#sealed with an interception!

[realtapiocafan]

i was so upset when the bengals lost to the commanders (on my birthday!) but omg! the commanders are going to the nfc championship!

jayden daniels YOU are not just the rookie of the year, you might be the rookie of the century!

[idonthaveacontract]

yaknow what needs to happen is we need to get the succession crowd watching mad men

they don't want to watch it. It's an unexplained natural phenomenon

[sakuravalelp]

Phantom letters - DPXDC PROMPT

The bats wake up one day to the internet going crazy; people around the world were getting letters from they're diseased loved ones. The reactions are mixed, from people being outraged for the "prank" to people crying in melancholy at getting closure.

All the letters have something in common: They're closed with a green sealing wax that had an stylize DP and the name Phantom beneath it. Posts about the cards were using the # Phantom Letters.

The bats are discussing the viral posts in the cave when Alfred comes holding a basket filled with letters, announcing they were left at the doors. The letters had the sealing wax that they recognize from the posts. Checking the cameras they can see how they glitch before the basket appears.

Alfred starts to distribute the letters that had only one destinatary. Letters from each Thomas and Martha to both Bruce and Alfred. Letters from each John and Mary to Dick. A letter from Catherine to Jason. A letter from the Drake's to Tim, and another one to Bruce.

Once they had calmed down enough from the shock, Alfred proceeded to read the shared recipients. From Thomas and Martha to "The grandchildren we never got to meet." From John and Mary to "the family that took our little Robin in." Letters from Catherine to "My little boys family." The letters were directed to people the deceased didn't get to meet.

As much as the mere existence of the letters tugged at their hearts, they decided to not read them until they verified that the handwriting actually belong to the ones it claimed. They checked each letter, and in the end confirmed the letters were in fact from they're lost love ones.

After much discussion, each person makes the decision to read they're own letters later in private, and they proceed to read the ones that shared recipients out loud. The letter mentioned specifics like names and events that the deceased shouldn't have been able to know, including they're vigilante abilities, which had them pause each time to panic a bit. But what was more interested were certain pieces of the letters that mentioned a Prince Phantom.

"Prince Phantom said to don't mention things past our death, but it wasn't a command, so we're hoping this won't be much of a problem." - John and Mary

"I still can't believe Prince Phantom is letting us do this, but I'm so glad." - Catherine

It finally paints the mystery in a more concerning light when at the end of Thomas and Martha's letter there is a call for help.

"We're sorry for ending the letter on a serious tone, but seeing the kind of job you all get involved in, we wanted to ask: Could you please help Prince Phantom? Phantom had asked us to not give information about this, but he's so young, and has already been hurt so much. Please, check on Amity Park, Illinois."

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Meanwhile, team Phantom has decided that they needed to get the news about the GIW out of Amity and ask for help. Two problems:

the GIW blocks any technological attempt made.

People might be afraid to learn that ghosts exist and side with the GIW.

As a way to deal with the public image, Phantom opens a possibility that the death have never had:

"All afterlives are open to write letters to their love ones that are still alive today. Nothing that includes threats, and don't go talking about the anti-ecto acts or Amity Park yet, we're trying to ease people into our existence first. Also, I know you all check on your love ones when the veil is thin, but please keep the things you shouldn't know out of the letters if possible. If you want your letter to be sent in the first batch, make sure to deliver your letter before the week ends."

Letters are a good way to reconnect people with the death, they aren't digital, and the GIW won't be able to intercept letters if they're send through inter-dimensional portals. Two birds in one shot.

[la-petite-lapin]

Unlikely Friendships | Part Three

Unlikely Friendships masterlist

Simon "Ghost" Riley x single mum!reader Word Count: 3.5k Series warnings (may update between chapters): 18+, Minors DNI, single mother reader, mentions of drinking, swearing, vague injury description (Simon's scars), mention of guns/shooting (not serious), Simon being a protective guy with feelings, it's not gonna be a slow burn- its a wildfire

In the month that followed, you brought Sunnie back to base a grand total of three times.

Every Saturday afternoon, without fail, come rain or shine, Simon would take a strategically timed walk around the base. He'd also just happen to pass the gate to the visitor's car park, intercepting you before you could set off in search of Daniel.

He'd even taken to calling you Sweetheart in his head. It seemed entirely fitting.

Today was one of those days.

He left the gym at 1, giving himself plenty of time to shower and mellow out in his room before slipping on his trainers and balaclava. As he ducked out of his suite to start his stroll, he grabbed his trusty hoodie - slinging it over his shoulder - and the tiny yellow gift bag that had been taking up residence on his desk for the best part of a week. It was silly really; daft that he'd felt the need to rush out to the shops on his free day to pick up something for Sunnie.

She'd mentioned it on a whim, he was sure, but the week prior, she'd been telling him all about this new Jellycat that had just came out. It felt like fate when he saw it in a Waterstones while browsing for some new reading material. Like second nature to scoop it up into the wide cradle of his arm and carry it over to the tills.

He didn't even feel awkward when the young female cashier assumed it was for his daughter.

Disturbingly, Simon was growing fonder of both you and Sunnie each time he saw you. Your last outing had consisted of him taking the two of you out for ice cream, and eagerly listening to everything his tiny, newfound friend had to say. He was genuinely interested in Sunnie's stories; even though he thought her friend Tara sounded like a bit of a catty bitch, which is probably a horrible thing to think about a child.

So, imagine his surprise when he made it to the gate. You were leaning against the passenger-side door, phone raised to your ear and Sunnie nowhere in sight.

Despite his happiness to see you, Simon couldn't help but feel a little wounded by her absence.

Had she chosen not to come? Had you finally realised just how dangerous he was? Were you here to tell him that neither of you were coming back ever again?

He could hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears. His palms were sweating in his gloves; a thin sheen developing on his forehead, dampening his mask. Fuck. What if this was the last time he would ever see you?

You crossed the stretch of concrete between your car and the gate, his eyes not leaving you once. It didn't take long for you to spot him, lifting one hand to wave as you quickly checked for any other cars driving about on the lot. Finding none, you jogged across to Simon, completely surprising him by wrapping an arm around his waist, pressing your cheek into his chest as you mumbled, "Fancy seeing you here."

It only lasted a moment before you pulled away, but it was one of the best moments of his life.

Clearing his throat, he managed to get out a soft, "Where's the little'n?"

Your lips quirked up into a smirk. "What? No hello, how are you, or anything?"

Simon cursed himself. You were right. He was a rude prick...

You let out a laugh, bright and brilliant. "Relax. She's at my mum's house for the weekend. I forgot to mention it last week because I was so distracted by-" Your voice trailed off as you smiled up at his masked face. Not wanting to freak him out, you kept the ending of "how good you were with Sunnie" locked up tight behind your sealed lips.

"Ah," Simon said softly, visibly relaxing. "Don't want to sound impolite, but how come you're here then? I mean, you only normally come to bring Sunnie to base."

A thought crossed his mind and he wrinkled his nose in disgust. The unspoken idea that you might be there to see Daniel.

You let out a wistful sigh, hand making a sweeping gesture towards the main buildings that made up the military base. "Well, you see, I have a friend who lives here, and I thought I'd drop by and check up on him."

He grinned under his balaclava. "Is that so?"

You nodded somewhat bashfully, a big dopey grin forming on your lips that he instantly adored. "Yeah. You might not know him though. He doesn't get out all that much."

Simon made a wounded gesture, clutching at his chest. With a guffaw, he reached across to ruffle the hair on top of your head. "Well, it's much appreciated. I do like the company: yours and Sunnie's."

That was how the two of you ended up in a pub a short drive from the base, tucked into a corner booth beside the small, tiled patch of ground that passed for the dancefloor.

The music was loud despite the fact that it was barely 6 o'clock - an obnoxious compilation of early 2010s dance hits - and the lighting was dim at best. The smell of stale beer permeated the air, and the wooden floors were sticky with it, but neither of you cared.

Two hours in and you were on your third drink, your thigh pressed against Simon's much thicker one as you pressed your lips to the spot where his balaclava covered his ear, whispering something about him driving your car back to the base. His focus sharpened when you added something about maybe staying the night on his sofa.

That wouldn't do. No; you'd have his bed, and he'd figure something out.

He leaned back against the padded backrest as you stood, pointing in the direction of the restroom sign. With a nod, he motioned to stand to let out out of the cramped booth, but was beaten to it when you slipped between his knees and the table edge. The view of your jean-clad ass was almost enough to give him a heart attack, but not enough to stop him from watching you walk away.

With you gone, he slipped his phone out of his pocket, checking the taskforce group chat.

SOAP: aye, lads SOAP: Si's gone out with a lass! PRICE: a lass? SOAP: THE lass!! GAZ: oh, Sunnie's mum GAZ: well done mate ;)

Grumbling, he fired a quick reply into the chat.

GHOST: ha, ha, ha GHOST: fuck you all

Sliding the phone back into his pocket, he downed the rest of his beer - his first and only drink of the night. Contemplating getting up for a pint of coke, he turned his gaze to the bar. But, before he could get there, his gaze snagged on something that boiled his blood.

You were standing halfway between the booth and the restroom door, some preppy blond fuckwit standing in front of you with a sleazy grin decorating his too-thin lips. Simon couldn't see your face, but your body language was a mix of anxiety and boredom. The epitome of please stop trying to hit on me as you tried to edge around him towards the restroom door. Though, this guy clearly wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed.

Standing up and unfurling himself to his full height, Simon stepped away from the booth and towards you and the asshat. With slow, measured steps like a jaguar on the prowl, he stepped up behind you, placing a large paw of a hand on your shoulder.

You relaxed back into his touch - like you recognised him from that alone.

A primal growl rose up in Simon's throat.

"Are you lost, mate?" he asked, letting just a hint of the malice he was feeling peek through into his tone.

Poor preppy blond looked like he wanted to die on the spot. His jaw slackened, mouth falling open a couple inches.

Simon huffed a laugh. "Want my advice? Move on. Find someone more-" He made a show of looking the other, shorter man up and down "-in your league, maybe."

There was a moment of silence, filled only by the offensively loud voice of Sean Paul as the blond awkwardly walked away. Simon let out a deep exhale, shoulders easing back to their usual, resting position, as you spun around in his hold.

For a second, he thought you were about to give him hell - ask him what the fuck his problem was - but instead, you just laughed. A rich, honeyed laugh that lit a fire low in his belly.

"I- I can't believe you just did that!" Your eyes were bright as you looked up at him, a tipsy buzz softening your features slightly - bringing a flush of colour to your cheeks. "That poor guy!"

Simon winced, lifting a hand to scratch the back of his neck. "I-uh... panicked? Didn't like the thought of someone making you feel uncomfortable."

A cooing sound left your lips as you reached your hands towards him. One palm rested flat against his collarbone, the other on the side of his neck. You were so close that he could smell the floral notes of your perfume; the faint cocoa butter scent of your body lotion.

"My knight in shining armour." Simon thought he was going to die when you leaned up, pressing a kiss to the patch of mask under his left cheekbone. You drew back, angling yourself in the direction of the restroom. "Wait here for me?"

Simon nodded clumsily, works evading him as you turned and disappeared through the swing door. He stayed there on that exact spot - frozen like an obedient dog waiting for its master - until you came back, wiping the last traces of water from your hands onto the thighs of your jeans. The moment you saw him, your eyes glimmered.

Your approach was quick and smiley, nudging him backwards until he could feel the coolness of the wall against his back.

"Simon." You said his name like it was a question.

"Yes, sweetheart."

You swallowed, throat working as you stared up at him with those soft, dazzling eyes of yours. There was something so casually vulnerable in your expression; so endearing.

"Why do you wear that mask?" you asked.

Simon froze up. "Uh- what?"

"The mask." You bit down gently on your bottom lip, trapping it between your front teeth. "Why'd you wear it?"

He tamped down on the urge to create distance between the two of you with a bone-weary sigh. Gently, he brushed a loose piece of hair away from your perfect face. "Because, sweetheart, when I was just starting out in my service, something bad happened. I, uh- I have a lot of scars on my face, so it's not very nice to look at. Don't like getting stared at either."

He could almost see the cogs turning in your head as you processed the words he'd just spoken. After a moment, you said, "Would you ever show me?"

Would he?

Not even Soap had seen his face. He hadn't let a single living soul see it since all hell broke loose in Mexico, ruining his life in the process. It wasn't even something he'd considered.

Until now.

Until you.

"Yes," he croaked, throat impossibly dry.

Just like that, you sobered up. "Now?"

He nodded once.

"Should we- do you wanna go back to the barracks?" you said softly, barely audible over the music. "Somewhere you're comfortable."

Simon nodded, intertwining his gloved fingers with the hand hanging down at your side. It felt oddly intimate as he led you through the crowd, guiding you back towards the front door of the pub.

The ride back to the base was quiet; you staring out of the window and Simon's eyes focused on the road ahead with laser-like intensity. Then, as you pulled up at a red light, Simon reached across the centre console and placed a hand on your knee.

From anyone else, it wouldn't be much, but - from Simon - it was everything.

Anticipation thrummed through your veins as you sat, perched on the edge of Simon's uncomfortable mattress. You'd seen the inside of Daniel's room; knew that he - like most of the other guys in his squad - had changed their rooms up the moment they'd gotten the keys for them. New desk chairs, maybe even a couple picture frames up on the walls. Bookshelves, even. But not Simon.

No, this was a standard issue army mattress if you'd ever felt one. It was like sitting on a sandbag.

Any buzz you may have acquired from the three glasses of wine you'd drank at the bar was long gone. Instead, it was replaced by the electric hum of nervousness.

You'd asked to see his face; he was letting you.

Or at least you thought he was, whenever he decided to stop hiding in the bathroom under the guise of 'washing his hands'. It had already been fifteen minutes.

Feeling more than a little bad for essentially forcing him into revealing his face to you, you rose from the edge of the bed, taking a few short steps to the en-suite door. You rapped your knuckles softly against the wooden frame. "Si?"

"I'll be out in a second."

"Simon... you don't have to do this?" A long, silent pause. "I've changed my mind."

You barely had time to take a step back before the door swung inward, leaving you face-to-chest with Simon's hulking frame. His arms were folded across his broad chest, biceps and forearms corded with thick muscle under the indecent skin-tight shirt he was wearing. Licking your lips, you looked up to realise that he was staring at you.

"What d'you mean?" he grumbled, voice muffled by his mask.

You breathed out a sigh. "I mean, obviously you aren't comfortable or ready for this. I'm sorry for putting you on the spot." Poking a finger at his rock-solid ribs, you added a joking, "Besides, I need to set up the sofa for the night."

There was a pause that somehow felt like both a second and an infinity, before Simon unfolded his arms. Then folded them again. Unfolded. "No."

"Huh?"

