#daemon pov

[flowerandblood]

The Fall from the Heavens (13)

[ dark • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]

[ warnings: angst, arranged engagement, violence, swearing, trauma, regret, depression, mention of a suicide attempt ]

[ description: A cool distance turns into friendship and more when two children see that they can find refuge and understanding in each other. However, naïve dreams collide with the reality in which every event has consequences and what once could have been love becomes a dark, newly painful obsession. Angst, sexual tension, obsession, violence, madness, very dark Aemond. ]

The story in this series is an alternate reality from the oneshot Stay and love, leave and die, in which Aemond reads the letters his niece has sent to him over the years. They are the same characters and it shows what would have happened between them − I have changed the background story from their childhood slightly for the sake of the plot.

Characters & Series Moodboard

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

Daemon understood better than anyone what it meant to be the second son, the one who would inherit nothing. It seemed to him that, in contrast to Viserys, he was a blazing fire like a true dragon, giving warmth, light and shelter to those close to his heart, burning those whom he saw as his enemies.

Viserys was always blind, soft-spoken, lacking strong character and clear opposition when things got too far out of hand.

This trait of his had been carefully exploited by Otto Hightower over the years, putting himself in the role of his friend and adviser, playing his part with an extraordinary devotion from which he felt like throwing up.

He knew it was pure courtesy, perfectly calculated, taking advantage of the mourning of the entire Red Keep and his inattention after Aemma's tragic death he slipped his brother his daughter under his nose.

Looking at her on their wedding day, standing in a long, ornate gown he thought she looked like a child on whom someone had put layers of cloth and precious stones; overwhelmed by it all she looked down at her feet, around her nails the red wounds he had seen on her hands ever since.

On that one day, knowing what was awaiting her, he truly felt compassion for her.

After that, however, he stopped.

She could have built her independence, committed herself to the needs of the kingdom, she, however, in the company of that cunt, Criston Cole, gave herself over to prayer and mortification, obediently following her father's orders.

As a woman, she was in his eyes pitiful, weepy, whiny, merely pretending to be saintly and virtuous, having in fact nothing to do with these qualities.

His feelings about her and her father moved involuntarily to her children.

He recognised the dragon's blood in them and treated them differently from the Hightowers, yet he was unable or unwilling to bond with them, seeing how they were suckled to their mother's breasts, which did not allow them to think or breathe on their own.

He watched from the sidelines, observing from afar as Rhaenyra and Alicent's children trained together, how a divide formed between them. He knew that once they grew up and understood what was really at stake, they would throw themselves at each other's throats.

He knew perfectly well whose right to the throne he would support.

Aegon was a drunkard and a cunt, Helaena was quiet and withdrawn, Aemond was sullen and vindictive − he thought with amusement that each of them had inherited the worst from his brother and their mother.

However, he couldn't help but show at least a little compassion and understanding for his brother's second son, who had been punished by the gods, left without a dragon of his own.

Some part of him wanted to speak to him, to get to know him, to see through him as a kind of reflection of himself, but on those rare occasions when he was with Leana and his daughters in the Red Keep he never made such a gesture, which he later, though he did not want to admit it to himself, regretted.

Perhaps things would have turned out differently then.

He could see with what admiration he looked at him, how much he longed to hear at least one word of appreciation from him, any gesture of interest.

He knew that if he could decide who his father-figure would be he would choose not Viserys or Cole but him, and he pretended not to notice that.

Once though, he noticed something that surprised him; strolling through the cloisters of the Red Keep he spotted his nephew and Rhaenyra's only daughter standing side by side in the square, leaning over the table filled with the various weapons. He smirked under his breath as he walked closer, wanting to listen to their conversation.

They were betrothed.

A clumsy attempt by his brother to avoid what he felt in his bones had to happen.

He saw his niece point her finger at one of the weapons lying on the wooden tabletop, a steel black spiked ball hooked on a chain to a special handle.

"What is it? It looks scary." She said with amusement, her voice light and pleasant; he thought with surprise that his nephew's grim and stormy nature did not deter her.

