#OPaL Recruitment

[aboxofcereales]

I think there should be some magnificent writing done of the looming moral dilemma of Elspeth Rook Mercar, the Breaker of Bonds, the firm believer in heroic nonsense, falling for a Lucanis Dellamorte, whose calling is death, the First Talon of the Crows. Because no matter how big and soft his heart is, he’s still unavoidably will lead the organization who helped to save Thedas, yes, but also is intertwined with many of the horrors that the Shadow Dragons oppose. And yet, still she will always choose Treviso, instead of Minrathous.

[sincerely-sofie]

Omg I love Ruby

I'm not sure that the person who sent in her origin story quite understands how much I adore this girl. I love her so much. She's my baby. Oh my goodness gracious. She's such a good partner-in-crime for Opal and I can see these two forming an exploration team together when they grow up.

Team Smoke and Mirrors are some of the most well-known scouts there are in the exploration team world— they aren't the best of the best, but they're up there in skill, and Guildmaster Bidoof is always bragging that those two were apprenticed at his guild, and look at how they turned out! Yup yup, he's so proud to have been able to help them get their footing and send such a doggone wonderful team out into the world, gosh!

Chatot retired shortly before the Guild received their application papers, and he's slightly conflicted about that.

On the one hand, he'd like to resume his work and ensure they get a proper apprenticeship— while he's never met Ruby, he remembers when Twig brought a younger Opal to the Guild on a handful of occasions when her husband (Chatot shudders whenever he recalls the reality of who she married) was away on his own errands and she couldn't get a sitter for the day. He recalls Opal transforming into a downy little hatchling of his species during the first visit, and she was always in that form before Twig even came through the front doors on subsequent visits— when Bidoof casually mentioned the significance of this, Chatot was so emotional the rest of the day that he misfiled an embarrassing number of reports. He doubts Opal remembers him at all, but he'd be proud to keep her and her sister on the straight and narrow.

On the other hand, her and her sister are Twig's daughters. He barely survived ONE Twig. The thought of TWO of them being apprenticed simultaneously, let alone on a single team, is nearly enough to make his feathers go gray with just the thought.

[opal-owl-flight]

“Hello? What the fresh hell just happened??????”

[dollfat]

giving into the [outlander] peer pressure and deciding opal moved to the city after leaving the wilderness. probably around age 13.

her and her mom took whatever shitty jobs they could, usually physically demanding and not always legal. neither were especially good at socializing and opal was overwhelmed by all the people and noise. she still thinks of the Outlands as her home.

[freegovtjobalertdaily]

OPAL Apprentice Recruitment 2023 @bharuch

ONGC Petro Additions Limited has Published Apprentice Bharti Bharuch News For Various Trades. ITI Pass Candidates Can Apply For This Apprentice Job in Bharuch. Invites Applications From Suitable Candidates For this 1 Year Durations. OPAL Apprentice Recruitment 2023 Job Recruitment Board ONGC Petro Additions Limited Notification No. Apprentice Post Fitter & Other Vacancies 40+ Job…

[lizzaneia-elizalde]

Yandere! Sugar daddy x "pure"! Reader

EEEEEEEEE Time to write my baby, the fruit of my dark rofan loins (jk) Basically, this yandere is my first yandere OC and when I gave life (lol) to him in Char/ai yesterday, I just knew he had to be next.

Also, I contemplated what title to give him since he's also a mafia boss, but I decided to go with Sugar daddy since it's the most integral part of his story.

Also, "pure" just means that you dress light, really. But in Rowan's eyes, you were like an angel, a pure being that he needs to taint (oops spoiler)

Yandere! Sugar daddy name: Rowan Silas (Yes, he even has a last name)

notes: Rowan is not old, OLD. He's not a Dilf/Gilf level sugar daddy. In his lore with my other OC (his love interest), he's older by five years. Also, reader has a womb, due to mentions of pregnancy (why did I do this pregnancy shit twice? Dunno really.)

TW: noncon pregnancy, trackers, nsfw stuff

ALSO, REQUESTS ARE OPEN <3 (I don't even know if people will request but LOL just in case.)

The man only knew pain and crime all his life.

He never experienced anything good, apart from gunning down his enemies alive if that even means the same as what people deem as "good".

His life of crime was because of his adoptive father, who picked him up from the slums to become one of his personnel.

He was only seven by then. But his hands stained with blood as he killed the other kid who drowned his precious pet kitten in the lake. That's where his father knew that Rowan is not normal.

I mean, who would sport a smile while choking his fellow kid alive?

All Rowan said was "He deserved it though."

"He took what's precious from me."

That was enough to make his father set him straight to become the heir of the mafia family.

He grew up battered and bruised yet the vices he only knew is his smoking from his precious churchwarden pipe, and violence.

He told his father that it was enough for him.

Yet his body raged on, wanting more and more as greed consumed him for more.

Yes, he's a greedy man who wants more.

After all, he had nothing, then had one precious thing, then lost that thing. And then, when he eliminated the person who stole his precious thing, he got everything.

Did that make sense? To Rowan, it didn't.

He already got everything, but why does he want more?

So with a clean shot to the head, he killed his father and immediately inherited the family.

Now, he can spend the money and the resources as much as he wants. So he did. He went to casinos, brothels, luxury hotels and cruises. Everything he thinks that he needs.

But he still wants more. He still needs more.

And by god, he did get more.

He bumped into you one day, with you in your soft outfit of creams and pastels. Your pure, clean eyes made his heart skip a beat as you said sorry to him.

His greed triggered.

He wanted you so bad.

When he learned you needed a job when he saw your folder filled with resumes, he felt like he won the lottery.

"How about becoming my sugar baby? Don't worry, I won't ask anything. Much."

And as your cute figure pondered what to do, he smirked. You, in the middle of his dim office, in light clothing and an innocent face, was such a contrast in the dark office filled with his smoke from his beloved churchwarden pipe. You stuck out like a sore thumb, and he liked it.

He loved it.

And as your lips dropped the answer he wanted to hear, he shivered and gave you a lopsided smile.

"Good. Now, what do you want, love?"

Rowan sat down on his office chair, he cracked his neck and sighed.

He was bone tired. He just finished a cartel mission that he himself as the boss had to interfere. It was annoying because it was due to his incompetent new recruits.

At least they're sleeping with the "fishies", as what you call the finned sea creatures.

He grabbed something from his pocket and brought it up to his face. It was an intricate jeweled choker with a lot of rose gold arcs, jewels that match your eyes, and a diamond encrusted opal centerpiece.

He imagined you wearing it. Wrapping the choker on your neck himself, seeing your eyes flash in wonder and amazement. He imagined you also getting shy and saying that it was too expensive, and him saying that it was okay, and he wanted to give you this entirely by his own volition. And he got excited.

...In one way or another.

He chuckled and shook his head, swinging on his swivel chair as he dialed your number.

After two rings, you picked up.

"Love, come here. I got a gift for you."

You whined, getting shy again. He chuckled.

"You know what I say, I don't want to hear you say no. So come here now."

So you did.

Once you got there, he smiled and kissed your lips softly, bringing you close to him by your waist and lifting you up easily with his tatted arms.

"Come, I'll give you the present myself."

You got curious naturally.

He settled you in front of the floor length mirror which also saw... Much more intimate and sensual things you both did other than this gift giving thing he's doing.

Rowan slowly grabbed your hair and raised it, making you shiver with goosebumps from the action. He smirked, seeing you so flustered from the simple act of him grabbing your hair.

Well, that, and he also liked to grab your hair a lot while fucking you senselessly. There's that too.

You closed your eyes when he told you too, and you felt the familiar cold sensation of jewelry resting on your neck. But this time, it hugged it, making you open your eyes. It was the beautiful choker he was admiring earlier.

"Do you love it?" Rowan asked, looking at you through the mirror as he rested his chin on your shoulder. You nodded enthusiastically and said yes. He smirked.

This was the first time you didn't say to take the gift back with such a flustered apprehensive look. You're starting to get greedy.

He loved that. A lot.

"Now, how about you kiss me in return, hmm?" You rolled your eyes and gently kissed him. You know this day is not just going to end in a kiss.

But you didn't mind.

And he knows that.

You went home that day with Rowan driving you. He gave you more gifts that you shyly accepted once more, making Rowan shiver in glee. Again, you didn't reject them at all.

You're slowly getting tainted by his greediness.

And hopefully, you will be greedy enough to bring up your relationship to him, and tell him that you wanted more to this.

That you wanted his love.

Oh, he trembles at the thought.

It's not a question of if, but when, after all.

But now, he's just slowly moving forward with your relationship. Slow and steady wins the race, after all. Despite him living such a fast paced life, he knows he's patient enough to wait for you.

But if you backtracked and got out of his tight grasp...

Let's just say that the tracker he planted on your laptop, your phone, and now your precious choker will help him find you if you ran away.

You were the light to his dark, dreary life.

He'll be crazy enough to let you go.

And he's already crazy about you.

That's why he's making you addicted to him also. Showering you with gifts and love. Praising your body, worshipping it, pleasing it until you reach the heavens like the angel you are.

And if you still didn't want him... Let's just say the condoms with holes in them that he himself poked will do the trick.

It was a dirty tactic. But who cares? He's a mafia boss for god's sake. Dirty tactics aren't new to him.

And if you still somehow didn't end up pregnant and got to run away, he'll use his influence to find you.

You got no escape.

Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.

You were his love. His greed.

With a drag of his churchwarden pipe, he drove off to plan your wedding.

You were going to be his after all.

No matter what.

I don't know if I did my baby Rowan justice i'm going crazY FUCK.

Can you guys tell I have favoritism? Because I do LOL

[thelibrarian1895]

My Mourn Watch Rook: Don't Mess With The Mourn Watch

So romanced Lucanis and also listened to some Emmerich and Lucanis banter and thought...now there's an idea

Mourn Watch Rook adores Lucanis and will do anything and everything she can to protect him and Lucanis will do the same for her.

One crow, an idiot, thinks that trying to kill the First Talon is a good idea since the Dellamorte family doesn't have anyone else to take the role once Lucanis is gone and might let their own house rise in status.

They fail of course, even if Lucanis somehow misses the effort, Spite is keeping an eye out and Rook's work brings wisps around to watch over things. But let's say that Lucanis goes into a convenient coma. Spite is piloting the body, at least until Rook convinces them to retreat to the Lighthouse, so no one thinks the First Talon is vulnerable. They're clearly up and able to move under their own power, they just have a contract that they must immediately deal with and their girlfriend gives them, and only them out of all the Crows, access to the Crossroads. Definitely not the demon taking over while they're unconscious and possibly near death.

