder seizes from the exertion and he breaks the ice with a cry he sincerely hopes Mearns doesn't hear. Stupid body. Stupid cold. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

He gasps, and chokes. The air isn't cold, it's thick and acrid and sending red embers fizzling through the ice around him. Somewhere he’s sure he hears rotor blades, but that could just be his heart trying to batter its way from his chest. He scrambles from the water, and, still on his knees, twists to scan the spot where he'd last seen Mearns.

She's gone, and in her wake the world is on fire.

The chalets have gone. Only shards of wood like dead trees and sheets of battered roofing remain, flames licking at the sky between the rivers of snow and ice that pour, even as he stares, down the mountainside to swallow them whole.

Fire. The mountain is on fire. The mountain is falling, and Gordon is running, pyjamas freezing against his skin, to try and hold it back.

He’s gotta hold it back. He’s gotta. He’s gotta -

The burning remnants of his chalet - their chalet - disappear beneath the snow with a terrible, hideous crack .

Penny.

Oh fuck, Penny.

The world burns, and Gordon Tracy burns with it.

---

Penelope has always been a great proponent of taking stock of one's surroundings. A strong believer that one should always endeavour to be thorough no matter how perturbing the circumstances might be. Her current circumstances are certainly that. The place she finds herself is dark and cramped. Further observation shows that there appears to be the majority of a wall supported millimetres from her aching head, and, perhaps most distressingly, she appears to be nose to nose with a corpse.

It is fair to say that given the choice this is not her preferred manner of spending any morning, least of all this one.

Cautiously she takes note of her limbs - attached and without any obvious sign of injury - and then of her faculties. Penelope Creighton-Ward. Lady. Twenty six years old and apparently trapped in a boatshed cum mausoleum by forces unknown.

The facts don't necessarily make her feel any better but they're always nice to have.

Vishkin’s glazed eyes peer unseeingly and unsettlingly into her own as she struggles to free herself, what little light there is casting eerie shadows over his livered skin. He’s been dead for hours, his belly swelling, the skin taut and cold as she finally manages to shuffle into a half crouch.

He’d bled to death in this boat house while, yards away, she and Gordon had seen fit to celebrate their victory .

There’s no justice in death. It gives Penelope no pleasure to look down on those black-red teeth as she struggles to steady herself against the sticky ground. And she knows, as surely as she knows her own name, that if Vishkin was already laying dead in this shed, that whatever has trapped her here with him was meant to kill them all. Parker, her team, herself.

Gordon.

Gordon, who had left their bed, under dressed and utterly unprepared for whatever Machiavellian forces awaited him. Gordon, who has no way of reaching his brothers. Gordon, who would be safe at home were it not for her own selfish wants .

It won’t do. None of it.

The air in the tiny crawlspace is thick and growing thicker, and when she dares to rest her cheek against her temporary ceiling she feels the chill of ice right down to her very bones. The only light source seems to come from a cracked wooden panel that hangs over Vishkin’s right shoulder. The air, such as it is, seems to be coming from that direction too.

“I am so very sorry,” she tells the dead man, shuffling on her knees as best she can. “Truly, I am.”

Then, niceties disposed of, she plants her elbows in his distended belly and gets to work.

---

The alpine range covers a huge geographical area, so even the limited information that John does have - they flew into Geneva and now somehow all hell has broken loose - is being rendered utterly useful by sheer scale, both of the mountains and the red tape.

"No luck, Eos?

"I have received no response to your transmission, John. Would you like me to send it again?"

He sighs, watching the little blue blip that represents Thunderbird One flicker in and out of whatever disruptor field is scrambling their communications. On the rare occasions he dies manage to reach One Scott's testy and getting worse. It's been almost an hour since Parker's call had been interrupted by the cracking of the mountainside,and neither John not Scott need a reminder of exactly how long a human being can survive being buried under a glaciers worth of ice.

It's not long enough.

He needs another plan.

"John?"

"Yeah, no. No, they're not interested."

Eos flashes. "We could increase their interest,"

They could. They absolutely could. They could have GCHQ on their knees in ten minutes flat. Four, if Eos helps him compile the code. But.

"I suppose that would be unethical?"

"You suppose correctly, plus we don't want to rescue Lady Penelope only to have to tell her we've lost her her job."