Alicent's son grunted loudly, lifting his chin slightly in a gesture of superiority and intelligence that he hated so much about the Hightowers, clearly proud to be able to speak on a subject in which his knowledge was extensive.

"It's a flail. A very heavy weapon requiring great strength and agility in its use. It literally crushes the opponent." He said, forcing himself into a low, mature, masculine voice, standing with his hands clasped behind his back, his hair in a slight disarray from the few duels he had already had.

"That weapon looks like the kind you die from in agony." Mumbled his niece, tentatively touching her fingertip to one of the spikes – her uncle pushed her away immediately, surprised by her gesture, grabbing her hand by the wrist.

"Are you insane? What are you doing? It's sharp after all, you could have hurt yourself." He said angrily, but she only blinked, surprised by his outburst, and smiled indulgently, showing him her finger.

"I know, silly. I wouldn't want something like that to hit me in the face." She sneered, raising her eyebrows in amusement, joy in her gaze and embarrassment at the fact that he still hadn't let her go.

She took a step closer to him, but he stepped back quickly and lowered his gaze, he noticed in disbelief that his pale cheeks had turned scarlet.

"Not here. Later." He muttered letting go of her wrist immediately. He heard her quiet sigh of disappointment as she nodded and walked away without another word.

He watched as, a moment later, his nephew cursed under his breath, pulling off his leather gloves and moved after her, grabbing her at one of the side entrances by her arm. She turned to him with a smile as if she was sure he would follow her, her lips placing a quick, brief kiss on his cheek.

He let her go, embarrassed and blushing, looking sideways, muttered something, and she nodded and disappeared behind the walls. His nephew returned to the square as if nothing had happened, a lazy, barely visible smile on his face; Aegon looked at him from afar with a look full of pity, as soon as his younger brother came closer he said loud and clear:

"What a twat you are."

He snarled under his breath as he heard Criston Cole immediately respond to his remark by saying that it was inappropriate for a prince to use such vocabulary, his younger brother only gave him a grim look indicating that he himself was torn internally, ashamed of his weakness.

He thought then, moving ahead, amused, that his brother had inadvertently contributed to something that was certainly not his original plan.

These kids really wanted it.

He felt shame because, looking at them, he wondered how he really felt about his wife. He recognised that she was his companion and lover, whom he respected and cherished, but she was not his friend, he could not allow her into the depths of his heart.

Only when he saw Rheanyra did he feel something more; he had the feeling that the air around them quivered when they spoke, he sensed that she understood perfectly the source and reason of his impulsive nature.

Despite this, he found his life peaceful and prosperous, and the death of his wife in childbirth was something shocking and painful to him. He covered his grief with laughter, the thought that he had wasted years of her life, a wonderful, beautiful woman who deserved someone to love her with all her being, giving her something more than a substitute of affection.

Then, however, his nephew lost an eye and everything fell apart like a house of cards, showing how weak their family actually was.

The events that followed wove together in his mind, the closeness of Rhaenyra and their later nuptials brought him a sense of relief, as if two parts that belonged together had been joined.

He watched her daughter from afar, the sadness and grief painted on her after all still so young and innocent face made her seem to him pale and lifeless, at once beautiful, cool and inaccessible, walking around Dragonstone like a ghost, not speaking to anyone despite how much his daughters tried to get close to her.

She was warm, helpful and welcoming when anyone approached her, but did not raise any discussions herself, eating and drinking little at suppers, immersed in her thoughts.

He knew that she was with them only in body.

He decided not to make the same mistake as with his nephew and offer her his interest, his support in the ironic and mischievous form peculiar to him, the only way in which he could show his affection to anyone.

What surprised him was how much she clung to him, how often she cried during their walks together; despite her innate vulnerability she had a strength of character that he appreciated – she was inclined to rash actions or anger, but she was also not docile or naive, she tried to find order in the chaos that surrounded her.

Only he and his niece had been invited to Aegon's nuptials to Helaena; Alicent had expressed in her letter her concern that the meeting of their children might affect them badly and reawaken old wounds, which his wife took as a reasonable argument, and indeed, albeit reluctantly, it was only the two of them who travelled to the Red Keep.