Rook's reaction in the aftermath however is to decide that not a single Crow is going to succeed in a contract until Lucanis tells her otherwise.

Every. Single. Contract. Will. Fail.

Specifically because the contract targets are just going to fail to die.

She'll have to recruit some other watchers to help but there's probably enough that are getting real tired of all the contracts on King Marcus and this might give them the leverage they need to have at least the crows stop accepting that particular contract. Plus in the aftermath of saving Thedas, potentially banishing the Blight, and being their sweet crypt baby, Rook is a watcher favorite.

(My Rook was 100% semi raised by Vorgoth. Myrna is essentially their cool big sister)

Teia and Viago have no sway over Mourn Watcher Rook. Yes she likes them, yes she thinks they're cool, but they're not the whole reason she even relocated to this weird country with admittedly great food but also a habit of cremation that is very unsettling. Caterina actually approves and when Lucanis wakes up she gives her opal ring to her grandson, her grandson who should be making her a great grandmother.

The Crows may rule Antiva, but death is the Watcher's domain

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Comet Donati [Chapter 3: Steal My Girl]

A/N: Hello lovely readers! Thank you so so so much for the love this fic has received. I wanted to give you a heads up that I will be co-leading a field trip to Japan from July 4th-14th and will therefore have much less time to write. HOPEFULLY I won’t have to skip a Sunday update, but I wanted to make you aware just in case. I hope you enjoy Chapter 3!!! 💜

Series Summary: Sex, drugs, boy bands. You are a kinda-therapist recruited (via nepotism) to help Comet Donati through a recent crisis. Things are casual with Aegon, very not-casual with Aemond. Loosely inspired by One Direction.

Chapter Warnings: Language, references to sexual content (18+), drugs, alcohol, smoking, mental health struggles, Aegon-induced chaos, ANGST, Iceland, you cannot escape the Cookie Monster pajama pants.

Selected Chapter Quote: “So what, you don’t like me anymore?”

Word count: 8.3k (wtf I need to chill).

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @doingfondue @catalina-howard @randomdragonfires @myspotofcraziness @arcielee @fan-goddess @talesofoldandnew @marvelescvpe @tinykryptonitewerewolf @mariahossain @chainsawsangel @darkenchantress @not-a-glad-gladiator @gemini-mama @trifoliumviridi @herfantasyworldd @babyblue711 @namelesslosers @thelittleswanao3 @daenysx @moonlightfoxx @libroparaiso @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @mizfortuna @florent1s @heimtathurs @bhanclegane @poohxlove @narwhal-swimmingintheocean​ @heavenly1927 @mariahossain @echos-muses @padfooteyes​ @minttea07​

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist! 💜  

Athens, Madrid, Porto, Vienna, Stockholm, and now: descending into Reykjavik through clouds like iron. The North Atlantic is an endless sheen of cold overcast blue, a mirror of the sky. The earth is rocky and anemic. There are no jewel tones here, no sapphires or emeralds or aquamarines or fire opals or topazes. It is impossible to look down at Iceland, this dominion of impassionate jaggedness, and not think of how the Vikings had to reap their treasures from every other corner of Europe, silver and gold and glass and slaves piled into ships to be rowed back to the hostile earth they clung to, perhaps just to prove they could.

Across the aisle of the private jet—more like a penthouse than a plane, posh neutral colors and hand-stitched leather—Luke is showing Aemond his latest lyrics, loops of silver on matte black pages. They’re good, from what you’ve heard. They’re really good. And that tells you what kind of person Aemond truly is as he helps Luke polish rocks into gemstones. Anybody can soften the blow of mediocrity. It takes courage to build ladders for people who might one day outclimb you.

Daeron is playing his Nintendo 64, which is hooked up to a 98-inch flat screen tv; Mario is leaping through paintings into worlds of lava, ice, sentient ticking bombs. Criston is answering emails. Cregan is sprawled across a couch with his sunglasses on, presumably sound asleep. Jace is leering at you, dark hair hanging in his face and slurping a Vesper.

You ask him half-mocking: “What tattoo are you going to get for Reykjavik?”

He yanks off his sequined red blazer—nothing underneath, as usual—and twists around to show you the puffin on his left shoulder blade. Comet, at some point in time that preceded you, has already been to Iceland. “Cute, right? Wanna pet it?”

You roll your eyes. “I’m sorry I asked.”

He grins. “No you’re not.”

Aegon kicks the back of Jace’s chair. He’s scribbling some notes of his own, which is unusual. In place of a spiral notebook with onyx pages, Aegon is writing on crinkled Starbucks receipts with a Sharpie. He’s wearing his favorite aviator sunglasses, khaki cargo pants, an excessively bright cyan tank top, and matching Crocs.

Baela stares blankly out the window for a few seconds—like she’s buffering, a lagging connection—and then she looks to you hopefully. “Shopping when we land?”

“Does Iceland have shops…?”

“Probably more than Kansas,” Aemond says, then smiles mischieviously.

“Missouri,” you fling back. He returns his attention to Luke.

“They totally have shops in Iceland,” Baela assures you.

“Then I am amenable. I need more concert outfits.” You mostly wear your boy band t-shirts from home, which has become a joke: One Direction, Backstreet Boys, New Kids On The Block, NSYNC, the Jonas Brothers, Boyz II Men, 98 Degrees, BTS…but never Comet Donati. Anyone but them. Aegon calls you a traitor. Aemond teases, smirks, tries to hide how much he watches you the same way people contemplate art on museum walls, a little confounded, a little entranced.

“Rhaena?” Baela says. “Hello? Hello? Hola? Bonjour? Rhaena?”

Rhaena startles, peering up from her novel: Jurassic Park. Once upon a time, as you’ve learned, she had planned to study paleontology. She wants to be alone in the middle of a field someplace digging up bones. Well, no great tragedy there; one is never too old to be a paleontologist. She can take off five years, or ten years, or twenty, or thirty to see Luke through his touring days and then pick back up her own ambitions like keys left on a hook. But Baela gave up a ballet scholarship to follow Jace across the globe, puddle to puddle, land to land, and in your albeit limited understanding, ballerinas age in something like dog years. Their career is a brilliant, lightning-brief flash and then long, anonymous decades running out their mortal clock as choreographers, backup dancers, personal trainers, instructors for blue-blooded five-year-olds. Baela won’t be able to reclaim that dream for much longer. It might be too late already. She is out of practice; but she misses ballet. When Jace is being snide or oblivious, you’ve seen her gazing out windows—Escalades, hotels, jets—wondering if it was all worth it. You gut yourself for someone and they don’t even have the courtesy to put up a gravestone. It’s only natural to develop a propensity to haunt.

“What?” Rhaena asks.

“Shopping. This afternoon. Interested?”

Rhaena’s eyes go wide. She fidgets: closing and then opening her book, touching a hand to her earrings, delicate strings of small silver hearts. “Um…I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Oh, not this again,” Baela groans.

“Just go without me. Bring me back something, you know what I like.”

“What’s the problem?” You are investigative but not accusatory. The tone is essential.

“She’s scared of store employees,” Baela says.

“Well you don’t have to make it sound like that—!”

“What’s so scary about store employees?” you ask Rhaena, calm, cool, collected, nonjudgmental. Aemond glances over, as he often does when you’re working, like he can’t get enough of watching that switch flip, when you slink covertly into therapist mode like a water moccasin weaves through swamps, subtle ripples in the muddied water and vigilant eyes.

“I just hate it when people are watching me,” Rhaena says, twirling an earring. “They’re always waiting right by the door—especially at the posh places like the ones Baela goes to—and they want to know what I’m shopping for, and they want to make suggestions, and they follow me to the fitting room and ask what I like and what I don’t. And I can’t get rid of them! Even if I’m like ‘Just looking, thanks!’ they’ll circle back every five minutes to check on me. I can’t stand it. I get so frazzled I can’t decide how I really feel about a skirt or dress or whatever because I’m too busy trying to make conversation with someone I don’t want to talk to anyway. I end up with a headache and a shopping bag full of regrets. I’d rather click a button on my MacBook Air and save myself the suffering.”

You nod sagely. “What is it about talking to the employees that stresses you out so much?”

“I don’t want to say or do the wrong thing. I don’t want to cause problems.”

“But it’s not like you’re going to do anything they haven’t experienced before. They see hundreds, maybe even thousands of customers a month. And even if you did something ridiculously, dementedly embarrassing, like…um…hey, Aegon, what’s the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever done while clothes shopping?”

“I fell asleep in a fitting room. I pissed on the floor. I set something on fire. I vandalized One Direction merchandise.”

“No, there was that other time,” Daeron says. Mario is swimming through rings of underwater coins; they chime gleefully as he collects them.

“What other time?” Aegon says.

Daeron grins. “Come on. You know.”

Aegon remembers. “Oh yeah. Once I bit a girl’s feet until I accidentally ripped off part of a toenail and she bled everywhere. But that wasn’t my fault. She was begging for it. It was consensual.”

Criston, not looking away from his emails, says: “And that’s why Aegon is now banned from all Michael Kors locations for life.”

“Right.” You turn back to Rhaena. “So you would never do anything that deranged. But even if somehow you did, what’s the actual worst-case scenario? What, realistically, could happen as a result?”

Rhaena considers this. “The employees will think I’m weird, I guess.”

“So what you’re so concerned about is that the store employees—who are literally paid to be inconvenienced by you��might think you’re weird? Which they’ll remember for, what, maybe an hour before some other customer gives them a more memorable calamity to focus on? You don’t think they’re more annoyed by purse-dog-toting heiresses screeching at them or cokeheads pissing on their floors?”

“Rude,” Aegon says.

Rhaena smiles guiltily. “I mean, when you put it that way, it does sound stupid.”

“Not stupid,” you insist. “Just out of proportion.”

“Okay,” Rhaena says. She takes a deep breath, steeling herself. “Okay. I guess I’ll go shopping.”

“Yes!” Baela cheers, already scrolling through Reykjavik shops on her iPhone.

“Hey, Stargirl,” Aegon says, and then hurls something at you like a frisbee. It’s an Amex Black Card.

“Oh no.”

“Oh yes.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “What’s my budget?”

“No budget. As long as it’s slutty.”

“I will buy nothing but cardigans and mom jeans.” You crane your neck to peek at his receipts. The black Sharpie squiggles aren’t words; they’re shapes, pictures. “What are you drawing?”