Simon leaned against the bathroom doorway, filling it with his sheer size. "I said no. I'm going to show you my face. Now." Before you could interject, he held up a single gloved finger. "Because I want to and need to, not because you asked. This is about to make my therapist a very happy man."

You cocked your head. "You have a therapist?"

"Mandated by Price. He's very pleased with himself," Simon grumbled begrudgingly. Under his breath, you could hear him mutter something along the lines of "just like a plaster-"

Without warning, Simon raised his hand and gripped the back of his balaclava, pulling it off and over his face in one fluid motion. Leaving you standing in front of a complete stranger.

He was beautiful. Truly, genuinely beautiful.

Hazel eyes peered down at you from under thick, straight eyebrows - one of which was disrupted by a thin line of scar tissue. The bridge of his nose was slightly crooked, but smattered with a generous helping of freckles. It looked like it had been broken and reset a few too many times, but only added to his rugged appeal in your opinion - giving his face character. And then there was his jaw, sharp and prominent, covered in a slight 5 o'clock shadow. His hair - scruffy from being tucked away under the balaclava - was short and the colour of wet sand on a beach.

His lips were pursed as he studied your reaction - or lack thereof - but they were full and plush. Almost feminine.

And the scars. Two harsh, thick lines of scar tissue curved up from the corners of his mouth, one on each side, each about an inch in length. They stood out; pearlescent against the rest of his freckled skin. There was another scar trailing across his left cheekbone, and another, smaller one bisecting his bottom lip on the opposite side.

Your eyes dropped a little lower to find once across his neck - as if someone had attempted to slit his throat and failed.

But - to you - he looked nothing short of handsome. In fact, he was very attractive.

"You look-" you faltered over the words, too entranced by his plush mouth.

Simon visibly deflated. "Hideous."

"Shut up." The words left you - harsh and fast - before you could stop them. Your eyes widened, shocked by yourself. "I- I mean, you're being too harsh on yourself. There's nothing wrong with your face, Simon - you look adorable."

Hesitantly, he repeated, "Adorable?"

You winced inwardly. "Sorry. Force of habit when you spend most of your days with a four-year-old." Taking a breath, you lifted a hand to gently stroke the skin of his cheek. "You look very handsome. Bet you could attract many a young lady if you wanted to."

His eyebrows drew together, and you savoured it. Savoured watching his expressions unhindered by the mask for the first time since you'd met. "Alright, slow down there. One second, I'm taking my mask off, then you're trying to marry me off to the nearest woman. I'm hardly some sort of Victorian maiden, love."

You both laughed at that. On an inhale, your chest brushed against Simon's, and it was only then that you realised how close to each other you were. There was literally only a hair's breadth between you both.

Simon dropped his hand to your hip and squeezed gently. "Thank you. Thank you for this."

"For what?"

"For being you. About this." A smile spread across those perfect lips of his. "I don't think I could have done this with anyone else."

You could feel heat rising to your face. Not knowing how else to react, you rocked up onto your tiptoes and leaned forward, pressing your lips to his cheek.

Instead of letting you back down to the floor, Simon caught you around the waist with his arm, holding you to him. He angled his face down, staring into your eyes with a fire that you hadn't seen from him before.

It was possessive and passionate - verging on animalistic with its raw intensity. Just like him.

He said your name, his voice soft yet firm, like a lover's caress. He said something else too, but you were too focused on him to hear it.

"Simon?"

"I asked if I could kiss you," he said quietly.

You nodded, breathless. "Yes. Please, Simon - yes."

Rough calloused fingertips dragged up the delicate skin of your ribcage as his hands dipped underneath your t-shirt. He dipped his head, closing his eyes and pressing his warm mouth to yours. Falling completely into the moment, you lifted your hands to tangle them in his hair, tugging slightly as he slipped his tongue between your parted lips.

The kiss was soft and sweet; gentle and full of promise.

You broke the kiss, only for a second, to growl at him. "Please put me on the bed."

Simon chuckled, the sound warm and pure. It melted your heart and lit a fire low between your hips. Then - stamping it out - he said, "No."

You blinked. "No?"

He shook your head slowly, the movement steady and sure - like the movement of his hands as they cupped your cheeks. His smile was earnest as he added, "You've been drinking. When we go there, I want you to be stone cold sober."

When. The certainty in that single word thrilled you.

It sounded remarkably like a promise.

Instead of arguing with him, you nodded slowly. "Okay. I can see the logic behind that." Then, just to quell any lingering vestiges of self-doubt that lingered in the corners of your mind, you asked, "Are you sure you actually want this at some point? I don't want to bully you into anything or make you feel like you have to do-"

"Sweetheart, I'm going to stop you there. Respectfully, if I ever turn you down, grab my gun and shoot me in the head. Because - at that point - I've clearly lost it."

He ended that sentence by pressing a sweet, chaste kiss to your forehead.

Amused by the frankness of his tone, you choked out a laugh. "Well, that's a strong way of saying yes."

Simon's smile widened, his head tilting as he took a half-step back. "We can cuddle tonight if you want though," he said cheerily, turning towards the bed. "I'll warn you: I'm the little spoon."

You wouldn't have rather had it any other way.

Simon ducked back into his bedroom, coming back a few minutes later in a pair of basketball shorts and a grey t-shirt. He tossed a spare one to you, encouraging you to shuck off your jeans and get comfy. You didn't argue.

As you curled into his back, both of you fighting to navigate the uncomfortable twin bed, you couldn't help but smile. Something told you that you'd just made a big leap with Simon. Hopefully, the first of many.

a/n: I'm baaaaack!... (most likely) and I've also come to the decision that this series will not be a slow burn merry christmas ;) - lapetitelapin <3

[sashi-ya]

a valentine's mini story 𝑻𝑹𝑼𝑻𝑯 𝑺𝑬𝑹𝑼𝑴 trafalgar law x f! reader

🩰 tw: a soft sfw story. spoilers from the last anime episode (not manga). happy valentine's day! 💕 🦢 wc: 923

“I LOVE YOU; I LOVE YOU; I LOVE YOU (NAME)-YA!” “ME???”

If there is something Law has passed are different types of “illnesses”; from amber lead to being feminized against his will. Now, as if that wasn’t enough, the truth serum had been injected into his body and his lips couldn’t get sealed any longer.

Your kneels hit the ground, with widen orbs and opened mouth.

“What- what did you gave him?!” you scream, kicking and trying to be let go. Just two people have fooled you two, and now you are taken hostage by a guy of who knows how many meters tall.

The era of piracy is so full of this random -and annoying- devil fruit users that sometimes it can take you by surprise. Today, was the day a couple of unknown pirates decided to mess with you two.

“Oh, just the Truth Serum. Isn’t it amazing? This fruit came to me like a gift of the Gods!” a lady, quite peculiar, laughs loudly at her victim. Who could have said someone that powerful like Trafalgar Law could be defeated so easily?

Her filthy hand grazes Law’s forehead. He is drenched in sweat, also kneeling down. He is desperate to help you, but her unstoppable tongue can’t stop saying how much he loves you.

And that, to you -but probably not for the rest of the crew if they were there - is surprising.

“He seems to love you, mh? Such good timing for Valentines! Well, then, in order to spare her life, he will cooperate… right? You have those Poneglyph right?” that villainess says, slapping Law’s cheek.

Law feels miserable and absolutely embarrassed; not even his strong Haki can undo the spell of such stupid fruit ability. Or maybe it is also relieving to finally confess to you?  

“Law, don’t- don’t worry- I’ll be fine! Don’t give her shit!” you scream, looking away. You, who are also deeply in love with him but never confessed, can’t look him in the eyes.

“No, I won’t let them touch you any longer. You are mine! I won’t let them hurt you!” he shouts, desperate. Never -and probably ever again- you will hear those words being screamed into the world like the public statement of pure romance.

You dare to cross sights with him, even if in pain as that brute is holding you like a kitten by your shirt collar up in the air. Your gazes are so intense, the world around seems to disappear for a moment. Why it has to be in this situation?

“Law! I am in l-!”

You take a big gasp of air, and when your tongue begins moving, ready to give him your own confession… something happens.

“HAYAAAAAAH!!!”

A big ball of white fur covered in bright orange suit appears to save the day; a strong kick to the back of that villain sends her flying away. Law has enough time to break himself the spell, as well as using a little rock to exchange your body for it.

It doesn’t take much more for Penguin and Shachi to give Law his beloved Kikkoku; a blade he uses to slash -but not hurt- both attackers. They both ask themselves why their heads are floating around detached from their necks, but that’s just a little taste of what it means to mess with a man like him.

Soon enough, and to your amusement, his arm surrounds your waist and quickly he runs away from “the scene”.

A coward? Not really. There was something Law needed to do, now that the truth has seen the light.

“L-Law? Are- are you ok? Stop. Stop!” you demand, asking for him to put you on your feet.

He tries to find the farthest spot; the secluded place possible. It’s enough with you listening to his “pathetic” confession -and the rest of the island too.-

When he finally puts you down, his inked hands run through all of your body. He needs to make sure you are fine. You are, indeed, more than fine… you have just realized he loves you as much as you love him.

“Scan!” he takes Kikkoku to asses your body in depth, but your hand intercepts him from doing so.

“Stop…” you sigh. Again, and as always, he is searching for every single way to avoid speaking about his feelings. “Law… it’s ok, I- I do feel the same…” you murmur, softly pushing the hilt of his katana down.

Law takes a deep breath. He can’t run away. Or he can?

The surgeon ponders the possibility of escaping from there. But wasn’t for his own body acting on behalf of his love, he might have probably done it. Luckily, his hand reaches your cheek, and his feet walk towards you.

“I love you too, Law” you repeat, looking down but still enjoying the delicate touch of his hand. A touch that migrates from cheek to your chin, lifting your head up to encounter your lips with his.

“I didn’t plan for this to go this way, (Name)-ya. I had flowers prepared for tonight… I really planned on confessing tonight; it’s just that my plans always get ruined”

“My sweat Law, when will they let you plan in peace? Did the kiss part came into the original plan?” you ask, coming even closer to his lips.  

“No… I- I actually didn’t think you could-“

“My bad, it seems I am also going to ruin your plans this time. Now please, kiss me and never let me go”

[vyorei]

Copied from the OG Tweet as it's too long to screenshot. Source is @Jonathan_K_Cook on Twitter:

The missing context for what's happening in Gaza is that Israel has been working night and day to ethnically cleanse the Palestinian people from their homeland since even before Israel become a state – when it was known as the Zionist movement.

Israel didn't just cleanse Palestinians in 1948, when it was founded as a Western colonial project, and again under cover of a regional war in 1967.

It also worked to ethnically cleanse Palestinians every day between those dates and afterwards. The aim was to move them off their historic lands, and either expel them beyond Israel’s new, expanded borders or concentrate them into small ghettoes inside those borders – as a holding measure until they could be expelled outside the borders.

The 'settler' project, as we call it, is a misnomer. It's really Israel's ethnic cleansing programme. Israel even has a special word for it in Hebrew: 'Judaisation', or making the land Jewish. It is official government policy.

Gaza was the largest of the Palestinian reservations created by Israel's ethnic cleansing programme, and the most overcrowded. To stop the inhabitants spilling out, Israel built a fence-barrier in the early 1990s to pen them in. Then when policing became too hard from within the prison, Israel pulled back in 2005 to the outer perimeter barrier.

New technology allowed Israel to besiege Gaza remotely by land, sea and air in 2007, limiting the entry of food and vital items like medicine and cement for construction. Automated gun towers shot anyone who came near the fence. The navy patrolled the sea, stopping boats straying more than a kilometre or two off shore. And drones watched 24 hours a day from the sky.

The people of Gaza were sealed in and largely forgotten, except when they lobbed a few rockets over the fence – to international indignation. If they fired too many rockets, Israel bombed them mercilessly and occasionally launched a ground invasion. The rocket threat was increasingly neutralised by a rocket interception system, paid for by the US, called Iron Dome.

Palestinians tried to be more inventive in finding ways to break out of their prison. They built tunnels. But Israel found ways to identify those that ran close to the fence and destroyed them.

Palestinians tried to get attention by protesting en masse at the fence. Israeli snipers were ordered to shoot them in the legs, leading to thousands of amputees. The 'deterrence' seemed to work.

Israel could once again sit back and let the Palestinians rot in Gaza. 'Quiet' had been restored.

Until, that is, last weekend when Hamas broke out briefly and ran amok, killing civilians and soldiers alike.

So Israel now needs a new policy.

It looks like the ethnic cleansing programme is being applied to Gaza anew. The half of the population in the enclave's north is being herded south, where there are not the resources to cope with them. And even if there were, Israel has cut off food, water and power to everyone in Gaza.

The enclave is quickly becoming a pressure cooker. The pressure is meant to build on Egypt to allow the Palestinians entry into Sinai on 'humanitarian' grounds.

Whatever the media are telling you, the 'conflict' – that is, Israel's cleansing programme – started long before Hamas appeared on the scene. In fact, Hamas emerged very late, as the predictable response to Israel's violent colonisation project.

Israel could once again sit back and let the Palestinians rot in Gaza. 'Quiet' had been restored.

Ignore the fake news. Israel isn't defending itself. It's enforcing its right to continue ethnically cleansing Palestinians.

[kiame-sama]

I adore seals I adore seals I adore seals

I am immediately thinking about how seals will go up to humans for attention and then SNATCH somebody into the water (I am very autism about animals and their behaviors you are gonna be SO sick of me coming in here with goofy ponderances /silly!)

Divus,,,, like diving in the water,,,, and he is a SEAL !!!!!

That seal is going to snatch somebody with no hesitation if they're being disrespectful/potentially intercepting any potential poachers for a late night snack

Divus is going out of his way to make sure his pup (The Human) is having fun by the water's edge. Anyone who isn't one of the Human's many guards is going to get thrown into the water or have to face off against a 13ft long Leopard Seal that had zero issue biting them. He will go above and beyond to make sure that his dear Pup is safe and happy.

[seat-safety-switch]

Like most of you, I was at the grocery store, tripping balls. I was wondering why the entire pancake mix aisle is now gluten-free. Yes, Julia Child, I could make my own, but I like how the binders work to seal the hole in my radiator. Plus, it smells great.

Why was there such a wide variety of pancake product available these days? I am cool with there being one kind of gluten-free pancake mix, and one kind of gluten-heavy pancake mix. Surely, there cannot be room in this market for twelve kinds of each, the shelves groaning beneath their weight, threatening to fall on someone who has very strong opinions about what kind of pancake they want to mix, exactly. Someone has gotta be putting this on the shelves and selling, like, zero fucking boxes. To get to the bottom of this, I decided that I would trick Netflix into giving me money to make a documentary.

Folks, that was what Wall Street would call a "forward-looking statement," because it was horseshit. Not only has Netflix beefed up their security since the release of Pointlessly Offensive Statements About Things People Care Way Too Much About IX, but they're also in, like, a whole different country. And my parole officer gets froggy whenever I tell him I'm going to cross international borders to commit something that sounds a whole lot like fraud. That's big government for you.