The whole ceremony in the Great Sept dragged on endlessly for him; he looked around, bored, unwilling to stare at the horrified, sad faces of his nephew and niece, testament to the fact that neither of them wanted this marriage.

The wedding supper held in the fortress was lavish with dancing and music, lords from all over the kingdom descended and gathered in the throne room at large, long oak tables filled to the brim with food. Sitting down in his seat next to his wife, he glanced sideways and noticed a figure looking at him intensely, the One-Eyed Prince staring at him coolly, his lips pressed into a thin line.

He raised his eyebrows in disbelief and admiration, finding that he looked like a man, well-built and muscular, tall, his hair much longer, a black eye patch covering the left side of his face.

He grinned with amusement and mockery, wondering to what he owed his attention, and his nephew only hummed under his breath, looking away, apparently discouraged by his reaction.

He wondered, looking at him, taking a sip of wine from his goblet, if he had shown him fatherly concern then, taken him under his wing, separated him from Alicent and Otto, he would be a different man now.

Several toasts were made to the bride and groom, during each of which Aegon drank his cup to the bottom, clearly intent on fulfilling his marital duty completely drunk.

"Stop it. You've had enough." Growled his younger brother, taking his goblet from him with an aggressive flick of his hand, setting it impatiently far from his older brother's reach.

Aegon slapped him angrily on the shoulder, mumbling something under his breath; his younger brother stood up, towering over him, showing him wordlessly that if he touched him again he would regret it.

"Aemond." Said their mother, this green whore, who was looking at them in pain, her hands folded in front of her as if to pray.

His nephew rolled his eyes and left the hall by a side entrance, furious, unwilling and unable to look at it apparently; Aegon with a wide grin reached for his cup again and to his despair took the empty seat next to him that had been occupied earlier by his wife, now conversing with the King.

"Uncle! So many years." He mumbled, tapping him on the back in a friendly, masculine greeting. He rolled his eyes, amused, smelling the stench of alcohol and sweat from him.

"As you can see, everything stays in the family. I don't know how I'm going to survive this. After all, she'll surely cry. Fuck." He muttered, taking a deep, catchy sip from his cup, tilting it so that he drank it all at once.

He ran his tongue over his lower lip, feeling discomfort at the thought that he felt compassion for Helaena for what was about to happen to her.

"She doesn't seem to fully understand what I will have to do to her. After all, she's my sister. I don't want to hurt her. She's odd and I don't understand her, but I don't want her to fucking cry." He mumbled out covering his face with his hand, his voice breaking with his every word – he drew in air loudly as if he was out of breath, and he looked at him not knowing what to do.

He glanced at her sad, petite figure; she sat gazing off into the distance somewhere, dreamy.

He wondered as he watched her if she realised what awaited her.

What was he supposed to answer him?

"Be gentle and kind. Make her feel as little pain as possible. You know very well that how it will look lies in your hands. If you want her to suffer as little as possible, stop drinking because it will take you a fucking hour." He growled, taking the cup from his hand just as his younger brother had earlier, and wondered if that was what he meant then, if he knew his condition would only worsen whatever was to await them next.

"You pity yourself and you smell of alcohol and sweat. Go take a bath or do you want to lay on her like that? Give her some dignity for goodness sake." He said coolly, looking ahead indifferently; his nephew swallowed loudly, sitting beside him like a little rebuked child, playing with his fingers.

He wondered, looking at him out of the corner of his eye if his brother had ever spoken to him about it, if he had prepared him and explained to him how he should behave.

"All my life I've envied him. My brother. He had someone of his own who cared about him. I think he really loved her, uncle. Now I barely recognise anyone myself. I'm not sure any of us are the same person anymore. Only Helaena has remained the same − innocent and ignorant. That's because she doesn't step outside her mind. If she did, she would have gone mad like we did."

It turned out that he was partly right.

What he didn't expect was that when they arrived all together as a family after several years in King's Landing to defend Luke's rights to inherit the Driftmark these two would be lying in bed with each other on their very first night.