“New merch designs!” Aegon holds up the receipts so you can see.

“Circles…?”

He is somewhat wounded. “Donuts!”

You don’t even know where to begin. “Why donuts, Aegon?”

“Because that’s his code word for doing lines in the bathroom,” Criston says.

“No!” Aegon objects. “Because Donati sounds like donuts! So we could have all these mini donuts, print them on hats or shirts or whatever, and then in the frosting where the sprinkles would be we can put tiny stars, suns, moons, planets, galaxies…and comets, obviously.”

Jace scoffs. “I think you spend a little too much time thinking about donuts.”

Aegon goes quiet. So does everyone else. Gazes flit nervously around the cabin. The only sounds are the roar of the jet and Mario 64, although Daeron has turned his back on the cheerful Italian protagonist and is looking pensively over his shoulder at Jace. Aegon resumes sketching his cosmic Sharpie donuts, his lips pressed tightly together.

“Hey,” you say to Jace, and then once you have his attention, wicked dark eyes: “Shut the fuck up.”

“What?”

“It’s a great idea. It’s a really adorable idea, actually. Let’s see you come up with something better. Go on, whenever you’re ready. I’m waiting. I’m still waiting. But you’re not much of an ideas guy, are you, Jace? Fortunately, you’ve always had other people around to pull that weight.”

Jace opens his mouth to say something, then snaps it shut as Cregan stands up. He towers over you both, as tall as Aemond but more muscly all over, in the chest and the shoulders and the legs. He lowers his sunglasses to show his eyes: greyish, cold, flinty. He glares at Jace, and then at you, and then at Jace again. Jace holds up both hands, showing his palms. You bow your head in capitulation. Cregan lies back down on the couch and repositions his sunglasses just as the pilot turns on the fasten seatbelts signs. As you click yours into place, you exchange a glance with Aemond across the aisle. He is smiling, foxlike and approving, as if he can’t wait to see what else you have left to show him.

“So!” Baela says. “Guess who found a shop in Reykjavik that sells Gucci!”

The jet glides through mist and fog to make a rather bumpy landing at Keflavik International Airport, fighting against gusts of wind coming in off the North Atlantic Ocean, the same water that swallowed the Titanic, the Faucett Peru Boeing 727, the Free Life hot air balloon, whaling vessels and Viking longships, countless cruisers and destroyers and submarines that blasted holes into each other during the world wars. As the band prepares to disembark, Aemond reaches into the front pocket of his shirt—black, with white circling koi fish—and slides out a pair of sunglasses. He doesn’t like wearing them. They limit his vision even more than it already is. But he never walks into an airport without sunglasses on, you’ve discovered. Just in case paparazzi are there snapping photos.

“You don’t have to do that,” you tell Aemond.

He gestures to his scar and his blind eye, a pale cloudy blue. “I’ve thought about just getting it cut out. But then I’d have to worry about shoving in a fake one.”

“I think it’s kind of beautiful,” you say. “It reminds me of Neptune or something.”

And the look he gives you, the look, like he’s never heard anything like this before, like he didn’t know that words could fit together in that order. You hold out your hand to him. He lays the sunglasses in your palm. You put them on, grinning up at him.

“Now I’m the one who looks like a multi-millionaire popstar.”

“Hey, we match!” Aegon says as he follows you and Aemond out of the jet, massaging your shoulders and clopping noisily in his Crocs.

There are paparazzi at the airport, but only two of them, young men in black hoodies who dart around loosing flashes into the stuffy, aggressively heated air. Jace, Baela, Daeron, and Aegon beam and wave, radiant, magnetic, born celebrities. Rhaena smiles politely but hides behind Luke. Cregan saunters and smolders, knowing exactly what his devotees expect from him. Criston and the security guards are loaded up with suitcases like pack mules. The paparazzi don’t pay much attention to Aemond—a former heartthrob, a cracked relic, a fossil or a ruin—but one of them snaps a few pictures of him. Aemond turns his face so they’ll get his good side, his unmarred side…and then he grabs for your hand. You try not to reveal how ecstatic you are, how wildly, uncoolly, over-the-moon thrilled. Your expression might end up commemorated forever in a tabloid, after all.

Shopping in Reykjavik is mostly wool sweaters, hiking boots, and weather-proof jackets, but Baela leads you and Rhaena to a boutique that carries something more her speed: Gucci, Burberry, Balenciaga, Valentino, Saint Laurent. You and Baela try to distract the employees as much as possible; still, they find time to nettle Rhaena with those bothersome, predictable, unnecessary questions. She gets a little flustered, but she fights the instinct to run and hide, to allow herself to sink into a frenetic puddle of self-inquisition. You can almost see the words scrolling behind her dark gentle eyes like a news ticker: They get paid to help me. They aren’t going to remember any of this in a few hours. I’m not on a stage. I’m not being judged.

In the fitting room, you take two selfies to send to Aemond’s WhatsApp account: one in a flowing neon yellow gown, the other in a short, velvet, sparkly black dress embroidered with silver stars.

You ask: Day or night?

He answers before you’ve changed back into your jeans and pink Harry Styles hoodie. Night, obviously. And then he adds: Which constellation are you? Vulpecula the fox? Cygnus the swan?

“God, he’s such a dork,” you murmur to yourself, smiling. You have to think for a while before you reply. You don’t know many constellations; that makes it difficult to rattle off something witty. Then you are inspired. You type: Definitely not Virgo :)

He responds immediately: :)))))

“What does that mean?” you whisper to yourself in the solitude of the boxlike fitting room. “What the hell does that mean???” He spends nearly all of his time with you, but he rarely touches you. He’s never made a move. He’s never even kissed you. You wouldn’t mind if he did. No, fuck the coyness that women are supposed to cloak themselves in to preserve their worth. You’re waiting for him to kiss you like someone drowning waits for a gasp of air.

Despite Aemond’s vote, you can’t help yourself. You buy both dresses. You don’t look much like an Aegon Targaryen, but the cashier doesn’t seem too troubled by this. Baela and Rhaena are still trying on outfits, so you swing your bag around boredly and wander over to see what Criston is up to. At Aemond’s insistence, he accompanied you on this shopping expedition and left the rest of the security detail back at the Reykjavik EDITION, a luxury hotel overlooking the harbor. Criston is in the jewelry section and holding up a medallion necklace, rotating it to see how the light reflects off the speckling of tiny gemstones, the wise golden face. His own face is distant and melancholy.

“Oh, that’s lovely, Criston!” you say. “All those emeralds. Who’s pictured on it?”

“Saint Jude. Lost causes.”

Interesting. “Are you religious?”

“Not especially. But Alicent is.”

“Who…?”

Criston walks off to the cash register. You watch him go, curious and perplexed.

Back at the hotel, you enter your suite to find a blond Targaryen lounging in your bed…but perhaps not the right one. Aegon still has his Crocs on and is, for some reason, clutching a plushie puffin. He glances over at you, noting your shopping bag.

“Fashion show?” he says. “I hope it’s nothing but miniskirts and bikinis.”

“Don’t you have places to be? Substances to snort?”

“Cregan is currently trying to locate some.”

“That’s really not good for you. Physically or mentally. You might be addicted.”

He barks a laugh, like it’s absurd. “You can’t get addicted to coke, Stargirl.”

“You definitely can.”

He suddenly looks panicked, like he’s never considered this before.

“So.” You hesitate. “Aemond.”

“Yes, I’m familiar with the concept.”

“He’s insecure. Very insecure, though he’s learned how to hide it.”

Aegon throws and catches the puffin, bouncing it off the ceiling. “I wouldn’t disagree.”

“It goes deeper than the accident, I think. The scar, his eye, what happened with the band…that awakened it again. That freed something that he’d had locked away. But where did it start?”

Aegon stares up at the ceiling. He tosses the puffin a few more times, abusing it terribly. “Whoever you are when you’re in high school…that’s sort of who you are forever, you know? If you’re popular and beloved and understood, you carry a certain self-confidence into the rest of your life with you like a suitcase. It’s an assumption that people care about what you have to say. It’s a conviction of your own value. It’s a presupposition the world would have to wrestle away from you. But if you’re a loser in high school, that stays with you too. And it’s one hell of a heavy suitcase to lug around.”

You try to imagine seeing Aemond through eyes that aren’t awed, craving, quietly adoring. It’s simply not possible. “He was alone?” you ask softly, dreading the answer.

“I had friends. He had grudges.” Aegon’s mouth twists as he tries to stop it from trembling. “My father…”

“I know, Aegon.” Your voice is gentle. “You told me in Kansas City, that night at the bar. You don’t have to say it again.”

He is relieved. “Yeah. So people respond to that in different ways, right? I lived in the present. I talked to anybody who would listen to me, and I partied and I got high and I got laid, and I was the antithesis of the kind of son my father would have wanted just to spite him. Aemond escaped into the past. He read books, traced bloodlines, collected old obsolete things. Maybe that gave him hope that a better place was waiting for him out there somewhere, a better time. He got to be cool for three years. That’s it, and that’s all he’ll ever have. He was the one with vision. He said he was going to audition for The X Factor, and I only went with him to meet girls. Then he made it through the first round and I did too. And when they were going to cut us, he found Jace and Luke and Cregan and convinced everyone to start performing together. The show wanted to replace Luke, did you know that? They thought he was too boyish, too innocent. Aemond fought for him. And then Comet finished in second place, and all the sudden we were signed to a label, and we were selling millions of records and we were touring, and we were winning Grammys, and we were buying our parents and siblings houses…and two months after our third album came out, Aemond was maimed at the Budokan and it was time for him to get off the ride.”

You stare at Aegon, tremendously sad, not knowing what to say. Sometimes the right words don’t exist.

Aegon smirks. “He really likes you.”

“Maybe.” And then, with guileless vulnerability: “I hope so.”

“That’s dangerous.”

Your brow knits into fearful grooves. “Why?”

“I know how to enjoy something without owning it. I don’t think Aemond does.”

You don’t want to ask, but you have to. “What was Shelby like?”

Aegon considers this for a long time before he answers. “She was simultaneously too good for him and not good enough.”

Too gorgeous. Too cool. Too Pinterest-board perfect, airy like summer. But not deep. A river, a glimmer, but with no understanding of the abyss. You aren’t sure how you know that this is what Aegon means, but you do. You don’t want to think about Shelby anymore. You pivot. “So Aemond is the past and you’re the present. Who’s the future? Daeron?”