That's when it comes to him. A flash of inspiration that has his fingers skittering over the controls with a speed that makes any human companions gape, wide eyed. Eos doesn't gape. Eos understands.

"I will attempt to open the line to Scott. Co-ordinates are -"

"Close as they're gonna be," he mutters, Five's processors battering their way through the disruptors code. "Ready?"

"Scott? Thunderbird Five to Thunderbird One, Scott, come in."

Static crackles through the unit, and Scott, when he answers sounds as though he's at the bottom of a trench on a planet half a galaxy away.

"-me -n. Five. Ov- go?"

"Scott, I'm sending you my best guess coordinates. I've triangulated from Parker's call and known geographical features of the area, but it's a big area. You'll need to send the drones. Do you copy?"

More static, then "-AB"

One's symbol flickers again, and doesn't return.

John turns his attention to Virgil's progress over the Indian ocean, and watches over the only brother he has left.

---

Armageddon, or something like it.

And Gordon’s dealt with end-of-the-world before plenty of times. It’s his job. It’s his life . But this -

He has no idea what to do.

Thing is, fourth of five. You kinda forget how to be alone.

Because the other thing is, he pretty much never is, not even in the depths of the ocean. It makes no sense that he would be alone here, on semi solid ground.

No Four, no Brains, no John or Eos in his ear. No reassurance from Grandma or nagging from Scott. No Virgil hovering overhead, no jokes from Alan to lighten the mood. Nothing but him, the sagging, burning, frozen chalets, and the absolute certainty that if he doesn’t do something there's a good chance he'll never not feel alone again.

It makes no sense that he's drowning on dry land.

His hair is frozen. There’s bile at the back of his throat. There’s -

There’s a man. A man clambering between shattered, blackened walls. A man with a truly awful moustache.

“Parker?”

The man coughs bitterly and scowls the scowl of the recently and extremely put-out. “The very bleedin’ same.”

And he’ll never admit it, not to anyone , but Gordon suddenly feels hope spark somewhere in his frozen, aching chest.

He runs a rescuer's critical eye over Parker. There's ice in his moustache and his colour is high, but otherwise he seems unharmed.

"What happened?"

"'arf the bleedin' mountain 'appened!" Parker shrugs balefully further into his coat. "Ran for me bleeding life."

“How the hell did you outrun an avalanche?”

Parker narrows his eyes, his gaze fixed on one particular spot just above Gordon’s collarbone that Penny had also been oddly - if pleasantly - drawn to.

“Seems it’s been a night of unlikely successes Mr Gordon, sir.”

“Is that what you call this? Cause I think we have very different definitions.”

Parker glares at him for a moment longer, then peers over his shoulder.

“Where’s her ladyship?”

And every word Gordon’s ever known sticks in his throat. His expression must say them for him.

“Holy Christ,” spits Parker. “Fucking buggering hell. What ‘appened?”

“Bomb,” he manages, because that’s all he can imagine it could have been. “Set off an avalanche. Mearns… probably wasn’t actually the good guy.”

“You don’t fuckin’ say.” Parker grits out. “Blown up and bleedin’ buried an’ all. You go south, I’ll go north. There were ten left on site with you an’ me.”

Gordon wouldn’t know, of course. Gordon wasn’t paying attention. Gordon is a goddamn hopeless idiot.

“Communications?”

Parker just glares.

“Right.” He turns to the spot where he’d last seen Penny. It’s a smouldering, wet smear on the landscape. His feet are too cold, they won’t move. None of him moves, only his heart, every beat echoing in his ears and his throat and the tips of  his burning fingers.

Penny. Penny. Penny.

“Gordon! Gordon over here!”

At the edge of where the main chalet had stood Parker is frantically pulling at pieces of plasterboard, scrabbling around until he reveals a faintly familiar bald head.

The guy. The guy with the piano stool. He can’t remember his name. He can’t remember -

“Now hold on Mr Lester, International Rescue is on the way!”

It doesn’t matter what he can remember. International Rescue. That’s him. He’s it.

Gordon skids across the snow to land on his sodden knees. “Lester! Hey, hi, can you hear me?”