"If you tell me you still want to marry him, I will help you. I'd rather you be his wife than lead you and him into a scandal that could destroy your mother. Your betrothal has never been called off, the king will easily prove that no other plans for you can be in force against his decision. But if you decide not to, I will personally see to it that you never see him again and that no letter of yours leaves Dragonstone. Make a manly, mature decision with all its consequences, and stop wallowing over yourself."

He told her then, wanting her to understand that they could not stand in the middle, that they had to choose, or their decisions would drag them all down.

Watching them in the throne room audience, however, the greedy, desperate gaze of his nephew fixed on her as if he wanted to devour her gave him no illusions.

What this boy was telling himself was one thing, but what he was feeling was another.

It was this thought that made him decide to question Alicent's decision in front of everyone, wanting to hear his brother's opinion on the matter, the only one that really counted. He had expected nothing but objections from both sides, however, against the desperate attempts of their mothers, his nephew and his niece's daughter made a decision that did not surprise him at all.

It was enough for her to get up from her seat and walk out to make him press his lips together in rage and follow her out, exactly as he had done then, in the courtyard, when he had thrown himself after her, and she knew perfectly well that he would do so, knowing his nature.

He wondered if she had kissed him this time too, if the tension between them had eased.

He thought that this marriage might actually calm the emotions a little, especially as his brother was over his deathbed.

This union was forcing both parties to be cautious, which could be mutually beneficial.

"She has decided that she wants to stay in the Red Keep until I return." His wife said to him, putting her black leather gloves on her hands, walking beside him towards the dragon's lair. He stopped, looking at her in disbelief, furious.

This was not the plan.

"What?" He growled, looking at her as if she had completely lost her mind. "You're leaving my daughter in the care of that whore and her father-traitor?"

He saw that she smiled at his words emphasising that in his eyes she was his child, that he had taken responsibility for her and protected her as any true father should.

"She asked me to do this. I imagine they both want to clarify a lot of things with each other. Since the nuptials are to take place as soon as possible there is no need to fret, I will personally take her back in a few days." She replied calmly, and he let out a loud breath, impatiently licking his lips.

It was a bad idea, he could feel it in his bones, but he didn't protest and that was his mistake.

The next day he lost two of his daughters.

Rhaenyra, his brother's heir to the throne fell with a groan when envoys reported to her that her father was dead, that her brother had been crowned king, that they had imprisoned their daughter.

She cried out loudly in pain, clutching at her womb; at first he thought it was despair, but then he saw the pool of blood beneath her feet, her terrified gaze, her lips parted in agony.

They both knew it was too soon.

Their daughter already looked like a tiny infant, but sadly her fate was sealed; she wasn't moving or breathing, she was cold, looking more like a doll than a human being.

He felt that he had to leave the fortress; he followed exactly where he always went out with her, with one of his daughters, to the sea itself, and he fell to his knees, breathing heavily, not knowing what he was supposed to do with the rage and chaos that overtook his mind.

He wanted to mount Caraxes and burn them all.

However, his cousin and daughters had cooled his ardour, recognising that they needed to prepare, gather an army, make a plan of action.

He recognised that it was only female sentiment, a weakness that kept them from making the risky decision that his whole life consisted of.

When his wife finally recovered from her brief mourning, despite his entreaties, she did not listen to him and decided to send her sons as her representatives, wanting to extract the pledge of allegiance from those who had paid her tribute many years ago.

He had thought it nonsensical, however, when Luke returned from Storm's End it turned out that his step son had been a naive idiot.

"You flew after him? You flew after him knowing he could imprison you, use you as your mother's weakness? Fucking fool." He growled, turning away from the table with fury, massaging his face with his palm, not believing he could have done such a thing.

"Daemon." Said Rhaenyra in a voice trembling with despair; she looked at her son, trying to calm herself. "What happened next?"

"He brought her. Someone hit her, mother, and I think she tried to take her own life. There were cut marks on her wrists." He muttered, forcing himself into a calm tone of voice.

He turned towards him, looking at him with his heart beating fast.

She had done this for them, so they could attack the Red Keep without fear.

She wanted to make a manly decision, to sacrifice herself, his brave daughter, his little dragon.