So I had to figure it out my own way, which involved staying up all night and intercepting a shipment of pancake mix to the local grocery store. It was there that I saw the horrible truth: all that pancake mix, all that distinctiveness? Came out of the same truck. They were competing against themselves. Once the driver spotted me, he realized I had figured it out. Picked up his little radio and called it in. I had to run, which was not particularly easy when you're wheezing through a single-barrel carburetor that had last been adjusted in the Carter administration. Flooring it, I jumped over several curbs, the decorative flower display in the garden centre, and made good (or at least well) my escape through the bank parking lot next door.

I thought I had gotten away scot free, until I opened the front door to my house the next morning and found a box of my favourite buttermilk pancake mix sitting on the porch, with a knife stuck in it. I love it when I get two bribes.

[mountkennedie]

Siren

Prince Caspian x mermaid!reader

Summary: Caspian goes on a late night stroll and gets intercepted by a mermaid

warnings: none

The reader has long hair, other than that, there aren't any character descriptions

A.N. I have been thinking about this so much over the past few months omg

Being a prince, Caspian had many responsibilities. But being a human, he needs to escape from those duties from time to time. What seemed to calm his mind the best was a late night stroll on the coast of Cair Paravel.

Due to the full moon, the sands glitter in a way no gem could ever replicate. He thought the only thing that could compliment the beauty of the sparkling sands was the illuminated water. Just standing there, Caspian felt the stress lifting off his body. The salty sea air was always something he was a fan of. The feeling of its breeze through his hair only made the entire scene that much better.

There were some rocks along the coastline. He would normally not pay them any mind. However, when an unusual sound emitted from them, his head whipped around. His eyes scanned to find a pair looking back at him.

He drew his sword immediately, pointing it at the creature. "Who are you," he questioned. All sorts of things can exist in the lands of Narnia, and anything that would be out at such an hour is one of suspicion. Especially one that already had its eyes set on him.

The creature shied behind the rock. From a different angle, she peered back at him. The moonlight glazed her skin in an ethereal glow, and before the prince realized, he had taken a few steps towards her. "Call me, Y/n."

Her voice was smooth and soft. He felt himself begin to drift away in it. He took yet another step closer, now only a yard or two from the rock she hid behind. With grace and caution, she climbed the large stone until she reached the top. She rested on her forearms, now at eye level with the prince.

Caspian's eyes took in the new view of her. She wore nothing on her upper half, relying solely on her flowing hair to cover her frame. His breath began to shallow, never in his life had the prince seen a woman in such an ease of wardrobe. He used his extensive self-control to bring his focus back to her eyes. And her eyes were another pool to fall into. Everything about this mysterious woman was holding him captive, and he could not figure out why. Nor did he want to put up any resistance.

"And yours?" She spoke once again in a voice of velvet. He almost didn't register that she said anything at all.

"Hmm?" He hummed. In any other context, he knew it would be rude to simply hum instead of coming up with the words to say what he meant. But in this moment, his brain was taking on more and more fog with every second he was near her. He was not focused on being the well-mannered prince as he always was.

The woman smiled, "Your name, dear sailor."

"Oh, yes," his voice was breathy. The smile she provided him only worsened his condition. The fog in his mind had crept to the rest of his body. He hadn't even realized he was up against her rock. "Caspian. And I'm not a sailor, I'm a prince." Every word that he could conjure came spilling from his lips. He wanted her to speak again, smile again, anything. It was astonishing how quickly she had gotten him under her finger.

"A prince." She maintained her smile as she reached a hand out and touched his chest. "I would have thought as much. You wear the finest of leathers." Her hand stayed on his chest. And he made no effort to remove it.

He hummed again in response. He wore a smile on his face that proved how removed he was from sanity. She moved her hand up over his heart, his hand came and met her there. The warmth of his palm sealed her to him.

"Would you like to see the rest of me, dear prince?" She spoke in a whisper. He only nodded in response. She smiled once again and lifted her tail out of the water. She allowed herself to wrap a bit around the rock to make sure the moon made her scales shimmer.

He gasped, and she looked back at him. At first, I was nervous that she had scared him off. But he only stared. His eyes soon traveled back up to hers, and his pupils were completely blown. She knew she had him.

"You are most beautiful," his voice was airy. His breath steadied, and his eyes were trained on hers. With her other hand, she placed it on the right side of his face. He leaned into the touch and, for a moment, allowed his eyes to shut.

"As are you, dear prince."

How it happened was simple. She held onto him as she descended the rock. Held his hand from the shallow water, deeper and deeper. Until the water was too high for his feet to hit the bottom. And before she dragged him to the depths, an idea of mercy came to mind. He was a prince and a handsome one at that. Maybe something could brew between them. So she kissed him and filled his lungs with the new ability to no longer rely on air. Then, drug him down underneath the waves.

[thursdaygxrls]

thin ice — four

part one | part two | part three | part four

summary — kitty is yet again dragged to a social gathering she would rather not attend. the bait this time? weed!

paring — uni hockey player!peter parker x fem!(journalist)!reader

disclaimer — who is expecting me to own peter parker by now?? bc i don’t

warnings — reader is referred to as ‘kitty,’ weed, slightly inexperienced reader (experienced peter, no smut yet im sorry), possible ooc

Days like these were the ones Kitty craved: hazy, chilly spring weather that resembled fall, except that dying leaves were replaced by cherry-red buds, and flowers bloomed through blades of grass. It was one of those days with no responsibilities to fill her precious hours—the ones that were spent scrolling through Pinterest and reading. She was stretched haphazardly along her bed, still dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt with holes in the armpits. The blinds were still closed, so the sudden beam of light next to her startled her.

“You love interrupting my dark-dwelling time,” she hissed as MJ entered the room. Sticking out her tongue, MJ closed the door behind her and sealed off the obnoxious light, much to Kitty’s relief.

“I’m sorry, my sun-hating princess,” MJ spoke dramatically as she rummaged through her bag, “But, I come bearing gifts.”

At this, Kitty perked up, swiping out of Project Makeover and sitting up to devote her full attention to her roomate. From her bag, MJ produced two plastic-wrapped chocolate-chip cookies and tossed them to bed. The girl pounced on them, immediately tearing into the plastic on one of the packs.

“I forgive you,” she said before biting into the treat.

“Thank God,” MJ replied in dramatic relief. Ease settled over the room as MJ removed her jacket and went about unpacking her things. Kitty, now finished with her first cookie, tossed the used plastic to the trash can across the room (and missed horribly). 

“What’ve you been up to this lovely Friday?” She asked her freckled friend, who was currently changing out of her cable knit sweater. 

“Oh, you know, class,” MJ responded as she slid a Stevie Nicks shirt over her head, “Some people still have class on Fridays.”

“That must be heartbreaking,” Kitty hummed sarcastically, “Anything else?”

“Oh, yeah,” MJ’s movements were smooth as she went through her bag, “I had lunch with Harry after class.”

“Was the dining hall romantic?” Kitty questioned with a smile.

“Totally,” MJ responded with a laugh, “The black-bean burgers are basically aphrodisiacs. Anyways, he invited us out to Hot Rock around eight, so I was thinking we could get dinner–”

“No, thanks,” Kitty intercepted, bringing her legs up closer to her torso and flattening her lips to a line, “I’m not leaving the dorm today.”

“If you had it your way, you’d do that every day,” MJ groaned.

“And?’ Kitty quirked a brow, causing another grumble to leave her counterpart.

“Do you realize how much I say ‘no’ to stuff?” She continued, “‘Kitty, wanna go to a hockey game?’ No. ‘Kitty, wanna go to a frat party?’ No. Our entire relationship exists on the basis of you wanting to do stuff and me trying to refuse.”

“But you still went,” MJ raised her brows hopefully, “To both things. And it’s not like it’s just going to be Harry, he said some other people would be there.”

“Oh, great, other people, you know how much I love social gatherings where I don’t know anyone.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm.

“You know Peter,” MJ suggested. Kitty hadn’t seen Peter in a while. ‘A while,’ in her case, was a week. She’d gotten some semi-regular texts from him (cat memes and open invites to hang out) but hadn’t seen him since the frat party.

“Is it the best use of their time to be at Hot Rock when the semi-finals are two days away?” Kitty asked.

“No, probably not, but,” MJ’s smile, which had been dimming, came back with full vibrance, “But we can reap the benefits of their deviant behavior.”

“Are the benefits better than chocolate chip cookies?” She hummed.

“Pre-rolls and a bong,” MJ wiggled her fingers in a tamer version of jazz hands. Kitty seemed to deflate with a loud sigh.

“I hate that you make me do things.”

Hot Rock existed on the older, suburban side of campus. Right behind one of the major dining halls was a small, hidden space that hit the blind spot of the security cameras in the area. It wasn’t a rock so much as an artificial slab of stone with a metal pipe attached that spewed hot steam. It was connected to the heating system in the dining hall, but also served as a popular spot for stoners. A few of these man-made smoke spots were scattered around campus, but this one was the most popular, mainly because this rock was always much hotter than the others.

Kitty’s breath appeared in small puffs in the night air and she and MJ walked around the corner of the dining hall. It was spring, and the weather was getting warmer, but there was still a bit of frost. As they shuffled down a small slope, the rock revealed itself, decorated with about four people, one of them being Harry.

“MJ!” He nearly fell over himself scrambling towards the pair. He pressed a small kiss to her lips and wrapped an arm around her in greeting. MJ giggled, choosing to ignore Kitty’s gagging face.

“Kitty-cat!” Harry directed his grinning face to her, “I’m so glad MJ got you out of your tree.”

“I almost wish you’d just call me ‘bitch’ instead of that,” she replied. Harry, not losing any vigor, laughed.

“I know what you need.” He wagged his brows as he reached into the breast pocket of his flannel. He produced a mini pre-rolled joint with a proud grin, “Kitty needs her catnip.”

“I’m gonna let that one slide,” she said, and he simply chuckled. His eyes moved from hers, and somehow his impossibly bright smile widened. Kitty turned and was met with a familiar pair of hazel eyes.

“I’m a big fan of catnip, too,” Peter grinned, sliding down to meet the rest of the group.

“Hey, Peter,” Harry let go of MJ for a moment to give Peter a half-hug. Peter’s eyes, however, never let go of Kitty. He held her gaze with ease.

“Can we sit? My ass is cold,” MJ grumbled lightly as Harry took his post next to her.

“Of course, of course,” was Harry’s hurried reply. The four found spots on the rock, Harry returning to his original spot and taking MJ with him. Kitty settled in a small nook where the slab met a natural rock formation, and, as if she was a magnetic pole, Peter sat next to her. A few awkward introductions were shared with the others at the rock, though, it was clear they were all at least a few hits into Harry’s pre-rolls. 

“So,” Peter’s voice cracked through the silence, “We keep finding each other, don’t we?”

“You keep finding me,” Kitty corrected.

“Same difference,” he shrugged. Wordlessly, he slipped his backpack from his shoulder and set it down in front of him. He worked in surprising order as he removed the items: a grinder, a small, rolled-up plastic bag, a green bong that had seen better days.

“Are student athletes supposed to be smoking?” She asked. For once, his gaze wasn’t focused on her, but on the contents before him.

“Helps with nerves,” he said, grabbing the baggy, “It’s medical, y’know.”

“Hm, I bet,” she replied. He worked with diligence: his long, slender fingers plucked a chunk of bud from the bag and trapped it in the grinder. The sleeves of his black long sleeve were rolled up, revealing his wrist that tensed lightly when he ground the bud. She’d never quite noticed how strong his hands looked—veiny and taught, likely from the hours upon hours of hockey practice. Then came the realization that she was staring, which pulled her attention away from him and to the others on the rock. Though there weren’t many people, pockets of conversation were created: MJ and Harry, who were cuddled up and passing a joint, two other members of the hockey team and a girl with shaggy blonde hair, and, of course, her and Peter. 

“Alright,” Peter hummed in satisfaction as he packed the bowl. He grabbed a red lighter from the front pocket of his jeans and finally looked at Kitty. He held the bong out for her with one of those easy, boyish smiles, “Wanna do the honors, Y/n?”

Peter seemed to be good at evoking emotions from her. Annoyance, frustration, confusion, and now, prickly embarrassment. She licked her lips, looking from the bong and back to him.

“Um,” she let out a small cough, “I’m…not sure how to?”

She wasn’t new to smoking. There was the occasional joint she and MJ would indulge in, or maybe she would take a hit off cart at one of the parties she was dragged to. She’d just hadn’t gotten the chance to hit a bong before—a fact that didn’t bother her until she was here, staring at Peter. She hated her reply and the way she stumbled with her words. She hated that she had nothing better to say. She hated that she had released blood into the water.

“You haven’t done this before?” He grinned. Her jaw clenched at the way he said that. Kitty, in response, sucked her teeth.

“Have you never smoked before?” He cocked his head.

“No, I have, just not this,” she sighed, a slight aggravated clip to her words. Peter must’ve noticed because his gloating grin softened.

“That’s alright,” his voice was more mellow now, “That’s okay, everyone has a first time.”

This persona, the calmer one he adapted when he knew she was getting pissed off, may have pissed her off even more. If he wasn’t being an asshole, it was harder to be annoyed with him, which made her annoyed with him, which made her annoyed with herself.

“Okay,” she said, a cleansing breath of chilled spring air filling her lungs.

“Okay?” He repeated, “You want to try?”

Kitty glanced at MJ and Harry. They weren’t doing anything graphic, but they were still all over each other, giggling and whispering. She turned back to Peter and nodded.

“You sure?” He raised a brow.

“Gimme,” she groaned, taking the glass bong from his hands. He let out a small, breathy chuckle and nodded.

“Okay, so,” he sat up, “I’m gonna light it, you breathe in through the mouth right here. I’ll pull the bowl for you and you keep breathing in, okay?”

Kitty nodded, her lips descending on the mouthpiece. A sudden flash of panic struck her as he flicked the lighter. Did she look stupid? Was she being stupid? Why did she care? Peter lit the bowl, and she did as he said, sucking in a deep drag. The bong bubbled to life and milky smoke flooded the tube.

“Good, good,” Peter encouraged as he pulled the bowl, “Keep sucking in—there you go, just like that.”

She’d been doing fine until he’d spoken. His words, meant as innocent encouragement, sent blood rushing to her face. Her scalp burned as her head reared back and ragged coughs escaped her. Smoke left her lips in puffs, like dust being stirred from an old book. Peter patted her back with one hand and rummaged through his bag with another.

“That happens,” he spoke, unphased by her continuous coughing. He took a metal water bottle decorated in stickers in various states of wear from his bag and unscrewed the lid.