Lester blinks up at him. His face is free, one hand pillowed against his cheek, but the rest of him is buried beneath a mixture of snow and ash. He’s as grey as his surroundings, his lips stained scarlet. “Lady - Lady -”

Gordon swallows, afraid to risk a glance at Parker.

“It’s me, it’s Gordon. Can you tell me where you’re hurt?”

“Every - fire.”

Lester’s eyes are unfocused, his pupils dilated. Blood runs from his nose and the corner of his mouth. Gordon slips his cold fingers between the other man’s cheek and palm and feels the way bone grinds against bone.

“Yeah we sure had some of that, and some of the other too. Can you squeeze my hand?”

He knows he won’t. This isn’t his first rodeo. He smiles encouragingly anyway.

It feels like even more of a lie than usual.

“Verne?”

“Gonna get him right out too, don’t you worry. Everything’s gonna be okay, just hang tight.”

Over the creaking and crackling of the suffocating building comes a new noise. A faint, distant thrum that gets gradually louder until -

"Looks like company." Parker sniffs, looking up. "Knowing our luck it's the bleedin' Hood."

"Hey!" Gordon jumps up, pointing to the sky, the shittiness of the whole situation momentarily forgotten as the drone buzzes it's way overhead. "I know that drone! Hey! Hey !"

The drone stops and hovers overhead long enough for both men to get a good look at the bright IR emblazoned on her side. Gordon almost collapses with relief.

"Son of a bitch, they found us."

A signal relay drops from her belly and Scott’s voice echoes around the valley.

“Gordon Tracy! What in God’s name have you been doing?”

Parker mutters under his breath, but Gordon’s too busy trying to keep his knees from buckling.

“Scotty, I swear, I’ve never been so happy to be yelled at in all my life.”

"I'm not yelling!"

"Totally yelling, but that's okay. Got at least eight trapped here and this fire and ice thing is no fun for any of them, you on it?"

"On it," then a pause. "You okay, Thunderbird Four?"

The use of his call sign makes his shoulders feel a little higher, makes the churning in his belly easier to ignore.

"FAB, One. Now get down here and help ."

“Gordon?”

Parker’s voice is quiet, small.

Lester is quieter still.

“Oh god damn .”

He drops straight back to his knees, takes Lester’s face between his hands and hovers his cheek over his slack mouth.

The only breath he feels is his own, sour and sick and far too quick. Far too quick.

Thunderbird One was too damn slow.

---

It is a truth universally acknowledged that when Scott Tracy enters a room people take notice. When he arrives at a disaster zone, Thunderbird One descending from the heavens like some super shiny Messiah, Gordon is always vaguely shocked if people don't start cheering.

Truth is, it's hard to cheer anything with a dead man's head in your hands.

"I've got this, Mr Gordon," says Parker, gently replacing Gordon's hands with his own. "You go on lad."

Gordon watches the ice crystallise on Lester's parted lips for a moment longer, and then he's running. Running like his life depends on it which, honestly, it probably does.

"Scott! Scott over here!"

Scott, to his credit, does actually engage his jetpack rather than just leaping from the cockpit but it does look to be a close run thing.

"Status?" It's snapped out, Field Commander to Operative, but his hands are already patting Gordon's shoulders, frantic blue eyes scanning him for any more injuries than he'd left with.

"Absolutely fucked," is his first answer, then, as Alan makes a more traditional departure from One's belly, "explosive brought an avalanche down on the top here. We've got at least seven missing." He looks back at Parker. "One deceased."

"Whoa," Alan is lugging the spare exosuit behind him. It's almost twice his size. "An explosion ? How did - and what are you wearing ?"

Gordon grimaces. "You know how they say never meet your heroes? Well really, really don't. "

"All right," says Scott, and whatever worries he must have had about Gordon's own safety must have been assuaged because he's finally stopped pawing at him, "Thunderbird One to Thunderbird Five. Come in John. John?"

"No signal," Gordon says, "like seriously none. Parker managed to call GCHQ but -"

"He didn't call GCHQ," Scott interrupts. "Or they didn't tell us if he did. He called us."

"Oh. Well. Lucky then, I guess "

Scott rolls his eyes. "I guess . Come on, we need lifesign readings stat. Where's Lady Penelope? I assume she set this communication blocker up so she ought to be able to turn it off."