"Gods." Said his wife, clutching at her womb, apparently involuntarily recalling the moments when she had carried her under her heart, the maternal tears of pain in her eyes.

"And then?" He finished for her, seeing that she didn't have the strength to get anything else out, Luke swallowed hard, afraid to look at him.

"I told her to run away with me, but she didn't agree. She told me to tell you that she loves you and that she remains faithful to you, mother." Said with difficulty, Jace slammed his fist on the table, furious.

"That fucking bastard purposely made her stay. He planned this, he never had any intention of marrying her!" He said red with anger and he glanced at him indifferently, sighing heavily.

"And then what? He let you just walk away? No one else saw you?" He asked further, pretending not to have heard his outburst; Jace pressed his lips together, furious. Luke shook his head quickly.

"N-no, I was surprised, but no. Forgive me, I had to see her, make sure that she is still alive." He muttered, and he sighed heavily, placing both of his hands on the table, leaning over it, and closed his eyes, trying to focus.

He let her see him without any other witnesses and then let him go even though he hated him, even though he could have trapped and humiliated him.

Why?

A memory flashed through his mind, the way his nephew cursed as he fought with himself to finally run after her, her smile full of reassurance as she turned to him knowing he would follow her, his blush of embarrassment and lazy smile as her lips placed a soft, warm kiss on his cheek, her proof of her devotion and affection that he craved so much.

He had never stopped loving her.

This stone-cold, dangerous man had done something for her, surely after she had tried to take her own life.

"Bring me a parchment and a quill. I need to speak with my nephew."

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

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[atopvisenyashill]

IN THIS LIGHT SHE COULD ALMOST BE A BEAUTY IN THIS LIGHT SHE COULD ALMOST BE A KNIGHT.

“in this light” that they’re both in, to be clear - twin flames fighting in the darkness. fighting against the darkness. brienne looking at the ghosts that haunt jaime, from the very real physical threats of the war he helped start to the metaphorical wounds of knighthood, chivalry, and oath-keeping , from the betrayal of realizing your father is not the man you wanted him to be, from his own stupidity, and saying “this is nothing. i can fight them all.” to help him remember the ideals of his youth, to BE the ideal of his youth; an oathbreaker to save the lives of innocent children but it won’t break her soul the way it broke his!! she’s got a beauty that goes deeper than his, and the soul of a knight much more unshakable as well. he dreams of her fighting with him, beside him, saving him, facing down the wrathful dead, and watching as he fails, but knowing she is there and she will do what he cannot!

HE DREAMT IT. HE DREAMT OF HER.

[visenyaism]

actually in pitting all of her cop boyfriends against each other rhaenyra is doing the invaluable praxis of preventing police unions from successfully forming in westeros and is thus the most progressive figure in the dance of the dragons

[sleeplessdreamer123]

Fanfic Idea (Lucemond, Aemond=Daemon in all the things that mattered)

It just crossed my mind, but what if Viserys decided to name Aemond, Aemond, because he wanted him to be like Daemon, but not have to deal with Alicent's obvious rejection to the idea, and wanted to keep the peace?

I think a part of him knows about Daemon's loyalty to him, no matter what stupid thing they've done over the years, and that Daemon would always prioritize family. Maybe he wanted Aemond to be the same. To be a (in a way) better version of Daemon.

In a way, it does sort of line up. Aemond is loyal to his family (specifically, the one bearing green), he is smart, training to be a capable fighter, and is ambitious, but not enough to betray the family. The only thing they did not have in common was their reputation. While Daemon was hailed "Lord of Fleabottom", Aemond had a clean slate, one that has yet to be dirtied.

Viserys didn't realize he would be so like Daemon, that he too would look at his nephew the way Daemon looked at his niece.

Viserys could see the cogs turning when he saw Daemon looking at Aemond looking at Lucerys. He could see the dawning horror setting on his face as Aemond continued to stare at Lucerys, not bothering to be subtle at all. Viserys could see Daemon tightening his grip on Dark Sister, and if he wasn't so full of the milk of the poppy, he would have laughed at Daemon's obvious signs of distress.