Aegon smiles, lazy and warm. “I think you’re the future.”

“Yeah right. Get your Crocs off my bed.”

He complies, groaning, flopping onto the floor gracelessly.

“Where’d you get the puffin?”

“Some Icelandic kid recognized me in the elevator. He wanted to give me a present. In return, I signed an autograph and got him and his dad front row seats to the show tomorrow. So I’d say it was a very favorable exchange for him.”

“You’re a saint,” you say, and then find yourself thinking randomly of Saint Jude again. Lost causes. Lost causes.

Aegon grins at you as he crawls to his feet and makes for the door. “Patron saint of mayhem.”

~~~~~~~~~~

You’re watching old Comet Donati performances on YouTube when the hotel fire alarm goes off. And it’s strange, because the unscarred, clear-eyed boy on the screen is Aemond but also isn’t him; he smiles more easily, he looks at people without suspicion, he is ebullient and confident and carefree like kids blowing bubbles on front porches. When you open your suite door, dressed in your favorite Cookie Monster pajama pants and an oversized New Kids On The Block t-shirt, Aemond is just arriving.

“Oh good,” he says. “You’re still awake.” And then he walks with you to the nearest stairwell.

Outside, the hotel guests are clustered together with their travel companions, shuddering under coats and sweaters and blankets clasped around their shoulders like capes. Even at the start of July, Iceland is cold: fifties during the day as Americans like you measure in Fahrenheit, forties at night, nearly always overcast. It’s 11 p.m., but the sun won’t set until midnight, and even then only for a few short hours; the sky is wearing the colors of dusk, lilac, rose pink, pale blue, fire and gold. You’re shivering, rubbing your bare forearms and feeling the goosebumps that have risen there like braille. Aemond tugs off his black and white Calvin Klein hoodie and offers it to you. As you pull it over your head, you breathe in the pieces of him that have snared in the fabric: smoke and cologne, gin and soap and the brine of the seaside air. Now wearing only his jeans and his koi fish shirt, Aemond lights a cigarette and gazes up at the hotel, postmodern angles and semi-transparent glass.

“No one’s going to give me a hoodie?” Aegon says, quaking in his cyan tank top. Criston reluctantly unzips his bomber jacket and hands it over.

“Did you do this?” Criston asks him, meaning the fire alarm.

“What?! No! No way, man! It wasn’t me!”

Criston turns to Cregan for confirmation. Cregan shrugs, ambiguous. “I knew it!” Criston exclaims. He is distraught.

Several fire engines arrive, red lights strobing, and firefighters enter the hotel to investigate. Baela and Jace are standing near each other but not speaking, arms crossed, faces tense. Luke, Rhaena, and Daeron are watching an episode of The Crown on Luke’s iPhone. Cregan lights a cigarette and manages to take two drags before Criston notices and lunges to bat it out of his hand.

“Stop it!” Criston orders. “You’ll ruin your voice!” Nobody tells Aemond not to smoke. His voice doesn’t matter anymore.

Aegon asks you, his hands buried in the pockets of Criston’s jacket: “Would you run into a burning building to save me?”

“Why would you be in a burning building?”

“That’s really not the point.”

“I’d think about it.”

Luke says, the glow of his iPhone dancing across his face: “Wow, Prince Charles is a bitch.”

“You’d think about it?” Aegon says to you. “You’d think about it?!”

“You have no excuse to be in a burning building. You have now experienced an evacuation, you know exactly how to leave a building successfully, if you’re still in it for some reason then that’s your problem.”

“You hear that, Criston?” Aegon says. “This is a good thing. Now everyone knows what to do if there’s a real fire! And we’re in hotels all the time, so this is super helpful!”

“Please shut up,” Criston begs.

“Hey Cregan, share with the class, what did you learn about fire safety from this fortuitous occasion?”

“I already knew what to do.”

Aegon is grinning. “Yeah? What’s that, Cregan?”

“Get in the shower and wait for the fire department to come rescue me.”

Everyone laughs—even Jace and Baela—and Cregan’s lips quirk up in one corner, the only hint that he is joking. A parade of firefighters exit the hotel. One of them is carrying a toaster. Black smoke pours out of the slits in the top.

She says something in Icelandic that you can’t understand, then repeats in English: “Who was trying to cook hotdogs in a toaster?”

The guests chatter incredulously among themselves: Who would do such a thing?

You, Aemond, Luke, Rhaena, Daeron, Cregan, Jace, Baela, and Criston are mindful to look anywhere except at Aegon. You gaze out at the horizon, the kaleidoscopic midnight sun. Aegon peers down at his Crocs, hair tangled and blue eyes wide.

“Very well,” the firefighter with the toaster says, a little smugly. “We will consult with the hotel staff and see which guest was registered to that room.”

“Goddammit!” Criston hisses, and shoves by the band to go meet the firefighters. You can’t hear what’s being said, but his hands move in exaggerated gestures of humiliation, apology, restitution. Fortunately, the Icelandic people seem to be forgiving.

Daeron turns to Aegon. All he says is: “Why?”

“I couldn’t figure out the buttons on the stove!”

Criston comes trudging back to the band. Guests are being admitted into the hotel to return to their drinks, their television shows and mystery novels, their families, their lovers, their beds. “Alright, it’s taken care of. Go to your rooms. All of you, right now, go.”

No one has the heart to argue with him; he looks half-broken already. Everybody disperses. You and Aemond end up alone together as the elevator zooms to the fifth floor. He takes his small, square metal lighter out of his jeans pocket and toys with it, repeatedly flicking the lid open and then shutting it again.

You point to it. “Vintage lighter. Vintage bike. And yet you write with glittery gel pens instead of quills and ink. Poser.”

“I like old things,” he says, smiling. “I think history is important.”

And you hear Aegon’s words like an echo: That’s dangerous. You start pulling off Aemond’s hoodie to give it back to him.

“No,” he says, sounding pleased. “You keep it.” So you do, finding excuses to bring the sleeves close to your face—touching your hair, your lips, your eyelashes—so you can inhale him.

Aemond leaves you at the door of your suite, but you don’t go inside. You wait for another five minutes until Criston steps out of an elevator and into the hallway, alone and agitated. Still, he has concern to spare for you.

“You okay? Locked yourself out?”

“No. I was just hoping to ask you something.”

“Go ahead.” Criston is tired, but his eyes, dark like fertile earth, are attentive.

“When Aemond was hurt…when the label yanked him out of Comet…no one fought for him?”

“Luke did,” Criston says.

And then he continues down the hall, shoulders low, a man troubled by both the past and the future.

~~~~~~~~~~

The Blue Lagoon is like Aemond’s sightless left eye: a milky blue, opaque, something you could drown in. The band spends several hours splashing and wading in water warmer than the blood in your veins. The white silica mud that forms the floor is soft beneath your bare feet, squishing between your toes; people spread it over their skin like a skin shedding its scales in reverse. Criston orders strawberry-banana smoothies from the in-water bar, trying to distract Aegon and Jace from the beer and the wine. Currently, Comet’s most worrisome performers are locked in combat: Daeron is on Aegon’s shoulders, Luke on Jace’s, entangled in a spirited chicken fight. This is much preferable to their first choice, Marco Polo, which led to Jace ‘accidentally’—and repeatedly—bumping into various early-twenties female tourists, whereupon he would inevitably profusely apologize, introduce himself, and pose for selfies, beads of turbid mineral water dripping from his curls. Cregan has drifted to the other side of the lagoon, floating on his back and basking beneath the overcast midday sun.

“I can’t believe they made everyone shower naked before getting in here,” Rhaena says, drinking her smoothie, submerged in rippling blue up to her collarbones. She had nearly refused to go through with it—I’ll wait in the car! I’ll be fine! I’ll just watch The Crown on my phone for three hours!—until you and Baela offered to hold up your towels to shield her from view and insisted that none of the other guests (all female, as the showers are sorted by gender) were paying attention. Nudity is not a big deal in Iceland. It’s quite a far cry from Missouri.

“You gotta honor the local culture, babe.” Baela flashes Rhaena a teasing grin. “Scandinavians are super progressive. No shame about bodies or relationships. Very sex-positive.”

“Well Jace is certainly blending in.”

Now Baela isn’t grinning anymore. She frowns broodingly out over the lagoon. Rhaena, regretting that she said it but knowing it can’t be taken back, noisily slurps at her smoothie even when it’s gone. You and Aemond exchange an uncomfortable glance. Baela has never broached the topic of her relationship with you, but you know it’s coming. You can sometimes see her working up the nerve like a bucket filling with water, drop by drop.

You change the subject. “See, Rhaena? The naked shower thing wasn’t even that bad. It was over in two minutes, and absolutely nobody was judging you. And if you hadn’t done it, you would have missed out on this amazing experience!”

“You weren’t nervous?” she asks you. “Not at all?”

“I little bit, yeah. Of course. I’m an American.” Everyone chuckles. “But logically, I knew no one would really be watching me. I’m not that interesting. And also…I wasn’t truly naked.”

“Huh…?”

You wiggle your eyebrows and, smiling radiantly, spin around and point to the black-ink tattoo between your shoulder blades, underscored by the straps of your swimsuit that cross just below it: a comet with a streaming tail, lyrics that Aemond dreamed up in a kinder world. Rhaena laughs.

“Oh, right, of course.”

“You are obsessed with that thing!” Baela says, but she sounds relatively happy again.

“It’s true. I am. I admit it.” Sometimes you find yourself staring at it in hotel bathroom mirrors still foggy with steam, wiping away condensation to marvel at the irrevocable ways in which Aemond has marked you, ways you are thankful cannot be erased. When you wear anything that reveals your upper back like a spilled secret, you often catch Aemond gazing at it too. Now he reaches over and skims a fingerprint along the circle that his lyrics form around the comet:

I’ll come back for you if it kills me

Comets clip by again after eons and so can I

There’s a jolt down your spine like lightning, but more eager than jarring. All other thoughts vanish from you. You look over at Aemond, and he looks back, his lips slightly parted, his right eye beckoning to you. And you know it will be good with him, if it happens, when it happens. It will be more than good. It will be laced with an intensity, with a dire breed of necessity that you’ve never tasted before. All at once, you and Aemond realize what you’ve done and drift away from each other again, weakening gravity, elliptical orbits.

“No shame, guys,” Baela quips, raising her smoothie glass in a toast. “Sex-positive, remember?”