Summoned, Parker rises to join them.

"No 'ope of getting a signal out of here at the minute. Had to climb halfway up a bleedin' mountain to call Mr John, and that was on a temporary line. When we find milady…"

"Whoa, hold up." Scott turns to Gordon with wide eyes. " Penelope's missing?"

It's not a phrase Gordon particularly wants to dwell on, the dam he's thrown up between IR calmness and hysteria creaks unpleasantly under Scott's pitying gaze.

"Yeah, I mean if… if you mean I don't know where she is then yes. Yes, she's missing."

“What are we waiting for!” Alan clamps his feet into the exosuit and stretches for the arms. “We gotta find her, right Scott?”

---

“Right,” says Scott, because that’s Scott’s job. Keep Alan on task. Co-ordinate. Encourage. Stop staring at Gordon, because Gordon is staring into the abyss. Say something. Do something. He has no John, no Virgil. No Dad. Only a brother who’s never failed a rescue, and one who he cannot possibly fail. “And the others, too. Gordon?”

Gordon, and the abyss, stare back. Alan casts a nervous glance in Scott’s direction.

“Gordon? You okay? Thunderbird Four, do you copy?”

“Christ, okay, yeah. I’m on it. Come on Al,” he moves toward the splintered remains of what was obviously once a chalet. There’s blood on the snow where Parker had been kneeling and a scarf carefully laid over a still, wet lump. Scott doesn’t want Alan anywhere near it, but the youngest trots after his elder brother and god, ain’t that always the way.

He wonders how much Gordon remembers of the night their mother died. He wonders if he knows how much of their father Scott sees in him now.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Peachy,” it’s a snarl said with a smile, the sort of smile that precedes hysterics. “We’ve no way of searching for life signs and no way of reaching them if we did. That exosuit is useless without Virgil - we could crush survivors without even knowing they’re there.”

“I’m not gonna crush anyone!” Alan protests, “Come on, we gotta try!”

Scott remembers. He remembers his father’s hands, shiny red and black at the tips. He knows what trying looks like, how futile it can be.

Gordon knows too.

Alan will learn.

God he doesn’t want Alan to learn that today.

Scott looks up to the sky, wishing desperately that he could somehow will Thunderbird Two into existence, then pulls on his gloves, and tries.

---

Thunderbird Two isn’t as quick as One, not as streamlined. She’s built for strength, not speed. Virgil chases Scott’s trails regardless, until they disappear over the horizon and he’s left scouring the ocean below.

Pick up a package. This had better be a hell of a delivery.

John’s floating above the dash, his hands busy with things Virgil can’t see. He assumes John means to be there, he doesn’t know. He’s not said a word since Two was left lumbering over the ocean in Scott’s wake.

“See anything, Five?” he asks, just in case John’s forgotten the connection. “It’s a big ocean if I’m doing this by sight.”

“Working on it,” John says tersely, and Virgil knows that’s probably not true because if John was working on it he’d have solved it by now.

“Not sure what I’m looking for.” Virgil pretends to talk to himself. Lets John off the hook. Whatever hook he’s on. “Did Parker -”

“Fifteen miles to your two o’ clock. There’s something in the water. No engine.”

“Right.” Virgil sets the controls, spares John another glance from the corner of his eye. He’s testy. Stressed. “Scott?”

“Out of range,” comes the semi-spat reply and yeah, that’ll do it.

“Hell of a disruption Lady Penelope’s set up out there.”

“Tell me about it,” John grumbles. “Kayo is going to have a field day with this one.”

Half a mile below, Twos radar picks up something small and metallic. “John?”

“Could be, hang on Two.” In moments the HUD shows the bobbing motion of a shipping container as it floats benignly between two large inflatables. It looks pretty battered. Rusty. Nothing like something Lady Penelope might need. Nothing like something worth dying for.

“You sure, Five? It looks…” like a goddamn waste of time . “Old.”

“It’s the only thing out here without a call sign or an engine.” John looks distinctly unimpressed too. “I can’t imagine what else it could be.”

“I’ll take a look.” Virgil’s already firing the magnetic grappler, already lowering the pod to reel it in. “Like tin can fishing, right?”

“Right,” says John, but his eyes are far away. “Virgil, whatever it is… what’s your eta to Geneva?”