See how my son takes revenge for me. Now witness what I had to witness, all those years ago. Relive those moments in the eyes of a father protecting his child from a no good scoundrel!

In his heart, he laughed like a maniac.

[rhaeisthequeen]

What would it take for people to understand that their personal povs do not matter in canon? Seriously! There's no evidence...None! That would make anyone read f&b and think Daemon hated his stepsons or that he was a "supremacist".

[feyhunter78]

The Innocent's Folly pt. 5

Description: Daemon brings Aemond a gift, and you find familiar comfort in Jacaerys

Previous chapter, Next chapter

It’s been three agonizing days and three sleepless nights since you were stolen from him by Rhaenyra’s eldest annoyance. He’s awoken from his sleep, the morning sun breaking, to yet another day where he is alone. Your warmth is no longer there, your body no longer pressed against his, even your scent seems to be rapidly disappearing from the sheets at a rate Aemond knows is not possible.

That strange call that could only belong to his uncle’s dragon pierces the air, and he’s soon rushed into the great hall, his father beaming at Daemon’s return.

Daemon turned on his heel when Aemond entered, a machiavellian smile on his face. “Ah, my dear nephew, just the boy I wished to see.”

His mother is trying her best to hide her uneasiness, and his grandsire is barely restraining his anger.

“Uncle, it is an honor.” He said, noting the dark canvas sack Daemon held in one hand.

“I have recently been by to visit my niece at Dragonstone and found your wife once more in her company.” He tilted his chin up, a gleeful light in his eyes. “It reminded me that I had forgotten to give you a wedding gift.”

“That is not necessary, Uncle, your presence was a gift itself.” Aemond said calmly, he admired the ruthless man before him, but he did not trust him.

Daemon shook his head. “No, in my short visit I had grown fond of your little wife. Such a chatty thing, is she not?” There was a cutting undertone to his words that no one but Aemond’s father missed. “So, I thought I would welcome her to the family and gift you both this.”

He dumped the contents of the sack at Aemond’s feet.

Out rolled a head of dark hair, piercing green eyes, now dead and dull, stared up at him.

Aemond swallowed hard, and he heard his mother gasp, the sound of Sir Criston’s armor clanking as he rushed to her aid. “My wife asked for Alys’ death?”

Daemon chuckled. “Gods, no, the sight was quite frightening to her, drove her right into the arms of her sweet Jacaerys, as she’s taken to calling him.” He dropped the sack on the ground as well. “Though she did not ask for it, I knew it needed to be done. Witches are a plague.”

Aemond sat in his chambers, staring blankly into the fire. He felt nothing when he looked upon Alys’ severed head, truthfully, he had felt nothing but lust when he looked at her whole. It was the reason he procured whores instead of flying to the Riverlands to meet her.

It was a hassle to fly out there, he told himself. Not wanting to believe that he wished to stay in y/n’s embrace instead, that he wished to hear the details of her day instead of scheme with Alys.

That usurper Jacaerys claimed he was duty bound to take y/n away, that it was the honorable thing to do. He knew the Strong boy had always had his eye on y/n, but he never thought she would go willingly. She couldn’t have, he decided.

His heart was an open wound, painful, and bleeding. He would not be able to stanch the flow if he allowed himself to accept that y/n had gone willingly. That she had left him and taken his son with her.

 He was unsure of why the thought stung so deeply, and refused to believe that it had anything to do with the fact that no matter how hard he tried, it was her face he saw when he finished. Her voice he wished to hear, her skin he wished was beneath his fingers.

His mother’s entrance into his chambers knocked him from his reminiscing.

“Aemond I—” She cut herself off, shaking her head. “The blood has been cleaned, the head removed, we must deal with this situation before it spirals further out of our control.”

“What would you have me do?” Aemond asked, trying to smother his pain with the cold comfort of duty.

“Nothing right at this moment. I will need to confer with your grandsire, and perhaps your father.” She pursed her lips, then spoke again. “I hoped that perhaps you were happy, that you wanted y/n and the child, your child, she is carrying, but I see I was wrong to hope.”