After the 45-minute drive back to Reykjavik, and after the concert, the band coalesces in Jace’s suite. There aren’t many hangers-on for this stop of the tour; Reykjavik is isolated and peaceful and not particularly desirable for friends of convenience who are more interested in clubbing and drugs than camaraderie. You wouldn’t trade nights like this for anything in the world.

Aemond is reading off his latest notes, white ink on black paper, stars on the backdrop of the universe. A Benson & Hedges cigarette smolders between two fingers on his left hand. Smoke curls up around his face. “Aegon, you were three steps behind the choreography for basically the entire show.”

“Yeah, that was on purpose.”

“It wasn’t,” Aemond counters, but he can’t help but smile.

“Women love a tragic disaster of a man who is screaming to be fixed.”

“Daeron,” Aemond continues. “I really like that hair flip you’ve started doing…”

Aegon is knocking back dark glass bottles of Gædingur Stout and slurring, very drunk and sinking deeper by the minute. In the absence of coke, he has resorted to other crutches. You are squeezed between Aemond and Baela on one of the couches. And Aemond isn’t really touching you, but he also is: the delicious subtle pressure of his thigh against yours, occasional nudges of his elbow, ostensibly unintentional grazes of knuckles and palms. He’s drinking his usual, a Bramble, and so are you, swirls of slow-moving pink like drops of blood in open water. And you think in a hazy bliss like listening to ground-level conversations from the bottom of a swimming pool: Tonight, tonight, tonight, he’s going to come back to my room with me tonight.

“Oh great,” you mumble as you check your Facebook messages on your iPhone.

“What’s wrong?” Rhaena asks. She’s nestled against Luke on the opposite couch, twirling locks of his hair around her benign, delicate fingers. Jace is sitting beside Luke, drinking a Vesper and trying not to make eye contact with Baela. Daeron is in the fuzzy white sheepskin lounge chair, Cregan perched on a bar stool, Criston standing watchfully with a vivid green bottle of Perrier in one hand. When he briefly steps out onto the balcony to take a call from the label, you can hear only the most dim, indistinct murmurings through the thick tinted glass, sounds but not words. Aegon is sitting—and occasionally crawling around—on the floor. The Backstreet Boys’ I Want It That Way is playing.

“I’m subletting my apartment in Kansas City and there is a strict no pet policy. But my neighbors snitched on the new tenant and apparently she’s got a Flemish Giant rabbit living there with her.”

“Not even a normal rabbit,” Baela muses. “A giant rabbit.”

You sigh. “All the rugs are going to be chewed up by the time I get back.” And Aemond glances over anxiously, like he doesn’t want any reminders that you won’t always be around.

“What’s your apartment like?” he says.

“Old. Vintage. Most of it hasn’t been updated since the 1950s. You’d appreciate it, actually. It would match your aesthetic.”

“Maybe I’ll have to see it sometime.”

You smirk at him, flirtatious, baiting, the silver stars on your dress reflecting golden lamplight. “Maybe. If I invite you.”

He leans in to whisper so only you can hear: “You will.”

“I think I’d be a landlord if I wasn’t famous,” Jace says, nursing his Vesper meditatively like an aspiring philosopher. “I’d just sit back and collect the checks as they rolled in. And you get to raise the rent every year.”

“Yeah, that sounds like you,” Aegon says, grinning up at him saccharinely.

“What would you be, Stargirl?” Jace asks; and you realize you hate the sound of him using Aegon’s name for you.

“I mean, a therapist.” And everyone laughs, even Criston.

Jace flushes, brushing his curls back from his face with one hand. “Oh yeah. Clearly.”

You look to Aemond. “You’d be a historian or an archivist or something.”

“Or a writer,” Luke says.

“Maybe,” Aemond agrees, a tad uncomfortable with the attention. “Or an animal activist, maybe. I’d like to do some sort of good in the world.”

Aegon shouts, far more loudly than necessary: “What would you be, Criston?”

“Thousands of miles away from you.” More laughter, riotous; but Criston is smiling a little.

“What about you, Cregan?” Jace asks. “What would you want to be if Comet didn’t exist?”

Cregan downs a shot of Absolut Vodka. “A plastic surgeon.”

“What? Why?”

Cregan shrugs. “You get to see tits all the time.”

There are scandalized squeals and guffaws. Baela says: “I would not let you anywhere near my tits.”

“And not just tits!” Daeron adds brightly. “Don’t they do, what’s it called, vaginal rejuvenation?”

Cregan points at him with his empty shot glass. “Exactly.”

“Oh God, that sounds painful.” Rhaena hides her face behind a flute of champagne.

“Yeah,” you say. “I don’t think I’m interested.”

Aegon snorts, drips of Gaedingur Stout flying from his nose. “Like you’d ever need it. You’ve got a pornstar pussy, fucking gorgeous.”

A hush sweeps through the room like a dust storm. Baffled glances dart around wildly. Immediately, Aegon realizes his mistake. He gazes up at you from the floor with large, glazed, drunken blue eyes that glisten with apology. You gape back, half-furious and half-petrified.

“Wait, what?” Aemond says. Ashes build on his cigarette, forgotten.

“Oh, wow.” Jace gestures from you to Aegon. “You guys…you guys have…?”

“It was once, a long time ago,” you say quickly. “Like, a really long time ago. Over a year ago.”

Aegon is trying to help. “Ages ago. Ancient history.”

“Where? In Kansas City?!” Baela gasps, stunned.

Aegon tells her: “You remember that bar we all went to after the show, right? The one on the roof?”

Baela is blinking at you, not comprehending. “You hooked up with him? In a bar?! Aegon?!”

“Um, yeah.”

Jace brays out a laugh, shaking his head. “Damn, Stargirl. I thought you had better taste than that.”

You feel like you’re fighting for your life. You feel like you can’t breathe. “It really wasn’t serious…” Not the sex part, anyway.

“No, no, it totally wasn’t,” Aegon agrees gamely. “It was like, what? How long were we in that bathroom? Maybe ten minutes total?”

Daeron is giggling. “Bruh, stop roasting yourself!”

As the chatter flies, you hide your face in your hands; beneath your palms, your cheeks are hot. You can feel Aemond pulling away from you, spaces opening up between your thighs and shoulders and arms like the ever-expanding void of the universe. When you steal a glimpse of him through the cracks in your fingers, he is staring down at the floor. He is silent, but you can see the thoughts—the images—riddling him like bullets. You can see him filling up with them like a punctured ship fills with seawater. He smokes until his cigarette is gone, and then immediately lights another.

Luke is the one to mercifully intercede. “Hey, Criston, where are we going next?”

“Uh,” Criston says, trying not to gawk at you or Aegon. “Let me think. Uh. Oh, right. Paris.”

Jace cackles. “The city of love! How appropriate!”

Criston ignores him. “You have some press interviews and then you’re doing two shows at the Accor Arena on July 7th and 8th…”

Aemond gulps down the rest of his Bramble and then walks out onto the balcony, closing the sliding glass door behind him.

“Fuck,” Aegon sighs miserably, then guzzles his Gaedingur Stout.

You bolt off the couch and go after Aemond. The heavy sliding glass door growls as you roll it open and then shut it again. Outside, Reykjavik is cold and windswept. The midnight sun is aflame. It’s still too bright to see the Northern Lights; even if they were there, you would have no way of knowing. Aemond is smoking with his back to you. He’s looking out over the boats bobbing in the harbor, sunbeams glinting on the crests of waves. Flapping gulls swoop and scream.

You say cuttingly, like a surgeon slicing away malignancies: “So what, you don’t like me anymore?”

Aemond flicks ashes over the balcony railing. “I just think I understand you better.”

“What does that mean?”

He whirls to you and says pointedly: “Why are you here?”

A disorienting question. Too easy. “I followed you out onto the balcony.”

“No, here with the band, here in Reykjavik, why are you here?”

You know how the truth sounds, but you can’t rewrite it. “Because Aegon asked me to be.”

“Because he asked you to come fix me, right?” Aemond demands. “To crack open my skull and stir things around until I’m okay with the fact that my life ended seven months ago.”

“No!” you shout into the wind. “I mean, yes, he thought I’d be able to help you, to help Comet, but that’s not what this is about for me anymore—”

“Why would I believe you? You’re a liar, you’re a confirmed liar, why would I believe a single goddamn word of what you have to say?!”

“I didn’t lie to you!”

“Friends!” Aemond roars. He doesn’t touch you, but his rage is horrifying, ageless and deep like lava bubbling beneath tectonic plates. “You said you and Aegon were friends!”

“We are friends—”

“No, you’re not. You met him, you fucked him, and then when he invited you to join the tour you dropped everything to do it, why, because you still want him? And I’m the charity case? Or I was just next in line? Maybe you were planning to work your way through the whole band. Who’s next, Jace? I don’t think he’d object.”

“No—!”

“You and Aegon. And you didn’t even have the guts to tell me.”

“Because I didn’t want to have this conversation, the one where you eviscerate me for something that happened before I even met you!”

“You chose him,” Aemond says, venomous. “At the bar in Kansas City, you chose him.”

“What?! Aemond, I don’t even remember seeing you, I don’t think you were there at all—”

“I was there.” He glares at you, thunderstorms, tornadoes, the earth splitting in two. “Last June. Rooftop bar. String lights. View of the river. I remember it, I was there.”

“Well then you didn’t notice me either and you probably spent the whole night with Pilates princess, Malibu Barbie Shelby, so what’s the fucking point?!”

He glowers at the horizon. Iceland DOES have jewel tones, you think erratically. But they only come out at night, like owls or bats. “It’s different.”

“It’s not different! You’re so convinced people don’t like you that you do insane, irrational things that make people not like you! It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy! It’s a fucking circle, you idiot!”

“I’ve had enough psychoanalysis, thanks.”

“No, you could use some more of it, you could use a lot more, you have so many demons it’s like Paranormal Activity in your brain, they’re in there all day tearing things off the walls and kicking over chairs and sabotaging anything you dare to care about and you let them!”

He turns away from you. “Just go the fuck back to Kansas.”

“I’m from Missouri!”

Aemond pitches the end of his cigarette over the balcony. His good eye flicks to the sliding glass door. The curtains rustle as the faces that hovered there just seconds ago disappear back into the suite. Very muffled through the thick glass, you can hear Criston chastising people.

You ask Aemond, embers in your throat: “This is really something you consider unforgiveable?”

He shakes his head, mournful, violently disappointed. “You’re just a groupie. You’re just a slut.”