“Here, drink,” he brought it to her lips and she immediately sucked down the water. It was cold against her burning throat. She focused on how cool it was, hoping it would also subdue the burning in her face. A few gulps later, Kitty was back to a semi-normal state. She took in deep breaths, swirling in oxygen with the cannabis in her lungs. 

“That was a big-ass hit. Good job,” Peter chuckled, “When was the last time you smoked?”

“I don’t know, a few weeks ago? And thank you,” Kitty replied. There wasn’t a hint of snark in her words, which was highly unusual. The afterburn of her influx of new feelings was still there.

“That oughta do it,” he took the bong from her, “I mean, you can totally have more, but your tolerance is probably pretty low, and the hit you just took looked more like three.”

“Yeah, that oughta do it,” she coughed out. He eyed her, suspicious of her lack of sass, before lighting the bowl for himself.

The bong caught up with her within ten minutes. There was a low vibration in her body, one that pulsed in her fingertips and warmed her. Her vision was a bit more narrow now, like she was viewing movie through her vision. Her mind bubbled, and when her eyes caught a glimpse of the sky, she leaned back with astonished glee.

It wasn’t often that you saw stars in the sky on this side of New York. Usually, the city lights blocked out anything non-artificial. But here, a mile or so away from the more prominent lights, she was able to see the glimmer of distant stars. It was captivating, really, and she could’ve stared at them for hours. Maybe she did. People buzzed around her without her recognition. Even Peter seemed to settle into a comfortable silence next to her. 

“Do you remember that one episode of Hannah Montana where Miley moves into a new house and there’s a pizza oven? Like, one of those wood ovens you put pizza in. A pizza oven? Yeah?” She asked, glancing in Peter’s direction. He seemed to only slightly register the question before looking at her with a cocked brow.

“No,” he replied.

“Oh,” she hummed, “What about the one where—it’s the third episode, I think—the one where Oliver—no, it’s the second episode—the one where Oliver is in love with Hannah Montana, but he doesn’t know it’s Miley, so Miley and Lilly are like ‘oh, no!’” 

“No,” he repeated. His voice wasn’t harsh, though. It was soft, maybe even curious.

“It’s good,” she said, “Real good. Real good.” 

It was around then that the stars began to lull her to sleep. There was something comfortable about this moment: the heat of the rock, the stars, the weed in her system. She drifted off for a moment and was quickly awoken by a gentle shake.

“Y/n?” Peter called lightly, “Are you sleepy?”

His hand was on her arm. His hand was on her arm. Her eyes settled on that before she could even begin to process his words. His hand was lovely, truly, with its web of veins, the slender fingers that warmed her skin. She looked up to him and smiled.

“Hey!” Was her cheery reply. He laughed at this and nodded. Kitty cocooned inside herself once more as he turned away and called out to someone on the other side of the rock. She heard Harry, then MJ, then Peter again. It sounded like hearing a foreign language as the spoke.

“Would you like to sleep in your bed instead of this rock?” Peter asked. Kitty, still cocooned, sprung forward a bit.

“Yes,” she responded confidently. He couldn’t help but smile at her tone. He packed away his bag swiftly and stood, offering a hand to Kitty.

“You think I can’t stand up? Oh, I can stand up—I’m an olympic stander,” she mumbled, rejecting his hand. This side of her was something Peter had never experienced. He was used to snippy comments and sharp replies, but the inebriated, bumbling Kitty was an entirely different person. He liked it. A lot.

They began their trek back to Kitty’s dorm in silence. It was comfortable like this: quiet interrupted by the occasional off-key hum by the girl. It wasn’t a very far walk, only five minutes or so, and when they reached the front, Peter’s tight grin loosened a bit.

“Hey, I wanted to ask you something,” he said, his hand gently catching her arm. In this state, she wasn’t able to deny the electric current that was sent through her nervous system. Kitty shivered as she met his eyes.

“I know you’re not in the right headspace for this, so I’ll ask you again later, but…” he trailed off. He looked away from her, and she caught the way his throat bobbed slightly. This lasted for only a moment before he was making eye contact again, “Do you wanna come to semis?”

That wasn’t the question she expected. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting, but it wasn’t that. Instead of responding, she stared blankly at him.

“It’s not here, it’s actually kind of far away,” he was rambling now, “Well, not super far, it’s in New Jersey. It’s sort of late notice, so I know you might not want to go, and you have your own shit to worry about, too, so—”

“This is very weird,” Kitty interrupted.

“What?” Peter stopped, looking to her with a quirked brow.

“You’re acting nervous and talking a lot. Weird,” she said.

“Yeah, well, I am nervous, and I’m a little high, and you’re really hot, so there’s just a lot going on up here.” He gestured to his head. Her eyes were blank for several seconds before they sparked in recognition.

“Oh—oh.” Her expression changed rapidly, eventually landing on something akin to realization. Silence swelled between them for a moment before it was broken by one word: “Maybe.”

“Maybe?” Peter repeated.

“Maybe,” she nodded in agreement. His lips tugged into a boyish smile once more.

“Okay, Y/n,” he grinned, “Maybe.”

a/n — (in the voice of that one meme) heyy….how y’all doin??? okay so im sorry that this update is months late, college has been a lot. it’s been fun tho!! like, i think im the happiest ive ever been. anyways, im sorry if this update doesn’t fit as well with the others, im trying to get back into the groove of writing, forgive me 🙏 love u guys!!

taglist

@reidslovely @awezomezauce @tarzinnia @fr3akho3 @multilovebot @collywobbl @naok-iyuu @kay-i-guess @littlexscarletxwitch @ujimoo

[hoe4hotchner]

Off with his head [A.H]

𝙿𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐: 𝙳𝚊𝚛𝚔 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐!𝙷𝚘𝚝𝚌𝚑 𝚡 𝙵𝚎𝚖!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝: 𝟸.𝟻𝚔 𝙲𝚆: 𝟷𝟾+, 𝚙𝚞𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚌 𝚎𝚡𝚎𝚌𝚞𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗, 𝚋𝚎𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝙷𝚘𝚝𝚌𝚑 𝚒𝚜 𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚙𝚞𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚘𝚗𝚎, 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚒𝚊 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚜𝚝, 𝚏𝚎𝚊𝚛, 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚢 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚙𝚜𝚢𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚕 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚕, 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚒𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗, 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚎𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚛, 𝚖𝚊𝚢𝚋𝚎 𝚌𝚞𝚜𝚙 𝚘𝚏 𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚊𝚋𝚞𝚜𝚎, 𝚙𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚖𝚋𝚊𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎. 𝙿𝚕𝚘𝚝: 𝚒𝚗 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚌𝚑 𝙺𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝙰𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚗 𝚋𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎𝚜 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚕 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚙𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚛

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           The heavy doors of the throne room slammed shut, echoing through the vast, cold space. King Aaron stood at the center of the room, his jaw tight, eyes clouded with a storm that raged within. His mind was a battlefield, thoughts coiling like serpents as he tried to make sense of the whispers of treachery in his ears.

           His advisor, a man whose loyalty had never been questioned before, had come to him with words that had struck like a dagger to his heart.

          "𝚂𝚑𝚎’𝚜 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚎𝚜𝚌𝚊𝚙𝚎, 𝚈𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝙼𝚊𝚓𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚢. 𝚂𝚑𝚎’𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚍𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐."

           The king's breath was erratic as he paced across the cold marble floor of the throne room, his boots clicking sharply against the stone. The fire in the hearth crackled, casting long shadows across the walls. His mind raced, trying to piece together the truth - if there even was any truth to be found. King Aaron's chest ached with the weight of betrayal, and yet, something held him back from immediate action. He had locked you in your chamber, the iron latch sliding into place with a finality that was meant to protect both you and him from what he might do.

           But now, as he stood alone in the cold emptiness of the throne room, doubt clawed at his mind.

        𝙲𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚒𝚝 𝚋𝚎 𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚎? 𝙲𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚕𝚢 𝚋𝚎 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚖?

           His hands clenched into fists at his sides, as his heart pounded violently in his chest. You had been brought to him against your will, bound by a marriage forged in power and necessity, not love. But over time, he had felt something change in you, in him - small signs, moments of softness. Or was that merely a lie you had woven so delicately around him? A pure wishful thought.

           𝙷𝚘𝚠 𝚏𝚘𝚘𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚑 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝙸 𝚋𝚎?

           His thoughts spiraled, dark, and vicious. He had allowed himself to believe, even if just for a moment, that you could come to care for him. A ruler as ruthless as he had no right to dream of love, no right to expect loyalty from someone forced into his arms. But the thought that you could be planning to flee, to leave him in this fortress of shadows, twisted something deep within him - a feral, possessive fury. How dare you?

           The king's thoughts shifted back to the moment when his advisor first approached him in the grand hall. His voice was slick, slippery like oil. "Your Majesty, I do not wish to trouble you with this, but I believe it is my duty." The advisor bowed low, too low, before producing a sealed letter from within his cloak.

           The King had taken it with caution, his brow furrowing. "What is this?" he asked, his voice cold.

           "A letter, my lord," the advisor replied, his eyes gleaming. "Intercepted on its way to one of the neighboring kingdoms. It seems... your queen has been corresponding with someone outside our borders. A plan, perhaps, to escape your grasp or potentially dethrone you."

           He recalled the way your eyes had met his in those quiet moments, the way your lips had trembled when you spoke his name. Had all of that been an act? A ruse to lull him into a false sense of security? Had your fear been a ruse all along?

           The king's pacing grew more frantic, his dark robes swirling around him as he moved, his mind battling the urge to confront you and demand the truth. He could still feel the weight of the advisor’s words, the vicious accusation lingering like a poison in his veins.

           "𝙸’𝚟𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚜, 𝚑𝚒𝚍𝚍𝚎𝚗 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚒𝚗 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚟𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚢. 𝙿𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚎𝚜𝚌𝚊𝚙𝚎… 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚛𝚎𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚘𝚗."

           The advisor had laid it all out before him - each word tightening the noose of doubt around King Aaron's neck. He had trusted you. He had allowed you into his life, into his bed, into his kingdom. And now, this?

           His eyes narrowed, his pulse a steady thrum of rage as he stared into the dancing flames of the hearth. He could still feel the lingering warmth of your touch from the last time you had been near him, the way your hands had brushed against his when you had served him wine. It was a simple act, but it had meant something to him - but did it mean something to you?

           The advisor had spoken of letters, of plans for rebellion, for an escape. A plot to overthrow him, to free yourself from his grasp. The very thought of it made his stomach churn with a dark, sickening dread.

           𝙷𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍𝚗’𝚝 𝚕𝚎𝚝 𝚒𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚗.

           A bitter laugh escaped his throat as he thought of the letter the advisor had given him. He had read it over and over again. The handwriting - it looked so much like yours. But something was off. The phrasing, the tone. Could this really be you? Could you truly be plotting against him, or had someone forged your hand to sow seeds of distrust within your ruler? His mind wavered, teetering between paranoia and reason.

           But as he stood there, alone with his thoughts, something gnawed at him from the inside - a sliver of doubt that refused to die.

           𝚆𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚍𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚕𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐? 𝚆𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚙𝚞𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗?

           The kingdom had long been a place of shadows and deceit. Court politics, treachery, power games - it was all the nature of King Aaron's ruling. But could it truly extend to the woman who he had forced to stand by his side? Who had started to awaken something in him? King Aaron ran a hand through his hair, pulling at the strands as if that could somehow clear his thoughts.

           And yet, as he turned back to the throne, an image of you filled his mind - your face, innocent yet guarded. Your smile, the way it had wavered whenever you were near him, as though there were secrets hidden behind it. Had that smile been a lie?

           He stopped pacing, staring down at the cold marble floor.

           𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚋𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚒𝚖. 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚋𝚎 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗𝚏𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚜 𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎, 𝚊𝚐𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚣𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚛 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚟𝚎 𝚒𝚝.

           With a slow, deliberate step, the king moved to the window overlooking his kingdom. The moon hung low in the sky, casting a pale light over the landscape. He stared out at the lands he ruled, the lands you now owned too, his jaw clenching as he made a decision.

           The room felt colder now, the fire no longer enough to stave off the icy grip of suspicion. What had he become, to suspect even the woman he had taken as his queen? What had power turned him into, to lock her away, based on the whispers of deceit? He would have to confront you. He would have to know. There was no other way forward.

           But not tonight. Tonight, you would remain locked away, hidden from the wrath that threatened to consume him. He couldn’t risk facing you now, not when the truth was so clouded by his own demons. Tomorrow, he would confront you. Tomorrow, he would demand answers.

           With a final glance toward the door, King Aaron turned away, retreating into the shadows of his throne. His hands trembled slightly as they rested on the armrests, the weight of the crown on his head heavier than ever before.

                                   𝚃𝚘𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚘𝚠, 𝙸’𝚕𝚕 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚝𝚑.

           The heavy iron lock clicked as King Aaron opened the door to your chambers. His dark silhouette filled the entryway, casting shadows across the floor as he stepped inside. His eyes found you instantly, sitting on the edge of the bed, your face paled as you saw him, lips trembling. You were terrified of him - he could see it in the way your body tensed, the way your gaze flickered toward the door as if you were calculating an escape. But there would be none. Not tonight.

           He closed the door with a slow, deliberate motion. The sound of the latch falling into place sent a shiver down your spine, and the silence between you hung heavy in the air. King Aaron stood still, watching you carefully, his mind a battlefield of anger and doubt.

           "Do you know what I’ve been told?" His voice was low, the cold edge of it slicing through the room like a blade. He stepped closer, his eyes narrowing as they locked onto yours. You didn’t answer, couldn’t answer. The tension in the room was suffocating, pressing in on you like an iron vise.

           You swallowed hard, unable to move. "I’ve been told that you’ve been planning to deceive me. That you’ve been writing letters, plotting your escape from this kingdom." His words came out slow, deliberate, each one a strike against your already trembling heart.

           Your eyes widened in shock, your breath hitching in your throat. "What?" you whispered, barely able to form the words. "That’s... that’s not true."

           He studied your face, his darkening eyes searching for any sign of a lie, any flicker of deceit. But all he saw was fear - pure, unbridled fear.

           𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚎𝚝, 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚍𝚘𝚞𝚋𝚝𝚎𝚍.

           The fire of betrayal still burned in his chest, urging him to lash out, to make you confess.

           But as he stared into your frightened eyes, something shifted in him.

           𝙲𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚋𝚎 𝚊 𝚕𝚒𝚎?

           King Aaron stepped closer, his presence looming over you, you flinched as his hand reached out toward you. His fingers brushed your cheek, but instead of the harsh grip you expected, his touch was cold, and calculated. He could feel you trembling beneath his hand, and for a moment, a flicker of doubt crossed his mind. He stepped back, his gaze hardening once more.

           "I will uncover the truth," he said darkly, his voice barren of emotion. "You will stay here, locked away, until I decide what to do with you." Without another word, he turned and left, the door slamming shut behind him, sealing you inside once more.

           King Aaron stormed through the halls of the castle, the fury that had gripped him now turning inward. His thoughts spiraled.