“Forty minutes.” He rises from the pilot’s seat and heads down to the pod, waiting only to hear the metallic clang as the door shuts. John makes an unhappy sort of noise, but Virgil doesn’t hang about to listen. He’s got to check he’s picked up the right package. Could be rusty old car parts. Could be fifty thousand rubber ducks. Could be...

He opens the container with the handheld laser, and keeps it in front of him as he peers inside.

Nothing. Why would Penelope send him after nothing?

Why would she waste their time? Why, when he should be out there at Scott's back and -

Oh.

Oh, crap.

He slaps his baldric, doesn’t even wait for John’s response before he’s saying;

“I’ll be there in thirty.”

---

Her fingers are raw, stinging and bleeding with every splinter she manages to tear away. Sweat drips into her eyes and her lungs ache, but it's okay. It's okay. Gordon's here.

He's a flash of blue and yellow in the corner of her eye, his voice a whisper that scrapes along her breastbone and settles heavy on her heart.

Did you find me Pen? I think I'm lost.

"Not a chance," she spits through the smoke, "not now. I won't allow it. I won't ."

Penny? Penny?

A shove, a tumble, and she leaves him behind in the dark.

---

Nothing Alan says makes any sense.

Gordon hears him okay, he’s using that Super Chipper Here To Save You voice that he always uses when he’s scared on a rescue. Gordon knows that voice. Gordon taught him it.

Gordon doesn’t know when Alan started using it to speak in tongues. It’s irritating.

“You’re being irritating,” he tells Alan. Alan stares at him. Says something in Dutch. “Fuck off.”

Alan doesn’t take the hint. In fact, he’s worse, tugging on Gordon’s jacket, yelling something in Swahili to Dad. Jokes on Alan, Dad can’t speak Japanese.

Hallucinations. There’s something important about hallucinations. Something he ought to know, and really, really he’s going to punch Alan if he doesn’t stop yelling and this coat is too tight and what the hell is hypothermia anywa-

Ah.

“I’m okay. Alan, Alan I’m fine.”

“You’re really not,” says Alan, and it might be in Klingon but that’s okay cause Gordon can speak Klingon. “We need to get you into One and warmed up.”

“We need to get Penny.”

“I’ll get Penelope, Gordon, I promise.”

“I dun- I don’t think you will.” A smile. People like smiles. Smiles get you your own way. “See, she likes me .”

“Gordon -”

“Gordon!”

And then, there she is. The prettiest hallucination of all.

She’s crawling out of a hole in the ground, wet and filthy, and he’s probably going insane but she’s looking at him like he’s the whole world and he’d rather have that than any grasp of his faculties. She scrambles to her feet and Alan stops grumbling in German and bolts toward her.

“Don’t.” She holds up a bleeding hand. “Alan, dear. There’s no-one to save in there. Get…” She stops. Stares. “Oh, my poor team.”

There’s a tragedy here, even his poor addled brain knows that, and Gordon’s told a lot of people about tragedy. He doesn’t want to tell Penny.

“I’ll go help Scott,” Alan says, taking jerking steps backwards in his borrowed suit. “It’ll be okay, Lady Penelope. We got this.”

Alan has not had to tell a lot of people about tragedy. He won’t be the one to tell her, either. Even though Penelope speaks perfect French.

“Vishkin’s dead,” she tells Gordon. “Murdered, I believe.”

Gordon tries to hold the words in his mind, rearranges them until they make sense. His tongue is too big for his mouth, but he tries to reply anyway. It feels important. Like Penny needs him.

“Yeah that’s - that’s pretty much the theme of the day. Was he -”

“Under there? Yes, I’m afraid so.” And she shudders, just a tiny little thing, but he can’t help himself any longer. He pulls her in as tight as he dares, and buries his frozen face in her damp neck.

---

Whatever has changed between his brother and Lady Penelope, Scott’s glad it’s Parker and not him who has to interrupt their reunion to retrieve her Ladyship’s compact and send the codes for the disruptor to EOS.

What GCHQ will make of one of their own sending their data to a sentient AI with a known habit of holding a grudge, Scott doesn’t especially care. Not when his baldric lights up like a Christmas tree as every comm line seems to burst into life at once. And over them all, clear and unfathomably welcome;

"Thunderbird Five to alpine site, communications have been restored. Do you read me? Repeat, do you read me?"