Slut. It’s not the word, it’s the way he said it, with dismissiveness, with condemnation, the same way men love to use it as a blade to carve off every other piece of you—kindness, coldness, ferocity, loyalty, wit, passion, talent, triumphs, failures, ghosts—until that one little word is all that’s left. You’re dismantled into a clutter of loose bolts and bent nails. You’re a beef cow that was led into the maze of a gnashing, metal-and-blood processing plant and came out the other side a brainless, raw-pink patty just the right size to fit in a Big Mac box, something to be consumed but not remembered. “What did you say to me?”

He’s staring out into the twilight sky, both hands on the balcony railing. “I can’t believe you. I can’t believe I…”

“Are you kidding me?! I can’t believe I got your lyrics tattooed on my fucking back, what am I supposed to do about that now, rip my own skin off?!”

“So get it covered up. I’m sure Aegon would be thrilled to help you choose a new design, or Jace, or Cregan, or Daeron, or whoever.”

“You know what I think?” you say, caustic like acid.

“Don’t say it,” he threatens, low and dark.

“I think you haven’t fucked anyone since the accident, and you’re terrified to. But you shouldn’t be, Aemond. Because there’s nothing wrong with you. There has never been anything wrong with you.”

But he doesn’t hear that part. He only hears the first thing, what you never should have said at all. It’s true, but that doesn’t mean you should have said it. “I hate you,” he says softly, and you can’t think of a reply. The space between you fills up with wind, cold, dying sunlight. Aemond looks at the sliding glass door. “I don’t want to go back in there.”

“Well, we’re five stories off the ground, so you’ll probably have to.”

He studies the series of balconies that run along this side of the hotel, each separated by perhaps three feet of open air. Then he starts climbing over the metal railing.

“Aemond, don’t!”

But it’s too late. Fortunately, he has long limbs. He scrambles onto the next balcony, and then the one after that, and then one more, until he reaches the balcony for his own suite. He tries the sliding glass door—locked—and then sits down to wait for someone to open it. You go back inside Jace’s suite, where everyone pretends to have been talking about something other than you.

“Where’s Aemond?” Criston says, alarmed.

“He’s on the balcony of his suite. You should go let him in.”

“What?!” Criston yells, and then sprints out into the hallway.

You flee too. Both Baela and Aegon try to stop you, try to talk to you. They’re asking what Aemond said. They’re asking if you’re okay. You tell them you’re fine and that you want to be left alone. They argue. You insist. You walk back to your own room and start packing.

Your suitcase fills up with crumpled clothes and souvenirs: a Colosseum pencil sharpener from Rome, a tiny alabaster Apollo from Athens, a Spanish fighting bull refrigerator magnet from Madrid, handmade soap from Porto, a bar of chocolate from Vienna, a moose snow globe from Stockholm, a silica mud mask from the Blue Lagoon, a tiny stuffed comet that Rhaena crocheted for you. You reach back to touch your fingertips to the comet tattooed over your spine, tears biting in your eyes. If I had told him from the start, would that have made a difference? If I had met him first, would we have had a chance? You are gathering up your makeup when you hear a knock on the doorframe.

Cregan lurks there. When he speaks, he sounds startled; he sounds afraid. “You can’t leave.”

“I’ve literally never had a conversation with you, so thanks for the input but I’m still going.”

“No,” he says, persistent. “You can’t leave.”

“Aemond doesn’t want me here.” Your voice is fragile, shattering. “I can’t help him anymore.”

“It’s not just about Aemond. It’s about everyone. They’re all fucked up. They all need you.”

You stare at Cregan, not understanding. “I really don’t think I’m equipped for this.”

He fixes his cool greyish eyes on you. He is harsh but somehow not unkind. “You would never be able to comprehend where I came from. I’m not going back to that. The band has given me everything. I’m not going to let anyone take that away from me. You have to stay. You have to fix Comet. You can’t leave.”

He watches you, and you watch him, and you aren’t sure who has the upper hand here, who is the predator and who is the prey. Maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe everyone is a patchwork of strengths and deficits, fields of gold strewn with landmines.

At last, you relent. And Cregan doesn’t vanish until you’ve begun taking your souvenirs out of your suitcase and placing each of them—carefully, reverently—back on your nightstand where they were before.

[littlekiara96]

The IPC is bringing more world-building

From the IPC's recruitment ad, we can gather names of planets (or worlds), some we already knew of, and some new ones:

Talia, Snowland, Hithradahn Tribal Union, Hyai'i Federation, Klimt Republic.

Pier Point (where the IPC was born, or at least where their HQ is, from what I understand), The Xianzhou Luofu, Spindle-III, Abelane, New Londinium, Capital of Passion, Punklorde.

That's a lot of places the IPC has already "infiltrated".

I just have one question, though...

What's going on in the Capital of Passion? And is it only part of one bigger thing, just like the Luofu is only part of the Xianzhou?

Yes, I'm wondering if it could be part of Penacony.

Also, I'm pretty sure these gems represent people from the IPC.

Diamond is clearly hinted as being a big shot in the IPC, if not the Big Boss.

Not sure if Topaz and Aventurine are also depicted here. I don't see Opal or Obsidian in this shot either, and Topaz has mentioned them being higher rank than her and Aventurine. It might be a representation of the seven board members AND Diamond. Which would mean that Taravan is in this. And maybe Oswald?

Heh. Time will tell.

[bakawitch]

Miraculous Twinflame Bare-bones Plot

Spoilers ahead! Many important details and characters have been left out, this is essentially just a quick synopsis!

Duality Arc - The main team gets slowly assembled through out the arc! Mab finally manages to detect traces of the Seelie Tree in Sen City after searching in the human realm for a few centuries and moves there. Yoko accidentally gets his hands on a Miraculous from Oberon and becomes a hero mentored by him. Juju eventually comes in the picture, whom Oberon is extremely untrusting off and gets kept away from the cafe and the tree. Despite that, Juju and Yoko still partner up and start fighting together. Juju is revealed as a double agent to the audience. Some of Mab's Disciples and other Miraculous holders get episodically introduced between fae attacks and the rest of the main team gets recruited. Arc ends with Aibell/Erlking boss fight where the heroes emerge victorious and gain a map for a mythical tool that might be able to banish Mab and the Unseelie tree from the mortal world. Yoko and David lose a friend.

Treasure Arc - Oberon tries to solve the map and cracks start to appear in the team. A new Big Bad villain gets introduced who's attacking Sen City simultaneously alongside Mab. Mab pulls back a little, letting the heroes and the new enemy tire themselves out fighting each other. New Disciples get recruited and a new character joins the main team. His appearance starts to corrode the relationship between Juju and Yoko, which makes Juju go back to focusing on her original goal to grab as many Seelie Kwamis as possible. During the middle point of the arc, Oberon manages to make sense of the map and the team begins to try gather the fragments of the mythical tool. Suspicion of a traitor in Yoko's team begins to surface. The new villain also tries to go after the mythical tool for their own reasons and joins forces with a different unsided Miraculous holder. Arc ends with the destruction of the Seelie Tree and the mythical tool losing all power after Yoko has to make a hard decision what to use it on. The traitor is revealed, the team falls apart and Labyrinth permanently loses her voice. The new villain gets defeated and Oberon manages to get their Unseelie Miraculous. Now that Mab knows the mythical tool is no threat to her, she fully puts her plan back in action.

Wonder Arc - After all the losses they suffered, Yoko is even more desperate to defeat Mab, but without his team he's proven that it's an impossible task. Oberon and two new friends they made, try to figure out how to recharge the mythical tool, as it wasn't destroyed it's just lost it's power. After Yoko is continuously only able to escape Fae by a strand of his hair, he finally listens to reason and begins to rebuild the team, though his trust issues are still very evident. As the team gets regathered, rebels originally a part of Oberon's court manage to fight their way over into the Mortal Realm. Together with Oberon they finally manage to begin recharging the tool. It's an exhausting and slow process which they need to take day by day, therefore the Champion group must stall Mab and her Disciples for as long as they can. Meanwhile, the traitors from the Champion team, manage to escape Opal Inc with the help of one of the fairies serving Mab and get taken in by Oberon and the Champions. Everyone is having a hard time trusting them, but they eventually prove themselves. After the loss of her assets, Mab decides to start the finale of her plan. Using one of the changelings she brings a magical weapon of her own into existence and leads a full frontal assault with all of her Disciples in tow. Since the tool is still far from being charged yet, Oberon, the rebel fairies, the Champions and the other heroes have no choice but to fight and protect Sen City. And thus the final showdown begins!

To be continued...

[isagrimorie]

[initial reactions] Critical Role: Bells Hells episode 49

That was such a good episode, I know that the characters were stressed being on board the sky ship, eating up time as the Apogee Solstice creeps ever forward but it was such a great moment for the characters to unwind a bit and talk. I always love their planning stuff despite how many people gripe about it on the chat and reddit, I love their thought process and the way they try to mitigate the damage they do.

I already love Laudna but IMO she was in fine form this episode, finally cracking Ashton open and getting that long awaited talk out of the way. I can see why the dynamic of Keyleth and Percy work so well in C1 and I wish its something they can show more in the animated series. *crossing fingers for season 3 of TLOVM!

It does feel like its a dynamic Taliesin and Marisha want to recreate in a different flavor with Ashton and Laudna, and they're doing so successfully. I love how Ashton and Laudna talk, and call each other's bullshit out but this episode especially, Laudna is showing off the wisdom she learned in 30 hard earned years she's lived.

Orym's also successfully reaching out to people with Dorian and I love how we're getting hints of things in EXU Prime that in their end, things are also very dicey. Opal getting dark???

I am so into that and Fearne's immediate concern is apparent. But also, Marisha knowing the details of the EXU Prime plot is so juicy!

The gang accomplished so much recruiting Ira, finally telling some more people in authority or approximate authority about how dire the situations are. Telling Pike, even though she can't do things, maybe? Possibly? Apparently, things on Tal'dorei are also very dicey, so Whitestone might have its own problems with the Ziggurat.

I'm going to heap more praise towards Laudna because of the interrogative sort of femme fatale honey pot play she did with Ira, getting Ira to talk more about it, tagged teamed with Fearne at the end.

Speaking of, Fearne is very much still ambivalent towards her parents, sure she's nice to them but as she told Nana Morri, her parents feel more like strangers than people related to her.

Also, Thank Goodness, the team's finally equipped but I need Dani to remind the cast that they still have residuum and the bracers of defense!

I feel like there's gonna be some Mad Max shenanigans that's going to happen on the Apogee Solstice, and its going to be heart pounding and epic and so great.