           𝙲𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚘 𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚍?

           He found himself in the royal gardens, the night air crisp and cool against his heated skin. The garden was shrouded in shadows, the moonlight barely touching the rose bushes that lined the stone pathways. The roses were deep shades of red, almost black in the faint light - his mother had always said they were grown from the blood of kings. Their thorns were sharp, the petals velvety, beautiful, and deadly.

           The king walked among them, his thoughts churning like a storm. He reached out, his fingers brushing one of the roses, feeling the thorn prick his skin. The pain was a welcome distraction from the chaos inside him.

           As he stared down at the rose, realization began to take root in his mind, slowly blooming like the dark flowers around him.

           𝙸𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜𝚗’𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞. 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚊𝚍𝚗’𝚝 𝚍𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚍 𝚑𝚒𝚖.

           The advisor’s words, the letter - everything had been too convenient. The doubt that had been gnawing at him finally burst forth, the pieces falling into place.

           𝙸𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚍𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚘𝚛 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚍.

           It was the advisor who sought to manipulate him. The one who had stood by his side for years, whispering secrets and lies into his ear.

           King Aaron's jaw clenched as rage flared through him, the betrayal twisting inside him like a knife. He had been a fool, and now he would make sure the advisor paid the ultimate price for his betrayal.

           "You won't deceive me any longer," he whispered to the night, his voice low and destructive. His decision was made. The advisor would die for his deceit.

           The next morning, the King's orders were clear. He summoned his people to gather in the marketplace in front of his castle, the courtyard filled with onlookers, their faces a sea of curiosity and unease. They knew something was coming, something dark, something terrible. Nothing good ever came from being summoned by the king.

           You stood at King Aaron's side, your heart pounding in your chest as you watched the scene unfold before you. Your hand was bound by his clasped around it firmly, a reminder of your status - still a prisoner, still at his mercy. You hadn’t been told why you were here, only that you had been summoned to witness what was about to happen.

           The king stepped forward, his presence commanding, his voice cutting through the air like a blade.

           "This is what happens when you try to deceive the king," he announced, his voice booming across the square. "Betrayal will not be tolerated in my kingdom. Lies will be punished with blood."

           The crowd murmured, whispers spreading like wildfire as the royal guards dragged the advisor forward. His face was pale, his eyes wide with fear as he realized his fate. The guards forced him to his knees before the crowd, his hands restrained behind his back.

           King Aaron turned to face him, his expression cold, merciless. "You thought you could play me for a fool, whisper your lies into my ear, and sow distrust in my heart." His voice was low now, but every word dripped with venom. "But I am no fool. And you will pay for your treason with your life."

           The crowd was silent, holding its collective breath as King Aaron gave the signal. The executioner stepped forward, raising his blade high into the air.

           You could barely breathe as the scene unfolded in front of you, your body frozen in fear. The air was thick with tension, with the promise of violence. And then, the blade came down.

           The sickening sound of flesh meeting steel filled the courtyard, and you flinched, your body reacting on instinct. Without thinking, you turned and buried your face in your husband's chest, your hands clutching at his robes as if they could shield you from the brutality of what you had just witnessed.

           King Aaron stood still, his eyes never leaving the blood-soaked ground where his advisor’s body now lay lifeless, his head mere inches away. But as he felt your trembling form pressed against him, as your fear made you seek comfort in his presence, something shifted inside him. A small, dark smile curled at the corner of his lips.

           𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚒𝚖.

           You had turned to him for protection, for solace, even in your fear. It was a sign. You were his, whether you realized it or not.

           He placed a hand on the back of your head, his fingers threading through your hair as he held you close. To the onlookers, it was a display of power - the king’s queen seeking refuge in his arms after witnessing his might.

           To King Aaron Hotchner, it was a victory.

           𝙷𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚠𝚒𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛.

Consider linking, commenting or reblogging if you enjoy my work

[brodygold]

Versus the Vanguard

Written by @polo-drone-070, pics done by me

The golden glow of the stadium bathed the field in brilliance as fans roared their support for the Gold Team. Flags waved, chants echoed, and mascots Milo @polo-drone-151 and Chevy @chevy-gold led the charge, joined by golden knight Grayden @polo-drone-084 who rallied the crowd with grand gestures. Behind the scenes, Milo, in his PDU-151 mode, ensured every preparation was perfect, alongside PDU-049 @polo-drone-049 and PDU-069 @polo-drone-069, whose precise coordination kept the players pumped and ready.

On the other side, Vanguard stood, their players poised and formidable. Known for their precision and elite mentality, they exuded confidence but carried the weight of their fragmented team dynamics.

The whistle blew, and the match began at a blistering pace. Vanguard’s discipline was on full display as Steele (#8) commanded the midfield, threading passes that tested Gold’s defense. But Zayed (#87) @zayed-gold87, unyielding as sweeper, quickly set the tone, intercepting Steele’s early attempts and rallying his team with calm efficiency.

In the 15th minute, Zayed anticipated a pass from Steele and launched a counterattack. Eddy (#73) @eddygold relayed the ball to Daniel (#16) @danielgold-16, whose quick decision-making split the defense with a through ball to Herc (#9) @goldenherc9. Herc surged forward and fired the opening goal past Reyes (#1), Vanguard’s keeper. 1-0, Gold.

Vanguard retaliated with a moment of individual brilliance. Vance (#10), their star forward, dazzled the crowd by weaving through Gold’s defense. His technical dribbles left two defenders in his wake before unleashing a low shot that left Brody (#11) with no chance. 1-1.

The second half began with relentless pressure from Vanguard. Steele and Drayton (#11) attempted to break Gold’s defensive rhythm, but Zayed and Henry (#70) @polo-drone-070 formed an impenetrable backline. In midfield, Eddy and Ambrose (#49) continued to control the game’s tempo, outmaneuvering Vanguard’s calculated plays.

In the 50th minute, Zayed cleared a dangerous cross from Drayton, sparking a counterattack. Herc received the ball and breezed past Lang (#4), Vanguard’s central defender, before slotting it neatly past Reyes. 2-1, Gold.

Vanguard refused to relent. Vance orchestrated another dangerous attack, slipping through two defenders. This time, however, Henry read the play perfectly, executing a clean, game-saving tackle that drew cheers from the crowd.

Minutes later, Vanguard equalized with a lightning-fast play. Steele launched a pinpoint pass to Drayton, who dribbled past Xavier (#39) @polo-drone-039 and made a perfect cross met by Crane (#19), the substitute. His header soared past Brody. 2-2.

Closing Moments: The Final Push

The match hung in the balance until the 75th minute when Ambrose intercepted a pass from Lang and delivered it to Ross (#79). Ross surged down the left flank, outpacing the defense and curling a shot into the top corner. The stadium erupted as the scoreboard flashed. 3-2, Gold.

Ezan (#1) nearly added another with a powerful shot from the edge of the box. Reyes, however, made an extraordinary save, leaping to tip the ball just over the bar, earning admiration even from Gold’s fans.

Gold sealed their victory in the 85th minute. Eddy intercepted a sloppy clearance from Crane and passed to Zayed, who charged forward with unexpected speed. His low cross met Daniel on the edge of the box, and Daniel’s thunderous strike rattled the net. 4-2, Gold.

Post-Match: Celebration of Unity

As the final whistle blew, the Gold Team erupted in celebration. Zayed and Eddy were hoisted onto their teammates’ shoulders, hailed as the match’s architects. Herc and Ross exchanged victorious grins, their contributions decisive in securing the win.

The Vanguard players, despite their individual brilliance, walked off solemnly. Their fragmented focus had been no match for Gold’s cohesion and teamwork. The scoreboard told the story: Gold Team 4, Vanguard 2.

In the stands, Milo and Chevy led the victory parade, with Grayden raising a golden shield to the cheers of the crowd. The night was a triumph not just of skill, but of unity—proving once again that the Gold Team’s strength lay in their bond, a force greater than the sum of their parts.

[colettebronte]

She Rings Like a Bell Through the Night: Chapter 6

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Pairing: Vampire!Anthony Bridgerton x Witch!fem Reader

Summary: The Witch takes the Protector up on his offer with intriguing results. Goodbyes are said and a spell is cast that will have repercussions throughout time

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: 18+ for the overall fic. Specific to this chapter: a graphic (but not gross) depiction of blood drinking, a bit of sensuality, more shaky vampire lore and Anthony Bridgerton levels of sads

Minors DNI. I will put this up on Ao3 so please do not repost my work elsewhere

Author’s Note: Here we are at the longest chapter so far. Please do enjoy! Thank you as always to @fayes-fics for being the best beta reader 🫶❤️

The Witching Hour, Somewhere in Rural England, 1695

You release your pendant along with the breath you’re holding as you speak. “I’m ready to drink your blood.” 

Anthony blinks and then stares deeply into your eyes. “You are certain?”

You nod and then he lets go of your hand to stand up. You can only watch as he starts to pace across the floor. “This need not be completely unpleasant for you,” he muses, and then adds, “Perhaps I can get a goblet and put some of my blood in it.”

“Anthony, that is not necessary,” you attempt to interject, but he persists with his monologue, completely ignoring you as he continues to wind around the room.

“Surely I can mix it with some wine or mulled cider so that you will barely taste it.”

While moved by his care for your comfort, you would rather just get the task over with. You stand and intercept Anthony, placing one hand on his wrist and the other on his cheek. He stares at you wild-eyed before he heaves a sigh, allowing you to pull him back to sit beside you on the bed. Once he’s settled in, his back against the pillows, you take up his wrist with both hands and move it towards his mouth.

“I believe you must make the appropriate openings for me to drink,” you say softly.

His eyes widen. Slightly panicked, he asks, “You wish to drink from me like this? Right now?”

You nod again and place his wrist against his lips. Anthony heaves a deep breath and then extends his fangs to bite into his flesh. Two small, neat dots of blood well up next to his pulse point as he holds his arm out towards you. “I’ll let you know when you may stop,” he murmurs.

Taking a deep breath, you brush a hand over your pendant and then lean in to seal your mouth over Anthony’s wrist. Closing your eyes, you hear Anthony sigh as you take a first, careful lick. You expect the familiar tangy, metallic taste that comes with sucking a finger after pricking it whilst sewing, but the taste you get from Anthony’s blood is something altogether different.

His blood is sweet, like a rich, fermented fruit and as you take slow, measured sips from his wrist you start to feel muddled, just like the time you accidentally drank too much of your grandfather’s May wine.

Everything feels hazy and mellowed around you, your contact with Anthony the only thing mooring you in place. After what feels like forever, through a fog, you hear Anthony say, “That’s enough, My Heart.”

Time seems to slow down as you release his wrist and watch him brush his tongue over the tiny holes. You stare in fascination as his wrist comes away from his mouth and the blood has disappeared, the skin completely healed over. You feel a faint throbbing in your own wrist where earlier Anthony had drank from you but when you look down, there is nothing amiss.

Anthony leans in and you slowly blink to keep him in focus. He smiles gently and guides you back until you’re lying down. “I suppose you feel intoxicated, my clever little witch.”

You nod lazily and then bring your hand up over your face and giggle as you wiggle your fingers. Anthony merely shakes his head, eyes shining with amusement.

“The feeling will pass once your body adjusts to my blood. Lay down and rest for a while. When you awaken, you should feel like yourself again.”

Closing your eyes, you reach out to grasp his hand. “Don’t leave me, please.”

You feel Anthony settle in beside you. A moment later, you are ensconced in his arms. As you slide into sleep you hear him murmur, “I won’t leave you. It’s not time yet.”

**********

You awaken sometime later, still in Anthony’s warm embrace. You carefully reach up to brush an errant strand of hair off his forehead. He stirs at your touch and then he’s blinking awake, smiling when he sees you. The fond look in his eyes brings a warm flutter to your chest.

Releasing you, he stretches and asks, “How do you feel?”

You sit up and are relieved that the fuzzy, fizzy feeling from earlier is gone. In its place you feel refreshed. It’s as if you are a new person. And in a way, you suppose, you are.

“I feel very much like myself, only,” you pause to try to put a word to how you feel before landing on, “Improved.”

Anthony nods. “That makes sense. Any ailments or previous injuries you had are healed.”

Curious, you look at your left palm. When you were young, an accident with a paring knife had left you with a scar near your thumb. You huff out a small laugh as you see it’s no longer there. There are no words that come to mind that can adequately express your thanks, so you push aside the blanket to jump onto Anthony, who lets out an “Ooooooof,” in surprise.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you lean in to capture his lips, sighing into his mouth as his tongue mingles with yours. Anthony puts his arms around you and then he’s rolling over so that you’re under him. He pulls back and you're struck by how young he looks in the candlelight. You think of how young he was when he was first forced to come to the cottage.

You run a hand down the exposed part of his chest and ask, “What is it you desire?”

Anthony smiles sharply. “Right now, you”.

You smile back but slide out from under him. Anthony sits up, a questioning look on his handsome face. You sit up and take his hand in yours. “What I mean is, you’ve just given me the two things I’ve wanted most. What is it that you wish for?”

Anthony scrubs his free hand down his face. “ I don’t have any wishes,” he says quietly. “I just exist here.”

His words make you incredibly sad. You reach up and cup his cheek. “You deserve so much more than that.”

Anthony heaves a world-weary sigh. “The things I would wish for, sadly, no matter how powerful you become, are not things you can give me. But if I do allow myself to think of them, well, first, I would like to see all of my family back here together again.”

You drop your hand from his face to hold his other hand, bending down to kiss his palm. “I think that’s a wonderful thing to wish for. Is there anything else?”

Anthony shakes his head but then relents, saying, “I would wish to see a sunrise again and feel its rays upon my face. It used to be my favorite sensation in the world.” He notes the puzzlement on your face and explains, “When my kind are young, we are able to move around in the daylight. The day I discovered I was too old to do it safely anymore was a sad one indeed.”

Your heart breaks for him. Perhaps there is a spell in your Book of Shadows that could help him. But to find out, you’d have to retrieve it from its hiding place. You release Anthony’s hands.

“I need to go back to the village,” you tell him.

Anthony sighs, “I suppose it’s time, isn’t it? Daybreak will be happening soon and I must end the spell that is keeping the village hidden before then.” He helps you to stand and walks over to the trousseau. “Please help yourself to anything in here. They’re clothes left behind by my sisters before they departed and I’m sure you’ll find something that fits you.”

As you sort through the chest, Anthony rummages around underneath the bed until he produces an intricately carved wooden box.  Once you pick out a lovely pale blue dress that, despite its age, is still in pristine condition and fits you perfectly, you turn to see Anthony tying up a large leather pouch.

Once finished with his task, he presses it into your hands. “There are more than enough coins in here for you to go wherever you like. If you use it wisely, you will have plenty left for food and shelter for a few years,” he says softly.