Scott slaps his communicator before John even manages to draw breath

"Thunderbird One requesting immediate assistance. We still have five missing, John, scan for life signs."

"FAB," John says, all business, then, "your flock accounted for?"

Scott risks a glance over to One where Gordon, encased in half a dozen aluminium blankets, is wrapping a similarly attired Penelope's hands in gauze. She looks down at him with an expression of such fondness that Scott can't help but feel a little bit creepy.

"Yeah, the black sheep's here all right, he's currently - well.  I'll tell you later."

"I strongly suspect I don't want to know. Got them! All five, but Scott some are very weak."

"Patch them through. I don't know what we're going to be able to do with the equipment we've got but -'

"Hold that thought."

"Virgil!"

Scott doesn't quite run for Thunderbird Two with outstretched arms as she lowers herself to the ground a safe distance from the danger zone,but it's a very close run thing.

"The very same. Send me those details, John. Scott, tell Alan to get out of my suit and grab a pod. We've got some digging to do."

---

Trying is one thing when you’re sharing a bed. It’s quite another when you’re barely sharing a planet. Penelope sits in her parlour, her compact set next to the cooling tea on the occasional table, her still sore hands resting in her lap.

Mearns is gone. No sign of her on the GDFs patrols. No word through MI6’s impressive grapevine. It feels more personal, somehow, to be the collateral in someone else’s game plan. So Mearns is out there somewhere and Lester and Vishkin are dead, and Penelope has nothing to show for it but a palm full of scars and the way Gordon looks at her, small and transparent, from the edge of her teacup.

The worst thing is how she can’t quite bear to think it wasn’t worth it.

He moves as though attempting to peer around her. “Parker’s not there is he?”

“Not in the immediate vicinity, no.”

Gordon lets out a relieved huff and settles back against the headboard. “Good.”

“You can’t possibly be frightened of Parker.”

“Plenty of people have very good reasons to be frightened of Parker. He sent me down the sewer, remember?”

Penelope dismisses him with a wave of her hand. “That was before. ”

“Yeah, exactly. I bet it’d be a whole bunch worse now. Now he’ll put me down there in pieces. Really tiny pieces, Pen. Like those damn canapes he’s so fond of.”

She grins. “Calamari?”

“You can go off people you know.”

Penelope hums, tilting her head to one side. “I’ll take your word for that. Your hair’s back to normal.”

“Yeah.” He ruffles a hand through sleep-flattened curls and Penelope’s fingers twitch reflexively in her lap. “John said he found it ‘deeply troubling.’”

She laughs, quiet and low.

“Poor John.”

“Yeah.” And now Gordon’s not quite looking at her. “I think I’ve stressed him out a lot recently.”

“It isn’t your fault, you know,” Penelope tells him. “None of what happened is your fault.”

“I let her blow up the building, Pen. Vishkin’s dead. You could have died.”

“But I didn’t.”

Gordon huffs. “Does that work on you when I say it?”

“Not at all, no.”

They stare at each other, half a planet apart, and Penelope is horrified to find tears pricking at the backs of her eyes.

“I’m so sorry I lied to you.”

“What, about the communications? That saved us, Pen. If John hadn't failed to get through -”

“That isn’t what I meant.”

Tiny blue Gordon balks, fizzling briefly out of existence against the edge of her teapot.

“Oh. Okay. Uh - what do you mean, then?”

“That I lied about why I wanted you to come.”

“You mean you didn’t need my impressive spycraft skills?” He presses a hand against his chest. “You wound me.”

“No I -” she shakes her head. “I was a coward. A terrible coward. I should have just told you from the start.”

He drops his hand then. Tilts his head to one side, voice soft.

“Told me what?”

“A hundred things.” She takes a deep breath. Lets the not-quite-right words fall from her on the exhale. “I miss you.”

His image crumples then reforms closer and when he smiles, oh when he smiles it’s like they’re back in their chalet, cocooned in the white sheets with nothing between them but lives built on secrets and lies so much less frightening than the truth.

“Yeah,” he says, always so very much braver than her. “Yeah, Pen. I love you, too.”