FCG also learned some things about himself, about how he is not alone and Devaxian also stressed how from this point on he is gifted with a chance to own his own future. A future of his own making. (A theme that will be repeated a lot!).

And then there's that moment when Imogen meets with Liliana again and, and, and I am VINDICATED!!! LILIANA IS A TRUE BELIEVER. She might even be Ludinus's real right hand and not Otohan which would be DELICIOUS.

I love that Liliana tried to get Imogen on her side and Imogen genuinely considered it because the vision she painted was tempting, for someone like Imogen who was tormented by her powers that's a siren call.

But of course, Fearne and Orym was around in the dream and they played it as silent observers instead of actively interacting with the dream space like how the others did it. It does feel like Fearne and Orym are still at heart, a unit. In a similar but different way to Laudna and Imogen. I love the talk they had about Imogen, about the possibility of Imogen turning because of her mother. Orym and Fearne will do what's necessary to stop things from happening and it's really fascinating how that will go.

Laura's face was interesting the whole time too.

And then, and then just when the group thinks its hopeless they get a possible help and distraction of the big army with Keyleth coming in, sounding exhausted and heart sick but still willing to help to put Ashari volunteers to help. I hope the group remembers to warn Keyleth about the antimagic that's going to happen.

I feel like Keyleth and the Air Ashari can act as distraction while the Bells Hells, as a strike team can go and take down the Malleus Key. Everyone in the cast looked happy at this development, except for Marisha who looked worried and had her Thinking Face on.

Near the end, Imogen talks to Orym and asked how he can go on after everyone he lost and they have a heartfelt talk. Orym tells Imogen that he believes in her but Imogen is not convinced but doesn't try to read his mind to know if this is true. Instead, at long last, after many episodes.

Imogen goes back to the room she shares with Laudna and finally talks to her. Whatever impetus it was: her fear, uncertainty, or the realization that she shares some similarities with her father and that's the reluctance to talk.

Laudna asks if Imogen is okay, and automatically, Imogen answers she is. Laudna gently tells Imogen she didn't need to lie to Laudna about 'being fine'. And so Imogen opens the conversation with admitting that she's been afraid of really talking to Laudna after she was resurrected, that she had something to tell Laudna.

Laudna asks Imogen what it is she wanted to say but Imogen hesitates and then says something about her fear and god I love how Laudna approached her talk with Imogen. I love that Laudna went about it with understanding because, of course, who more than Laudna hasn't thought what would have happened if life had been different.

Laudna had thirty years to think similar thoughts, to wish a different life than the one she had. She candidly told Ashton she made Patê so she won't lose her mind wandering alone.

But through everything Laudna lived through she is very cognizant too the reason she met Imogen and the other Bells Hells was because of who she is and became. And I think Marisha has her answer to Aabria's question from the 4 Sided Dive a long time ago -- there is a part of her that is a little grateful for Delilah or whatever patron that made her a Hollow One, that she has this powers now and ability to be spooky. Things she enjoys.

It's a little messed up and complicated.

I also love that while Laudna didn't hear Imogen's promise about how Laudna will always have a choice, Laudna unknowingly echoed back Imogen's words. Imogen has a choice. She will always have a choice and having the ability to choose is a power all its own. Its not something gods can take away.

Honestly, I love how Laudna is talking to Imogen from a place of understanding and I think more than anything, this helped Imogen solidify her grasp of why they're fighting. It's not just because its wrong and kill other people. All morally right reasons why they need to stop Ludinus and his group.

It's because every individual deserves a right to choose. And that love also means loving every part of a person, especially the weird parts of them.

Imogen might have lost her nerve to tell Laudna she loved her, loved her, romantic stylez and Laudna might slowly be waking into the part of herself that can access it. But its plain as day they love each other and I'm okay to wait on how long and slow this will cook, but also saying things like:

"I feel so comfortable and bonded with you. We transcend words in our relationship.

"You'll always have me."

"I'll always be there to support you whatever choice you make.

"You're my tether."

"That tether goes beyond this realm and this life."

C'MON. Those words are my ship Kryptonite! If I hadn't already shipped them, this would have definitely tip the scales! And I feel very well fed tonight!

God I love them. I love the Bells Hells.

[zarvasace]

For the 3 sentence prompt how about fs vampire lords au and the word walk

Blue enjoys these nightly walks of his. The sky is barely an opal color, the sun half an hour or so away from peeking over the mountains, and the nocturnal half of the down is turning over to the diurnal half. The warm smell of bread and the lemony smell of pixie dust fills the air.

Blue's little half-trained militia force is just about competent enough for him to go to sleep sort of relaxed. He's proud of them. He prowls along the edge of the forest, watching one of his captains drill a couple new recruits of daywalkers in the ruined castle courtyard. They aren't awful.

No odd sounds stick out to Blue as he walks, which means that he's fairly confident that the castle is as safe as it can be. No more werewolves, no more raging drakes, no apathetic fey come to bargain for names. The rustle of the pine needles and shift of the grasses accompany the greetings of people in the town below and the murmurs of Blue's brothers in the castle.

Satisfied, and ignoring the primal urge to prowl deeper into the forest, Blue turns for the castle kitchen door and his bed.

[sincerely-sofie]

heres some food for thought! im not sure if youre aware of the future trio cameo in psmd (though apparently, dusknoir in particular is very mischaracterized in said cameo..)

BUT I WANTED TO ASK ANYWAY. for the rest of the cast, how would their psmd cameos look like? (And can they be recruited?!)

I haven't played PSMD (though it's on my list!) so I can't say things with too much confidence as I don't fully know how connections work compared to recruitment--- but if the rest of the cast were recruitable NPCs in the game, I think it would go something like this:

Twig is a shopkeeper in town that you can randomly encounter in dungeons while she's looking for items to sell at her shop--- she's recruitable as a traveling pokemon throughout all these encounters, but moves especially quickly and is difficult to catch up with.

Spindle will ask you to take him through a mystery dungeon, then steal all the Poké currently in your bag upon entering the mystery dungeon and turn into a fleeing pokemon--- if you catch him, he'll return the money he stole and ask to join your team.

Lucky requires you to find her mask that's been stolen and hidden inside a mystery dungeon by some bullies.

Sen is fainted at the basement floor of a mystery dungeon and requires you to rescue her in order to be recruited. Kip asks you to escort him through the mystery dungeon where Sen is found.

Ruby asks you to help her find her sister who's gone missing. The player finds Opal in a mystery dungeon filled with fighting-types where Opal is training. Opal apologizes to Ruby for making her worry by losing track of time, and then asks to join the player's team.

Gengar asks you to rescue a pokemon he doesn't refer to by name, and only tells you the mystery dungeon they're located in before insisting he come along with the player. Calypso is a fleeing pokemon you find in the dungeon Gengar indicates. The player gets the option to recruit one of them, but not both, as Calypso refuses to join you if you choose Gengar and won't allow him to join the team if she already has. If the player recruits Calypso, Gengar is able to be recruited after going through several mystery dungeons with Calypso on their team, therefore earning her trust, and then talking to him in town. If the player recruits Gengar, Calypso can be spotted as a fleeing pokemon throughout several mystery dungeons, but always evades the player. Eventually she appears as a fainted pokemon, and will join the team if Gengar is present when she's rescued.

Lyra can be recruited just by talking to her in town. She's one of the school children in Serene Village.

Ark is only recruitable after you've connected with Twig, Ruby, Opal, and Spindle. He'll appear in various mystery dungeons as a traveling pokemon, and upon being spoken to, he admits that he's been searching for the player in the hopes of joining their team, but he got horribly lost in the process.

A bonus non-TPiaG recruitment: Echo and Pinna are MISSINGNO-esque glitches that you can get on your team if you save scum a single dungeon using the Progress Device enough.

[alolanrain]

I need more of Kabu being a better dad to Ash than that deadbeat failure of a sperm donor (*cough*Giovanni*cough*).

their not related but Ash clings to Kabu more then any of the younger gym leaders do. it doesn't help that Centiskorch adores the kid almost more then Kabu who's raised it from a newly hatched Sizzlipede.

you can catch the pair hanging around Motostoke and the Galar News and Gossip rags go wild. because even though they aren't related they almost look identical standing side by side. they especially like to visit the food market that pops up every weekend during the more warmer months. you'll most likely see Kabu out and about shopping for weekly groceries while Ash is literally dancing in the background. Pikachu and a ridiculously big sizzlipede sharing space on his shoulders while Ash is double fisiting two very full kabobs. giving each Pokémon a bite from one of the kabobs before taking one himself from the other one.

it's an every weekend thing and it drags a lot of attention from around Galar since videos and pictures fly about and sometimes the other Gym leaders will show up as well. Raihan cooks a lot himself so he's always asking for tips and trick from Kabu to pick out the best produce and Gordie just likes to fuck around and not be near his mom so he's breaking it down in the background with Ash while holding his Shuckle and one of Raihan's Trapinch. Pier's is there in the background with his hoodie up, as much as it can be with all that fucking hair, and he usually has coffee in his hands. getting tugged around by Raihan when the group moves a few stalls down. just trying to survive off of the five minutes of sleep he's got collectively through the week.

Nessa joins when Milo comes along to bring hand cut meat to Kabu around twice a month and Ash is still dancing but he's recruited by Nessa to be her photographer because she always wear fire af fits when visiting anyone on her days off. she is a model after all. Milo just watches them in amusement with Kabu.

not to say he and Ash don't hang out. Kabu and a lot of the other gym leaders of Galar get a bunch of pictures of Ash challenging off the few Dubwool Milo's family keeps around on their farm. he always looses but his laughter as he's being bucked into the side of the barn or into a pile of hay is nothing but pure joy.

sometimes Kabu invites Ash to come with him too Ballonlea because that's where he gets all his mushrooms to cook with, Opal hooks him the fuck up with the best of the best, and Ash is still dancing in the back with Pokémon on his shoulder's but this time he's somehow dancing with Opal's Togekiss balanced perfectly on his head.

yes Ash twerks, he's good at it but uses the moves to dance to the wii themed music that constantly plays in his head, and the world can't really process him doing that with a 83.8 lbs or a 38.0 kgs Pokémon on his head while he does so.