Something in your stomach drops. Trying to keep your voice even, you ask, “Why does this feel like goodbye?”

Anthony sighs. “Because it is, my sweet, clever witch. Once I lead you back to the village, you won’t be able to come back.” Anthony pauses as he notices the tears at the corners of your eyes. He reaches up to gently brush them away with his thumbs and then kisses your cheek. “It is not because I don’t want you here. I only have enough power left to break the concealment spell around the village. The one that hides the cottage will have to remain in place.”

Without a thought, you hold your wrist out to him. “Do you want more of my blood? Please, take what you need.”

Anthony smiles softly and entwines his fingers with yours. “My Heart, I have taken all the blood from you that I intend to. But I do appreciate the offer.” The finality of his tone and words brook no further argument.

You can only nod as hand in hand, he leads you out of the room and back upstairs and then, after bundling you up in his cloak and lighting a lantern, out the door and into the damp, pre-dawn air.

There is just a hint of pink leaking out of the bottom of the horizon as you walk silently. If Anthony is bothered by how tightly you’re gripping his hand, he makes no comment. When you at last reach the bridge, Anthony stops and hands you the lantern.

“Stand back please,” he murmurs and you do as he asks. He raises his hands in the air as he recites words far too quickly for you to discern what they are and then you’re staring in wonder as bright, orange light shoots out from his fingertips and arcs through the sky to land somewhere in the distance, beyond the bridge. After a moment, you can see orange flames rising high in the air.

Alarmed, you start to move toward the bridge, but Anthony holds you back from behind with a gentle arm around your shoulders. “It’s all right,” he says into your ear, his breath warm on your cheek. “The fire is merely burning the spell away, there will be no physical damage. In truth, no one other than you or I can even see the flames. Not that anyone is awake at this hour.”

And you realize, he’s right. No one will be waiting for you. None have ever returned from a visit to The Protector. You shake your head at how naive you were in your assumptions as to why that was when your evening began versus the truths you know now. It’s difficult to put into words all the things you want to say to this man who has so thoroughly changed your life over the course of just one night.

Softly, you ask, “We shall never see each other again, will we?”

Anthony sighs in your ear. “I’m afraid not. I must stay here and you have a very long and exciting life ahead of you.”

You turn in his arms and tug him down for a fierce kiss. When you break apart, you pull him down so his forehead rests against yours. “I shall never forget you Anthony Bridgerton,” you whisper.

“Nor I you, my sweet, beautiful, clever witch.”

Anthony releases you and with a kiss to your fingertips, he offers you one final regretful smile before turning and disappearing back into the darkness. You swallow a sob and take a moment to compose yourself before turning around and beginning the walk across the bridge and back to the village.

It’s not long before you reach the other side and come to the lake beside the village. You stare in awe as you can see the flames from Anthony’s spell beginning to wane. Though it appears that the trees are alight, as you walk closer you can see that the foliage is untouched as the very air shimmers in the fire. Unable to help yourself, you slip off your cloak and shoes and holding your skirt up, step into the water. It’s warm from the residual heat of the magical fire. You only wade in up to your knees, watching in fascination as the flames go from orange to blue, before fizzling out into white smoke, only for that too to disappear without a trace.

As the sun begins to peak over the horizon, you step out of the water and make your way back to the village for one purpose only: to retrieve your Book of Shadows.

You pass by the first building where you see the village through new eyes. Everything seems so much smaller and dingier than you remember from just the day before. You make your way to your book’s hiding place, safe in the knowledge that it’s still too early to encounter anyone.

And then you approach the centerpiece of the village, the statue of Lord Edmund. You run a hand over the weather-worn stone before bending down to the thick patch of lilacs that grow at the base. It’s always been strange to you that despite the season, they’re always there, forever in brilliant purple and green, always a stark contrast to the gray and brown tones of the rest of the village. You reach down into the flowers and after a moment spent searching, pull out the well-worn brown leather satchel that holds your Book of Shadows.

Unbuckling the heavy metal that keeps it secure, you sigh in relief to see the book within is safe and untouched. You gaze up at the sky and determine you have a little while longer until the village wakes so you pull open your book and begin to flip through the pages and pages of spells written down by your ancestors, searching for . . . . something. 

After a few moments, you find something that may just work and smile, turning to look up at Lord Edmund. “I hope you won’t mind, Sir,” you tell his faded, stone features. You grasp your pendant with one hand as you hold the heavy book in the other, taking care to recite the words written down before you with care. It’s a fairly long spell and you can only hope you’re powerful enough to cast it. A thought occurs to you and releasing your pendant, you take hold of Lord Edmund’s boot and something flows through you, seeming to amplify your power. Glancing up at him, you add the final words to mark the spell as yours. “I humbly call upon the Lady of Light to aid me in bringing together the Bridgerton family. Please allow them to reunite in love and peace.” Closing your eyes, you slowly breathe in and out, putting your intent out into the ether.

After a moment, you open your eyes and after securing your Book of Shadows back into the satchel, along with the sack of coins from Anthony, you take one last look at the village and the statue of Lord Edmund before turning and heading back to the bridge and out into the great wide world.

 Anthony Bridgerton gave you a great number of things the night before, chief among them, the gift of a long life. It’s time to start living it.

taglist: @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @faye-tale @cosmiclove330 @abridgerton @fiction-is-life @kmc1989 @alexandrainlove @ietss @multi-fandom-lover7667 @turtle-cant-communicate @liliac-dreamer @hottytoddyhistory @laniec03 @sky0401 @queenofmean14 @jtheteenagewitch

[elaratyrell]

Poor Unfortunate Souls {Part 3/3 -> FINALE} … Jace's Version

*All images found on Pinterest. Moodboard made by yours truly*

Dark ! Ursula! Aemond x Fem! Eric! Reader x Ariel! Jacaerys

Warnings: Language probably, reader is still mind controlled, Aemond's a dick, Aemond kicks a dog but it's unharmed, non- consensual touching (Aemond's gets a little handsy {well, tentacle-y, if you get my drift}), minor angst but a happy ending!!! Not entirely proof read (yet) *Divider from Firefly Graphics*

Synopsis: Jacaerys Velaryon, the reluctant heir to Atlantica. The moment he saw you, he knew he would never see someone who could capture him with their beauty again. You would haunt him eternally. In a desperate attempt to meet you, he turns to Aemond Targaryen, an outcast from the merfolk, to help him walk amongst the land dwellers. But when Aemond lays his eyes on you, he knows he has to have you. By any means necessary.

Chapter Synopsis: Jace desperately tries to stop your wedding to Aemond before sunset, but will he be able to break the spell his crazed uncle has on you? And if he does, will you feel the same way about him?

Part One Part Two Aemond's Ending

A/N: I'm sorry this has taken so long to write, I've struggled with motivation and burnout. BUT... the trailer, Harry's recent instagram posts, all of the Ewan content we've been getting over this past week and listening to the little mermaid soundtrack on repeat has relit a spark inside of me. Enjoy! Aemond's part should be published before Christmas

Jace hadn't dared to leave his room all day.

He didn't want to in fear for seeing you or Aemond.

The thought of you marrying that monster made him sick to the pit of his stomach.

And he felt embarrassed.

Embarrassed over how stupid he had been.

He should have known that Aemond had an ulterior motive. He should have known there was something else planned. Looking back on it, it was obvious that his uncle had developed a depraved obsession with you. The way he knew about you, tried to intercept him at every turn. Jace thought that Aemond just wanted him to fail but seeing that... it had made everything abundantly clear.

And now his soul was to be claimed by Aemond. And what would most certainly be an even worse fate awaited his family, his people, especially poor Luke. Aemond would save the worst for him. And you... Jace immediately shook the thought from his mind. He didn't want to think of what Aemond had in store for you.

At some point during the day, Jace had moved from leaning against the door to sitting by the window. His gaze would rest on his two legs, something that he had always dreamed of possessing, now seeming obsolete. Where he had previously looked upon them with wonder, he now looked at them with nothing short of resentment, disgusted with how his selfish impulsiveness had sealed his entire kingdom, family and the woman he loved to a terrible fate.

He regretted ever following your ship that night.

He regretted seeing you, falling for you, letting those feelings and fantasies of living on the surface with you cloud his mind.

And yet despite that, his heart sank when he saw your wedding ship leave the port from the view of his window, head resting against the glass, watching as you drifted further and further away from him. Were you feeling nervous? Happy? Did you think of him at all?

You hadn't even said goodbye.

Perhaps Jace had merely been a burden, a duty to you. Someone that you felt you needed to help, but not to care about.

His eyes squeezed shut as he felt a new wave of tears cloud his vision for what was likely the twentieth time that day. His body heaved in a silent sob, his head dropping to rest on his brought up knees.

He could only imagine the look of disappointment on his mother's face if she could only see him now. Or the cruel, mocking one that would no doubt cross Daemon's as he showed Rhaenyra that every jab he had sent Jace's way had been true. That he was nothing but a weak, unworthy prince of the realm. An unfitting heir to the throne that Aemond would likely attempt to usurp from her.

Feeling a small nudge against his cheek, Jace tilted his head to see Syrax perched on his shoulder. Perhaps it was his own tear stained vision, but it almost seemed as though she were crying too.

Jace lifted his head and attempted to give her what he hoped was a small smile, but his face shortly crumpled again, tears streaking down his cheeks. Syrax placed her claws either side of his face in a sort of hug, her head resting against his. It was strange, but it comforted him, quieting his sniffles and calming his breaths.

Yet all he really wanted was to see his mother, to feel the warmth of her embrace one last time. To amend their relationship that had been fracturing for some time now.

The somewhat tender moment was interrupted by a loud smacking thud against the window, causing Jace to jump and Syrax to almost slip and fall from his shoulder.

Jace hastily leaned forward to unlock and open the window to let a very distressed Cannibal into the room, the bird squawking loudly as he landed on Jace's knee.

Jace attempted to calm the bird down, but nothing seemed to work. Cannibal hopped of the prince's knee, hovering in the air, as though miming himself flying in the sky. He then suddenly dived onto the unmade bed, hiding behind the bedpost, staring at the ground like he were spying on something.

Jumping onto the bedroom floor, he covered his left eye with his wing, his beak upturned in an almost sinister grin as he let out a choked squawk that bordered on a laugh, pointing at his chest with his other wing. Hopping to face the other way, he pinned his wings by his side, wiggling his body from side to side.

Jace rose to his feet and hurried over to the desk, grabbing a sheet of parchment. He opened the ink bottle, dipping the quill inside several times before scrawling onto the parchment. Black ink dropped onto the parchment, and his handwriting was nothing short of a scratchy sprawl that was just about readable. He lifted the parchment to show Cannibal and Syrax, who had joined the bird on the floor.

'Aemond and Vhagar?'

Cannibal squawked loudly, jumping in the air, covering his head in an almost facepalm.

Jace's brows were furrowed in evident confusion as he watched Cannibal try to get his point across again.

He hopped to the side, raising his wing over his head, feathers arranged to mimic your hair.

'Y/N?'

Cannibal nodded with another squawk before continuing.

He walked a few steps pretending to be you before resuming his Aemond persona, creeping up behind where he had been you seconds before, once again letting out that strange laugh, his wing patting his chest as though holding something. His other wing stretched out towards where you would be standing, feathers wiggling slightly. From an outside perspective, the sight would look almost comical, but Jace was too concerned over what Aemond could be up to properly notice.

'Aemond's necklace?'

The bird nodded again before flapping to the dresser and grabbing the dinglehopper resting atop it, holding it in one wing and up in the air jabbing it in random directions across the room.

'My mother? Her trident?'

Cannibal dropped the fork, returning to being Aemond once again and picking it up, then miming placing a crown atop his head.

'Aemond is going to steal the throne from my mother?'

Clearly growing impatient, Cannibal flew up to hover in front of Jace's face, squawking loudly at him before returning to the ground and bringing his wings together.

Jace placed the parchment down, his expression clearing as he grabbed the quill again, hand trembling slightly as he brought it down.

'Has he cast a spell on her? So I fail by sunset and he can then use my soul to trap my mother for the throne?'

Cannibal cawed softly, his head bowing in a single nod.

Jace dragged a hand through his curls, his jaw clenching and eyes steeling in resolve. He grabbed Syrax, stuffing the crab in his pocket before bolting out the room, Cannibal hot on his tail.

Upon reaching the port, he placed Syrax down on the ground, his chest heaving in deep breaths from sprinting down there. The setting sun was cast on the water's surface, making it seem like liquid gold. The boat, your wedding boat, was sailing towards the horizon.

Before the sun sets on the third day...

He didn't have much time, but he knew he had to at least try to save you from Aemond, even if he couldn't save himself.

Without hesitating, he leaped rather clumsily into the water, hearing Cannibal's squawk of alarm before sinking into the cold depths below.

It was a strange feeling, opening his eyes to the stinging rush of the water blinding him, arms flailing to keep himself afloat and break through the surface to breathe. He had no co ordination in his legs, which desperately kicked out beneath him to propel himself upwards.

He couldn't swim.

He suddenly felt himself being pushed upwards towards the surface, soon feeling the sun's dwindling warmth as he broke through, letting out choked splutters as oxygen filled his lungs again. Cannibal was hovering overhead, Syrax now balanced on one of the many barrels she had no doubt cut free to help support him, and Vermax appeared beside him, guiding him towards it.

He nodded in thanks to his companion, holding onto the barrel and resting his head against it as he caught his breath, wet curls plastered on his forehead.

Syrax dived beneath the water. When she resurfaced, she had the rope tied around the barrel between her claws, which she then tied around Vermax, pointing towards the boat. Jace began to kick out with his legs to help his friend while Cannibal flew off, loudly screeching as he did so. Jace's gaze was fixed on the boat, his kicks growing more and more forceful.

Syrax watched them for a short while, making sure they were on track to hopefully reach the boat in time before diving underwater once again and swimming in a different direction to find Rhaenyra.

The boat had seemed to come to a stop, making Jace and Vermax's journey that much easier. But as they grew closer to the grand vessel, far more impressive than the ship he had saved you from what now seemed like years ago, the soft melodies from the musicians sent a ripple of sickness through him.

The ceremony must have begun.

He had hoped that he could find you alone without involving any of your people. He didn't want to expose he or Aemond to them. That could give Daemon the excuse he needed to declare war on the surface, and he had enough issues to deal with as it was.

But you were the priority for the moment.

One problem at a time.

If he had to interrupt the ceremony and attract the entire kingdom's attention, that's what he would do.

Vermax pulled him to where the anchor was docked so he could grab the chain to pull himself up towards the deck. The metal dug uncomfortably into his palms, but he held on tightly nonetheless as he turned to his closest companion, giving him a small smile. He held out a hand for the fish to lean his head against for a moment before beginning to climb.

Whether that would be a bittersweet farewell or a simple a brief goodbye would remain to be seen.