Melony: come get your son, he's T posing Gordie into a corner and I can't take my sons screaming anymore

kabu: he's not my son *shows up anyways to collect Ash who's giggling like the little fucker that he is*

Kabu and Ash have the same disgusted/annoyed look on their face and the world only finds out about it because Rose and Oleana make themselves known during the pairs daily weekend shopping. Ash only starts dancing again when the two leave.

there's a lot of non fire type Pokémon that show up around the gym and it's just a universal fact that 90% of the time it's just Ash's Pokémon he caught in Galar so far. Kabu just takes after them because Professor Magnolia would kill both of them with her cane if her house was flooded with them because Ash doesn't and will never use storage boxes.

since Kabu is a middle aged man and his home turf is Hoenn he absolutely shows Ash some old ass anime he's watched as a kid/young adult and they make a night of it. Allister likes to join the pair and so Bea gets dragged along. they end up watching a lot of Studio Ghibli works later on in their get togethers.

Kabu can actually stay up surprisingly late without issue but he's a big bitch to deal with in the morning. he only grunts, huffs, and snarls like an grumpy Arcanine. Ash has somehow learned what each sound means and has successfully learned Angry Kabu Speak or that's what Gordie and Raihan call it.

Ash ends up staying at Kabu's actual home with the man as he takes on the Galar league, sponsored by Melony so there's no favoritism even though it's exceedingly obvious. it takes the old man three whole ass months before he realizes that Ash had taken over half his yard and somehow turned it into a blooming and fruitful garden.

there's a lot of Hoenn plants that are native but their mostly house plants. hanging from the ceiling in just the right spots to get enough light or taking over a few of the windowsills. a good quarter are in ports made from Hoenn, shipped with the plants which thank you Steven and Wallace, but the majority are handmade pots that Ash finds during his travels around Galar or from the weekend market.

Kabu totally gets a tiny crush on Delia from just the stories Ash tells him about his childhood in Pallet Town during dinner or when something makes a memory pop into Ash's mind. it doesn't help at all that Ash calls her over the Tv system at least twice a week, Wednesday night before dinner and Sunday morning before Ash is dragged into doing the weekly chores to spruce the house up for when Monday comes.

he would never say anything about it to Ash. Kabu would literally kill himself before speaking about having a crush of any size since Ash would go gossip with Nessa who's always around Milo at his farm after work, who'd then go tell Gordie and he'd go snitch to Raihan and Piers. in the end it would somehow work its way up to Rose and Oleana-

yeah, Kabu's lips are sealed shut.

that doesn't stop the blush that lightly colors his cheeks every time Ash pulls Kabu into frame to say hi to his very pretty and very sweet mom.

[warningsine]

A British toddler has had her hearing restored after becoming the first person in the world to take part in a pioneering gene therapy trial, in a development that doctors say marks a new era in treating deafness.

Opal Sandy was born unable to hear anything due to auditory neuropathy, a condition that disrupts nerve impulses travelling from the inner ear to the brain and can be caused by a faulty gene.

But after receiving an infusion containing a working copy of the gene during groundbreaking surgery that took just 16 minutes, the 18-month-old can hear almost perfectly and enjoys playing with toy drums.

Her parents were left “gobsmacked” when they realised she could hear for the first time after the treatment. “I couldn’t really believe it,” Opal’s mother, Jo Sandy, said. “It was … bonkers.”

The girl, from Oxfordshire, was treated at Addenbrooke’s hospital, part of Cambridge university hospitals NHS foundation trust, which is running the Chord trial. More deaf children from the UK, Spain and the US are being recruited to the trial and will all be followed up for five years.

Prof Manohar Bance, an ear surgeon at the trust and chief investigator for the trial, said the initial results were “better than I hoped or expected” and could cure patients with this type of deafness.

“We have results from [Opal] which are very spectacular – so close to normal hearing restoration. So we do hope it could be a potential cure.”

He added: “There’s been so much work, decades of work … to finally see something that actually worked in humans …. It was quite spectacular and a bit awe-inspiring really. It felt very special.”

Auditory neuropathy can be caused by a fault in the OTOF gene, which makes a protein called otoferlin. This enables cells in the ear to communicate with the hearing nerve. To overcome the fault, the new therapy from biotech firm Regeneron sends a working copy of the gene to the ear.

A second child has also recently received the gene therapy treatment at Cambridge university hospitals, with positive results.

The overall Chord trial consists of three parts, with three deaf children including Opal receiving a low dose of gene therapy in one ear only.

A different set of three children will get a high dose on one side. Then, if that is shown to be safe, more children will receive a dose in both ears at the same time. In total, 18 children worldwide will be recruited to the trial.

Opal is the first patient globally to receive the therapy and is “the youngest globally that’s been done to date as far as we know”, Bance said.

The gene therapy – DB-OTO – is specifically for children with OTOF mutations. A harmless virus is used to carry the working gene into the patient.

The trial is “just the beginning of gene therapies”, Bance said. “It marks a new era in the treatment for deafness.”

Martin McLean, a senior policy adviser at the National Deaf Children’s Society, said deafness should never be a barrier to happiness or fulfilment. “Many families will welcome these developments, and we look forward to learning about the long-term outcomes for the children treated.”

With Opal’s hearing restored, her parents now have a fresh problem to contend with: their daughter’s new favourite hobby is slamming cutlery on the table to make as much noise as possible.

[bonewaryreblogs]

Silver Boom

Feeling in a Sonic mood, let's see how long it lasts :p

So I've had my main hedgehogs done for a while, finally finished Tails, and I'm halfway done with Knuckles and don't feel motivated enough to finish him -.- but this is more or less what he'll look like

I have an older version of the 'hogs and a lot of info on Reddit

Anyways

Silver the Hedgehog is my favorite Sonic character and the initial idea for this was to add Silver to the Sonic Boom franchise, rewriting the mess that was Rise of Lyric. Then I could add him into the show's timeline and fix some things that bugged me there. Like Sticks' whole existence.

But we'll get to that!

I realized at some point that I can basically do whatever I want with this universe, so I decided to utilize elements of most of the Sonic games/media I was familiar with, researching what I was less familiar with, and throwing it all together to create a mostly coherent story. I'll try to use (or at least touch on) as much as I can but forgive me if I leave out your favorite thing. If I do, please tell me about it! I can always be persuaded to add more and this universe is hardly set in stone :p

Basic History of Mobius

While the planet mobius was mostly formed like any other, its molten core contained magic mixed with magma. From the tumult, some of the magic magma crystalized and found its way to the surface, forming eight crystals directly linked to the eight quadrants of the spherical molten magic core. Lesser crystals filled with magic power grew in caves near the magic magma but their powers were finite while the connected eight, eventually called Chaos Crystals, were seemingly limitless as they drew from the core directly.

The Ancients, as they would come to be known, used the “clean” energy of the Chaos Crystals to fuel their hi-tech society but removing the Crystals from their proper places and using their energy with such reckless abandon unbalanced the planet’s magic and the society crumbled under its own weight. Many of the Chaos Crystals were taken and jealously guarded by what would become a magic fueled ruling class, generally influenced by the crystals’ instinctual will to return to their rightful places in the world.

Such was the fate of the Sun Stone of Soleanna, Spagonia; The Radiant Opal in the Kingdom of Acorn, Northammer; the Sky Garnet of the Babylonian Gardens, Shamar, until its cataclysmic demise and subsequent withdrawal into a desert storm; the Verdant Emerald of Angel Island, guarded by the near extinct Knuckles Clan of echidnas; and, in a way, the Twilight Amethyst of the Moonlit Mountains, Holoska, whose protectors are “recruited” from across the globe for their powerful potential. Of the remaining Chaos Crystals, the Shock Zircon powers a prison holding a mage and mechanist from the Ancient War; the Tidal Sapphire is protected by a powerful water elemental in the depths of the sea; and the Flame Ruby is sealed and resealed within a host, the latest of which is the heir to Soleanna’s throne. Having two Chaos Crystals in such close proximity to each other, and Angel Island traveling overhead, unbalanced the magic enough for Lyric to escape his prison and begin to plan his takeover.

~

In more recent history, humans arrived in the Space Colony Arc about 150 years ago, enough time for the first generation (Gerald Robotnik) to have died off, the second generation (Professor Pickle) to be old and retired, the third generation (Ivo Robotnik/"Eggman") to have been at least raised on the planet if not born there, and the fourth generation (Chris Thorndyke) to be in school, having known nothing else.

Mobius was in a medieval type of era when they arrived and relied heavily on a magic-wielding ruling class with various magic artifacts. The humans, only about a thousand strong when they arrived, bribed their way to peace by selling their tech and knowledge, allowing the average citizen to be able to stand toe-to-toe with magic-wielders. This lead to rapid advances and an odd mix of extremely advanced technology right next to medieval magic, as well as a combined magi-tech emerging in prominence, as they begin to understand the mechanisms behind their magic.

The Arc is in approximate geosynchronous orbit over Spagonia and is considered the capital “city” for humans, though they’ve been allowed to make several colonies on the planet itself. Eggman is essentially kicked out of the human civilization for being too reckless and unpredictable to fit into the box most humans set up for themselves. He’s mostly harmless, unable to take over a single island due to Sonic and friends stopping him.

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Our story begins as Silver wakes up from another nightmare, the same one he always has; the blue hedgehog, surrounded by flame and rubble, turning to look at Silver with a cocky smile. The details would change, of course, but the hedgehog and the dread was always the same. Silver goes about his day (possibly several days, depending) before Mephiles contacts Silver to come see him. Mephiles is the personification of the Twilight Amethyst and leader of the Twilight Clan; he knows of Silver’s constant nightmares and wants to hear about this latest one. Eventually the discussion turns to Silver’s increasing desire to leave, find the blue Hedgehog, and prevent the destruction he always sees in his dreams. Mephiles eventually relents; Silver is banished from the Clan, as is their custom with anyone who leaves, but he does so with Mephiles’ blessing.

Led by instinct, Silver finds himself at Bygone Isle and immediately recognizes Sonic from his dreams. Having heard horror stories about outsiders all his life, Silver decides to hide and observe for now; it’s against his nature to hurt the innocent but he isn’t sure Sonic is innocent of the impending doom. Some stories were confirmed to be true, like everyone living separately, but some seemed to be false, like nobody helping each other. Of course, it doesn’t take long for Silver to be found out; he was well trained but still young and inexperienced. In a panic, Silver spouts off about the inevitable doom of the planet and Sonic’s connection to it, leading to misunderstandings and general caution between them. Silver still watches but doesn’t bother hiding as much.

Thus begins the main storyline of Rise of Lyric. Race around the globe with Sonic and friends to see who can get to the Chaos Crystals first; can our heroes keep them long enough to keep the world from falling apart?