Every one of his muscles ached and burned with fatigue as he continued his climb, but he still persisted, fuelled by his determination to save you from Aemond's clutches. He glanced down as he reached the deck, only to find Vermax gone, the barrel floating away, the rope untied, the water directly beneath him rippling slightly from someone- or thing- sinking beneath the surface.

Jace peered over the top of the deck, watching as you walked down the aisle. His breath hitched in his throat at the sight of you, of how breathtaking you looked. Any warmth he felt from seeing you disappeared when his gaze moved to where Aemond stood waiting for you, a small, yet rather smug, smirk on his face, arms clasped behind his back. His platinum locks were half tied back out of his face, a leather patch covering his scarred eye. He was dressed entirely in black leather, and seemed as though he would be more suited for a funeral rather than a wedding, a stark contrast to your angelic beauty.

Following you was Max, carrying a blue velvet cushion in his mouth to a chorus of aws from the crowd. He placed the cushion between you and Aemond, a low growl rumbling in his throat as he glared up at the latter. Yet you just stood there, staring blankly straight ahead. Aemond glanced towards the crowd for a moment before gesturing to the officiant to begin.

"Dearly beloved..."

Seeing everyone distracted, Aemond took that opportunity to kick Max away, the dog whimpering softly but appearing unharmed as he stalked away to sit by Grimsby. As Aemond had raised his leg, a flash of metal caught Jace's attention, and he just about managed to see a glimpse of the dragon glass dagger strapped to Aemond's side beneath his overcoat. His hands gripped the side of the ship tightly, cheeks flushed scarlet in anger as he watched Aemond grab your hands tightly, his eye raking your figure in a most sinful way, practically undressing you with his eyes.

Swinging a leg over the side of the boat, Jace crept onto the deck of the boat as quietly as he could, crouching down to sneak behind the back row.

"Do you, Aemond, take Y/N to be your lawfully wedded wife, for as long as you both shall live?"

"I do," Jace heard Aemond reply, an air of smugness in his tone. And he had every right to be. The sun was nearly set beneath the horizon. Jace wasn't exactly sure what he was going to do, but he needed to act now.

A soft squawk above Jace alerted the prince, and he glanced up to see Cannibal flying overhead, followed by an entire flock of gulls. Jace followed the bird's gaze to where Aemond was stood, too engrossed by you to notice.

Until they dove towards him, that is, attacking on his left side.

Aemond managed to duck before they reached him though, glaring at the flock as they circled back around, no doubt for a second attempt.

The distraction allowed for Jace to edge around to the opposite side of the boat to get towards you. As he crept closer and closer, he heard cries of alarm in the crowd, followed by a scream as a heard of sea lions flopped onboard.

Jace ducked down behind a chair to avoid Aemond's gaze, the guests having since ran from their seats to escape the animal's path, leaving you and Aemond stood at the alter. Out of the corner of his eyes, Jace saw your guards raise their weapons to the animals.

He pushed the chair out of the way, standing between them and the sea lions, hands outstretched as he frantically shook his head at them.

"Stop! Don't shoot!" Grimsby had pushed his way to the front of the crowd. "Do not shoot. They won't harm her!"

"You!"

Jace turned to meet Aemond's glare, trying not to let the way you had grabbed your captor's arm for protection get to him.

'She is under a spell. She doesn't love him', he reminded himself, but it stung all the same.

Aemond opened his mouth to speak, but at that moment a circling pelican swooped down and dump its full beak of water on top of Aemond, drenching him completely. Aemond opened his good eye, his lips pressed into a thin line. There was a still silence so thick that even the strongest of swords could struggle to cut through.

Once again, Aemond opened his mouth to speak, but all that left his mouth was a yelp of pain as Max bit down on his leg. He kicked out his leg in an attempt to wrestle the dog off of him, but the animal's jaws were like a vice.

"Max! Max, let go now!" You yelled, glaring down at the dog, who slowly loosened his hold on Aemond, shrinking away from you.

Aemond smirked at Jace, despite his appearance, gesturing to the nearly disappeared sun.

Jace stepped towards you, his hand reaching out to brush against your upper arm. You turned to face him, the expression on your face one of pure indifference. Max crept behind jace, nuzzling against his other hand for comfort.

"Yes?" You raised an eyebrow.

Jace desperately searched his mind for anything, anything, that he could do to break Aemond's hold. But how could he? He wasn't educated in magic. He knew nothing of it. And he couldn't even try to talk to you in hopes of getting through to you.

A loud, shrill squawk behind you cause both you and Jace's gaze to turn to where Aemond had now grabbed Cannibal by the throat, the bird's beak clamped down on his pendant, glowing a vivid sapphire blue.

Of course.

The realisation dawned on Jace.

Aemond's source of magic.

He moved past you, crashing into Aemond and sending the both of them crashing to the floor. Upon impact, Aemond let go of Cannibal, sending the bird flying along with the pendant, which landed on the ground. Separated from the user of its magic, it shattered on impact with the boat's deck. From the shards of dragon glass arose a small ball of blue light, Jace's voice singing that song echoing from within as it floating towards him, leaving a small plume of blue smoke in its wake.

Jace watched as your hand came to clutch your head, your eyes flashing a vivid blue for a moment as the spell over you broke. You glanced down at your dress, before looking back up, a look of pure confusion on your face. Aemond had staggered to hit feet, glaring at Jace.

He let the voice float towards him, his voice growing louder the closer it came, circling around him and rising upward until it reached his throat, the light fading but the song growing stronger, this time coming from Jace.

Gone was the burning pain in his throat whenever he would open his mouth, or the constant sore hoarseness that brewed at the back of his mouth. Instead, he finally felt complete. There wasn't the feeling of having a sort of compression inside of him, the barrier had been lifted.

He turned to you, a smile spreading across his face as you stepped towards him, that usual warmth in your eyes replacing the vacantness that Aemond had created.

You came to stand in front of him. "Jace? It... it was really you?" Your voice was quiet, but thick with emotion.

Jace reached out, taking your hand in his slightly trembling on. "It's me."

You smiled warmly up at him. "I knew it," You whispered. "A part of me... it knew you were the one." Your grip on his hand tightened slightly as you pulled him closer towards you.

"Y/N, get away from him," Aemond growled, but you didn't listen. You didn't even grant him the courtesy of looking in his direction, keeping your eyes locked with Jace's.

"Y/N, I wanted to tell you... I couldn't he..." Jace tried to explain, but you shushed him, his forehead resting against yours.

"It's okay, Jace. It's okay," You whispered, taking his head in your hands.

"Y/N, no!"

Jace's ignored Aemond, his gaze flickering briefly down to your lips. He knew he needed to kiss you, but couldn't bring himself to do it without you wishing it. But you smiled, giving him a nod, tilting your head towards him slightly.

Jace leaned forwards, his lips a breath away from yours when a searing pain cut straight up his legs, causing him to crumple to the ground in your arms.

"Jace? Jace, what's wrong?" You asked. "Your leg?"

"No, no don't..." He weakly pleaded as you rolled his trouser leg up

He gritted his teeth in pain, his entire body tensed as he watched the skin on his legs shed into scales.

"What the... you're... you're a merman?" You whispered, eyes widened in shock.

"I tried to tell you..." Jace replied, ripping his trousers off to free his fully reformed tail. "I'm... I'm sorry..."

"Jace..."

"You're too late, nephew."

Jace looked up as Aemond came to stand in the centre of the deck, the triumphant smirk returning to his face. "You're too late," He chuckled darkly thunder rumbling overhead. A bolt of blue lightning crashed down and struck Aemond directly, and when the flash faded, Aemond had also returned to his natural form, those six tentacles replacing his legs to a chorus of gasps from the crowd.

One of his tentacles suddenly shot out and grabbed Jace by the tail, dragging him towards the edge of the boat and throwing him overboard.

"Leave him alone!" You yelled, rising to your feet and moving to follow them, but Aemond's tentacles kept you back.

"I apologise that our union was rudely interrupted, ñuha dārilaros," He smirked at you, one tentacle wrapping around your waist and pulling you to him as he ripped off his eyepatch to reveal the sapphire underneath. He knew that you would not look upon it with disgust like everyone else did. "But do not worry..." He continued, another tentacle creeping under your dress and up your leg. As the tip brushed against your clothed cunt, you let out a small gasp, causing his smirk to widen. "I will return for you soon... and I have every intention of making you mine..."

And with that, he released you and dove overboard.

Jace hadn't managed to swim far.

Not with Vhagar circling the shape, the massive beast circling him, trapping him for when Aemond joined them, that blue eye of hers glowing dimmer than before, but still glowing nonetheless.

"Poor, poor prince," Aemond's mocking tone alerted Jace to his arrival. "Poor little nephew."

"Do not mock me, uncle!" Jace exclaimed, hands clenched into fists by his side as Vhagar disappeared into the kelp below. "You cheated."

"Hm..." Aemond tilted his head to the side. "I do not recall our contract saying that I could not interfere. Love comes with its challenges and I merely wished-"

"No. You wanted her and used me to get to her. And then so you could kill me!" Jace interrupted.

"Don't be so dramatic, nephew," Aemond smirked, a tentacle grabbing his arm to pull him along behind him. "It is not even you that I am after. Not really anyway. There's a much bigger fish that I have to-"

"Aemond!"

The exiled prince's smirk widened as he turned to face Rhaenyra, her trident pointing directly at his throat.

"Sister," He greeted. "How are you?"

"Let my son go." She demanded, her eyes alight with a fire that concealed the worry behind them.

"Not a chance, sister," Aemond replied, his hold on Jace tightening. "He's mine now. We made a deal." His voice progressively grew in its mocking tone as he brandished the gold scroll with Jace's contract on. Rhaenyra's gaze scanned the scroll, her expression contorting to one of horror.

"I-I'm sorry, mother! I... I'm sorry, he-"

"Hush now, nephew. Can you not see we are having a conversation?" Aemond interrupted him, another tentacle wrapped around Jace's mouth to silence him. "Now, sister, where were we?"

Rhaenyra glared at Aemond, and pointed her trident at where the scroll was dangling from his grasp, a jet of gold light striking it with the intention of destroying it, but instead it harmlessly rebounded, the scroll now glowing bright blue.

"You see, sister? The contract's legal. Binding and completely unbreakable," Aemond replied smugly. "Even for you." He smirked, knowing he had her trapped. This was a plan, years in the making, finally being executed. And it was so satisfying for Aemond to watch unfold. "Of course, I always was someone with an eye for a bargain, so to speak. And the son of the great, powerful queen of the oceans is a rather precious commodity, do you not think?"

He relaxed his tentacles, both the contract and Jace being released, but before the prince could swim to Rhaenyra, the scroll stretching and fading into blue light which then surrounded Jace, spinning around him like a tornado.

"But, I also consider myself as reasonable, and I could be willing to make an exchange for someone... for something... even better..." Aemond added, a tentacle reaching out towards Rhaenyra's crown, making her flinch away from him in disgust.

"If you think..." Rhaenyra began, but when her gaze shifted to Jace, she faltered.

The light surrounding Jace had grown brighter as it slowly drained his strength, the prince beginning to shrink, his face hollowing and skin shrivelling. Yet he still managed to shake his head at his mother, despite knowing that it would likely prove pointless.

Aemond smirked at the sight, a new contract appearing before Rhaenyra. "Do we have a deal?"

"Mother... don't..." Jace gasped out, but Rhaenyra simply gave her son a small smile, raising her trident once again and with another flash of gold, her name was signed at the bottom.

"It's done," Aemond murmured, the scroll rolling itself up and disappearing. He waved his hand, and the blue whirlpool surrounding Jace grew and moved to instead enclose around Rhaenyra. The light burned harsher, shrinking and shrinking before dissipating to reveal Rhaenyra, once the proud ruler of Atlantica, nothing more than another soul claimed by Aemond, a grotesque creature identical to the hundreds of others trapped in Aemond's lair.

Jace swam over to where Rhaenyra was, her sad eyes gazing up at him as he shook his head. "Mother... I'm so... oh gods, I'm so sorry..." He bowed his head, eyes squeezed shut. When he lifted his head, Syrax had joined him, her whole form bowed down before her companion, who could only stare.

Aemond chuckled cruelly at Jace, lifting Rhaenyra's crown to place atop his own head. "At last... it's mine.." He murmured, lifting the trident as Jace turned to glare up at him.

"You are not even the heir!"

"I will be by the rising of dawn, taoba!" Aemond snarled in response. "When I eradicate Rhaenyra's entire lineage, the throne will be mine."

"Then Aegon will-"

"You think my drunken fool of a brother would dare oppose me?" Aemond tilted his head to the side. "Naïve, nephew. So naïve."

"You're a monster!" Jace spat at him, lunging forwards, but Aemond's tentacle smacked into him and sent him flying to the seafloor.

"Monster? No, nephew. A monster is the fool who banished me when her brat of a son removed my eye. A monster is the so called just and noble queen who banished me for demanding retribution for my permanent scarring. A monster... is responsible for the death of my mother, and she sealed the fate she is now subject to the day she sent me away." He pointed the trident towards Jace. "So don't you think for a second, nephew, that you can fool with me by branding me the monster. You foolish, little-" Aemond suddenly let out a grunt of pain, his free hand flying to where blood clouded the water from the graze on his upper arm.

Jace looked behind his uncle, spotting you several metres away, glaring at Aemond. Beside Jace, was a spear lodged into the seabed.

"Y/N, get back to the surface-" Jace began, but a tentacle clamped back around his mouth.

Aemond sent his nephew a small smirk as he raised his trident towards you. "What do you think nephew? Hm, it is tempting. However... even if someone doesn't seem to love you at first, there are other ways that you can claim them mentally... and physically." His lips curled into a grin as you shrank back slightly. "Yes, I can just put her under my spell again, and in time, she may return my love for her. But whether she does or doesn't is irrelevant... she'll be mine... and never yours, nephew."

Jace once again lunged towards Aemond, but was pinned down by several more tentacles.

"Oh nephew, do not humiliate yourself," He smirked, moving the trident slowly. Your gaze followed its path to where the ship was floating above the water a distance away, your face contorting into one of pure anger. You immediately began swimming as fast as you could to the surface.

"Vhagar, tolī zirȳla!" Aemond exclaimed, his beast emerging from the undergrowth on his orders. [after her]

Jace thrashed around, but his restraints held firm, rendering him helpless. He could only watch as you broke the surface for a mere moment, managing to splutter out something towards the boat before Vhagar dragged you back down again, her tail wrapping around you like a boa constrictor.

"I wish for you to witness this, ," Aemond said to you, once again pointing his trident to the ship. "I love you... but that does not mean I cannot hurt you."

Jace desperately strained against Aemond's hold, managing to break his arm free. He leaned forward, using all of his strength to grab the only thing he could.

Aemond's hair.

He yanked on it as hard and fast at he could, causing Aemond to grunt in pain as his head was rapidly pulled back, knocking him off balance just as the trident glowed gold, causing a flash to shoot out from the trident away from the boat. Instead, it struck Vhagar directly in the heart, causing the beast to explode into nothing more than a few shredded scales that floated to the seabed.

"No... Vhagar..." Aemond breathed, outstretching his hand to where she was, her scales falling onto his hand.

Jace pushed the tentacles off of him, hurriedly swimming over to where you were once again making your way to the surface. He pushed you upwards, one hand resting on your waist as he helped you.

You let out a choked gasp as you grabbed ahold of the small rowboat you had used to reach Jace, letting out a series of coughs.

Jace kept his hold on your waist. "Are you alright?" He asked worriedly, and you nodded in response, air filling your lungs.

"Yes... yes I... I'm fine..."

"Y/N, you need to get out of her," Jace urged.

"No, Jace-"

"You don't understand-"

"I can't leave you!" You insisted, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck. "I'm not leaving you..."

"Y/N, I-" Jace began, but his gaze travelled to the water surrounding you both.

Even with just the silver glow of the moon and the distant light from the boat, he could tell it was clouded black with ink.

"Y/N... you need to get back to the ship-" Jace began, but a trembling beneath you both stopped him in his tracks.

"Jace, what-" You let out a gasp as you and Jace were both lifted from the water, separated by the spike of a crown. You gripped hold of the metal tightly, refusing to look away from Jace as Aemond emerged from the water.

"Jump!" Jace yelled, reaching over and grabbing her hand, the both of them leaping down beneath the waves.

Jace immediately pulled you protectively behind him as you stared up at Aemond towering above you. He must have been at least twenty feet tall, his eyes alight with pure, unbridled fury.

"You are a fool, nephew," He sneered at Jace, voice deep and booming louder than any thunder that rumbled in the storm clouds overheard. A tentacle came crashing down between the two of you, causing Jace to push you away out of its path.

"I now rule the ocean, Jacaerys! Even the waves obey my every whim! The sea, and all it's spoils will now bow to my power. And you... you will face my wrath," A wide grin now appeared on his face as he raised the trident and brought it down into the water, circling it around Jace to create a whirlpool around the prince sending him spiralling to the seabed, the water ensnaring him, trapping him on a rock. Lightning lit up the sky, the waves growing more violent, sweeping you further and further away from Jace and closer towards Aemond. All around you, wrecked ship broke through the surface, the barnacle encrusted wood rotting and the faded sails torn.

You grabbed ahold of a ship that swept by, holding onto the wood as tightly as you could, small splinters digging into the flesh of your palm. As the ship swerved away from Aemond, you took the opportunity to climb aboard. It seemed relatively newer than the other resurfaced wreckages, despite it's dire condition. Grabbing ahold of the wheel that was spinning out of control, you looked over to where Aemond was shooting lightning down at Jace from the trident.

"Just hold on a little while longer, Jace," You murmured, turning the wheel with the current and towards Aemond. Fortunately for you, the waves were heading directly towards him, the strong winds propelling you forward.

"Come now, nephew. You cannot evade this fate!" Aemond taunted. "Do not worry, I will take good care of her. So much for your true love, hm?"

He raised the trident once again, but before he could bring it down upon Jace, you steered the boat directly into him, the bowsprit, jagged from being broken, impaling him directly in the gut. Aemond yelled out in pain as you jumped off the ship, swimming away as fast as you could against the current. Turning back for a moment, you saw Aemond fall back as lightning shot through him, his eyes rolling back as he sank beneath the waves with a violent crash, sending a mass tidal wave that swept you along with it. You were smothered by the wave, only managing to resurface for long enough to take another gasp of air before being dragged under again.

You waited it out, managing to stay afloat as the wave calmed, treading the water as you looked behind you for any sight of Jace.

But all you saw was dark blue smoke billowing upwards towards the sky.

You let out a deep breath, keeping your head above the water as you kicked towards the beach, visibly close. The moment your feet made contact with the seabed, you practically crawled onto the sand, every muscle, every bone, every cell in your body completely exhausted.

"Y/N!"

Your head turned to the side to see Grimsby and Max running towards you from further down the beach, the ship a short distance away. The wave must have swept them up as well.

"Grim..." You murmured, gripping onto his arm tightly as he helped you to your feet, Max jumping up at you, glad that you were back to being yourself again. You gave him a soft smile, gently stroking his head.

"Oh heavens. Y/N, are you alright?"

"Fine..." You replied, glancing down at your tattered dress, completely soaked through.

"Come, now, princess. We must get you in a warm bath, and fresh clothes-"

"No! Grimsby, I need to wait for Jace and see if he's okay."

"Y/N, as your closest advisor, I strongly... well... advise... that you at least get some food in your stomach."

You sighed, still staring out at the horizon.

"If you survived, I have no doubt that he did as well," Grimsby said gently.

"Fine," You muttered. "I'll go and change. But you're staying here to look out for him."

"A-as you wish... but Y/N, will you not need help to get to the castle-"

"No," You replied firmly, already trudging up to the castle, your bare feet dragging slightly on the sand, Max right on your heels.

Carlotta was anxiously waiting by the castle gates upon your arrival, rushing over to you and immediately fussing over your rather bedraggled appearance. You brushed her off, walking to your chambers to change.

You felt sick to the stomach at the white shirts, the blue dresses and black trousers... anything in those colours that only reminded you of Aemond... of what he had done...

You threw them out of your wardrobe, ordering Johanna to wash them and take them into town to donate to anyone who needed them.

"May I make a suggestion, princess?" Carlotta spoke up.

"I would appreciate that," You sighed.

"I have the perfect one for you," She smiled knowingly, waiting for you to step aside so she could reach into the wardrobe, taking a hanger from the rail and holding it up to you. "Well? What do you think, princess?"

"I think..." You murmured, cocking your head to the side in contemplation. "That it's perfect."

Jace had watched as the whirlpool around him disappeared. He had seen Aemond collapse, watched as he sank out of view. Swimming to where he had fallen, he found his uncle, now back to his usual size, a rather large wound to his abdomen staining the water with a reddish hue. He reached down, taking the crown off his head, looking down at it.

He couldn't imagine it atop his head.

Feeling a warm hand rest on his shoulder, he turned to find his mother, restored to her full self, smiling down at him.

"Mother..." He murmured. "I... I'm so..." He bowed his head, letting out a deep breath. "I'm so sorry..."

"Oh, Jace," Rhaenyra tilted his chin upwards. "I'm the one who should be sorry. I shouldn't have pushed you away. Destroyed you beautiful collection. Can you ever forgive me?"

"Only if you forgive me," He whispered, immediately being pulled into her warm embrace. He immediately wrapped his arms around her tightly. When they broke apart, he reached down to where the trident laid several feet away from Aemond, holding it out to his mother, who took it from him with an appreciative smile.

"I can't... become king..." He sighed. "Not... not here."

"I know, my darling," Rhaenyra sighed, her free hand resting on his cheek. "The matter of my heir will be settled in due time-"

"Baela would be a good candidate," Jace spoke up.

"Indeed she would," Rhaenyra softly smiled.

"Jace? You're alive!" Luke exclaimed as he swam over.

"Luke, I told you to stay at the palace."

"I did, mother. I stayed for half an hour, and then left to follow you," He replied, faltering slightly as he saw Aemond's corpse. He stared down at the body, letting out a small scoff. "Well thank the gods," He muttered.

"Luke," Rhaenyra warned.

"He was a monster, mother. He tried to kill me!"

"Well, he's dead now. Thanks to your brother."

"Actually, it wasn't me," Jace piped up. "It was Y/N's."

"Y/N?"

Jace sighed, glancing up to where the water's surface was glowing orange with the dawn.

"Jace?"

"I need to show you something."

"Jace... if this is going where I think it is-"

"Please," Jace's eyes were pleading. "Please, mother."

Rhaenyra shared a glance with Luke, who nodded in encouragement. She let out a small sigh. "Very well."

Jace could sense Rhaenyra apprehension as they looked out towards the beach, the rocky shore that had greeted him after making his deal with Aemond separating them from the land.

"Is that her?" Luke asked, pointing towards where you were hurrying down the beach. All Jace could do was nod in response, his lips parted slightly as he gazed at you in awe.

You were dressed in a glittering red gown, the bottom of the skirt grasped in your hand. It had thin straps across your shoulders and a cowl neckline, hugging your curves perfectly. Your hair was loose, and still damp, your face void of any makeup, those ruby earrings you bought at the market dangling from your ears.

And to Jace, you had never looked more beautiful.

"Nice," Luke grinned with an approving nod, earning a glare from both his mother and older brother. "She's pretty..." He mumbled.

Jace swam forward, hoisting himself up on a rock, the very same rock that he sat on when he'd saved you on your birthday. He watched you walk along the beach, your gaze fixed on the horizon, Max barking happily at your feet.

"What is that?" Luke exclaimed. "It's all... weird and hairy!"

"Hush now, Luke," Rhaenyra murmured, her gaze resting on her eldest son. There was a soft smile on her face, but her eyes were brimmed with sadness. "He really does love her, doesn't he?"

"Must do," Luke replied. "I mean, he was ready to sell us to Aemond for her so... ow!" He yelped as Syrax, who had joined them on a nearby rock, pinched his arm in disapproval.

"He does, doesn't he?" Rhaenyra repeated her question, this time directing it towards her companion, who nodded in response.

"I was never truly permitted to be free and lead my own life," She mused. "It was expected of me to take the throne, I was raised for it. And there was no other worthy heir to claim it in my stead. It is just a shame... that it took him going to Aemond of all people to make me realise that I should not expect my children to suffer that same fate." She nodded to herself. "I suppose only one problem that remains..."

"And... what is that?" Luke asked, gently rubbing his reddened arm from where Syrax had pinched him.

"How much I am going to miss him..." She sighed.

Luke gazed up at his mother as she lowered the tip of the trident down on the oceans surface, casting a small ripple that grew as it came closer to Jace, the water surrounding the rock glowing gold.

Jace looked down as the gold consumed his tail, turning back to his mother in shock that soon turned into a soft smile as the light consumed him.

Max let out an excited bark, taking off down the beach, you hot on his tail.

You stepped into the water, the gentle waves lapping around your ankles and your free hand coming to shield your eyes from the bright light. When it faded, you expected to see Jace, but you were greeted with nothing.

Your shoulders heaved in a silent sigh, your head shaking in disappointment as you turned away, but Max letting out another bark caused you to turn back, a wide smile spreading across your face.

Jace emerged from beneath the waves. He was walking towards you on legs, dressed in a crisp white shirt and burgundy trousers, his chocolate brown curls fluttering in the sea breeze.

The moment he laid eyes on you, he broke out into a run, with you rushing towards him as well, throwing yourself into his arms. Jace lifted you up and span your around, his hold on you tight, as though you would slip from his grasp again.

But you weren't going to let go.

When he placed you back on the ground, Max excitedly circling around you both as you took his face in your hands and pressed your lips to his.

Jace immediately sank into the kiss, his heart fluttering.

"I love you," He murmured as you broke apart, his forehead resting on yours.

You smiled, hands sliding upwards to tangle in his curls. "And I love you, Jace. So much," You whispered.

A/N: One more part left...

…All I'm going to say is I hope you enjoyed the sweetness of this ending because Aemond's ending is going to be complete filth.

Hint: it involves tentacles.

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[lettiegrief]

Xianle's fall was premeditated and done by Jun Wu in every detail.

Jun Wu brought the drought, intercepted Yong'An's prayers for Xie Lian, created a fake family whose death was the trigger for the war and the plague that was the final straw for Xianle's downfall.

Without JW doing all of this, it would be difficult to say whether Xianle would have actually fallen. JW sealed Xianle's fate after meeting XL, and he had all the power necessary to do so. But that doesn't mean it was actually fate acting.

If destiny was an immutable force of nature, then Shi Wudu would not be able to steal He Xuan's destiny, after all, what is immutable cannot be undone, right? And as the novel itself says: "no path are bound."

So, Xianle could fall centuries later 'cause of political problems, or it could become even more prosperous and make Yong'An as prosperous as a city of Xianle depending on the emperor.

As for Lang Ying, his kingly aura only appeared and grew stronger as the war progressed. In other words, if there had been no war, his aura would have remained "erased". Perhaps Xianle would not fall to war, but Lang Ying could play a crucial role in solving the political problems facing the kingdom. This could have brought Lang Ying to the throne and the capital would have become Yong'An, but it didn't mean that a civil war would have broken out.

If Xie Lian had been stronger back then and had realized the kind of person Jun Wu was, he probably could have ended the war, whether before or after the plague.

And this all makes Jun Wu a more brilliant villain, cuz he planned every detail and predicted every step that would be taken between the two sides while using Xie Lian's beliefs against himself and also using Xianle's political weaknesses to make the downfall happen faster.

Could what happened to Xianle have been avoided? Difficultly. Jun Wu was very powerful, there was no one at that time strong enough to even hinder him, and if there was, they wouldn't be interested in stopping Jun Wu. He made his choices and used the power he had to put his decisions into practice. "Fate" is just the shallow explanation to blame Xie Lian and take the responsibility off Jun Wu's shoulders.

[goldenherc9]

A Golden Christmas Carol - The Epilogue

The Boxing Day Match

Previous chapters: Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5 || Part 6

On the frosty Boxing Day evening, two days after the Christmas party, a packed stadium roared as The Golden Army, led by their charismatic captain and striker, Scott #9, who has come back with strength, determination, a fire in his heart that has been hugely lit by his gold and polo-drone brothers, clashed with their fierce rivals, The Red Tornados. The air crackled with anticipation under the glowing floodlights.

The match began with both teams fiercely battling for dominance. The Red Tornados, known for their relentless speed, unleashed wave after wave of attacks. But The Golden Army’s defense held firm, with Captain Hercules urging his team to stay resolute.

In the 43rd minute, the breakthrough came. Hercules intercepted a midfield pass, his golden jersey glinting under the lights. With unmatched skill, he weaved through defenders, launching a thunderous shot that sailed into the top corner. The stadium erupted as The Golden Army surged ahead.

In the second half, The Red Tornados pushed for an equalizer, their star forward coming close. But the Golden Army’s goalkeeper made a stunning save, keeping their hopes alive.

In the dying moments, Hercules led a counterattack, assisting his teammate for a second goal. The whistle blew, sealing a 2-0 victory for The Golden Army. Captain Hercules raised his arms triumphantly as fans chanted his name—a hero on a golden night.

This epilogue to A Golden Christmas Carol, is my homage to a great team of brothers who have done a wonderful 6 parter for me to show how much I truly am cared and appreciated for so here for you guys my contribution.

Thank you ever so much bros @brodygold @polo-drone-001 @danielgold-16 @polo-drone-110 @polo-drone-084 and @polo-drone-070