He wished to rip out the bleeding, beating thing in his chest, to stop the ache from further spreading. She wasn’t wrong, he was just a fool.

“I have done what was asked of me.” He said, diving further into duty, into that place of black and white, where his emotions held no sway over his mind.

His mother moved closer to him, her hand cupping his cheek. “I am sorry, Aemond. You never should have been put in this position.” Her hand dropped and she turned to leave. “But you are a man. One who claims to have honor, and yet you have dishonored your wife, and your family. Think on that as you picture what joys and pleasures Rhaenyra’s family will be plying y/n with to get her to stay.”

Aemond stared at his mother’s back, images of his sweet wife writhing underneath Jacaerys making his stomach lurch.

You’d first taken to following your lady around as you once did, happy to be back in her service, but after Prince Daemon had presented you with the dead body of Alys, you found yourself clinging to Jacaerys.

When her head was thrown at your feet, you screamed, stomach lurching, as you scrambled to get away from the bloodied corpse.

Jacaerys had come to your rescue, taking you into his arms, tucking your face into his neck as he berated his uncle for scaring you so. He smelled of evergreens and dragon, a scent so uniquely him and as comforting as it had been when you were younger. His arms were strong, his skin warm, and his hand rubbed your back soothingly as you waited for Daemon to take his prize away.

“All is well, dear heart, soon it will be gone.” He whispered, your heart fluttering at the use of his childhood nickname for you.

You stayed in his arms, holding him tightly, until a loud cough separated you and Lord Harwin shot Jacaerys a look.

Jacaerys escorted you back to your temporary quarters, lingering in the doorway until you invited him in. It was nice, talking with him again, you’d been so lonely, and now you were in a castle full of the people you loved. Not all the people you loved, though.

You still found yourself thinking of Aemond, reaching for him when you awoke. Then you remembered the dagger to your heart that was the day you left. The way he so carelessly discarded you and left you to go bed a whore, calling her by the name of another woman.

How far removed in his heart were you?

“They were using you, dear y/n, it is clear to me now.” Rhaenyra said, after another round of you telling her of your life in the Keep.

“Aemond’s cruelty knows no end.” Jacaerys seethed, taking your hand in his when you began to cry.

“Princess, please forgive me, I meant no harm, I thought Queen Alicent was longing to reconnect with you.” You said, eyes shining with tears as you looked at her.

She leaned forward and squeezed your shoulder. “Do not fret, y/n, I know you would never betray me.”

“No, never.” You repeated, shaking your head ardently.

Jacaerys and Rhaenyra looked at each other, exchanging words through glances.

“If I have any information about the queen’s movements that would aid you, I would be more than happy to divulge it to you.” You added, feeling a flame of anger spark within you as you realized how Aemond had played you for a fool.

Rhaenyra smiled gently. “Thank you, y/n, but now I think it would be best for you to rest. This has been a trying time for you.”

She dismissed you and Jacaerys.

As you walked side by side, Jacaerys spoke up, a hesitance in his tone. “There was a time I believed I might have been able to marry you.”

Your head whipped in his direction. “My Prince?”

His face was tinted a light pink, his brown locks falling in front of his face as he bent his head. “It was a childhood desire, but being back in your presence seems to have rekindled my affections.”

You placed a hand on his bicep, stopping him gently. “Jacaerys, I am still married to Aemond, and carrying his child…”

He held your hand, his free hand coming to support your opposite arm, warm hand cradling your elbow. “I am not unaware of your circumstances, but y/n I do not care. I cannot stand by and watch as he squanders the opportunity I would kill to have.”

Your heart stumbled in your chest, your eyes searching his face. “I do not understand, why did you not protest the betrothal then?”

“You seemed happy, and mother has plans to betroth me to a Lannister.” His thumbs caressed your skin, his voice soft. “I did not want to pull you from your happiness if I could not guarantee you a place at my side.”

Tears welled in your eyes once more, and Jacaerys cupped your face. “My dear heart, please, do not cry. I will cease my words, I never meant to hurt you.”

You let out a shaky breath, tears slipping down your cheeks and wetting his hands. “You make it sound so easy to love me.”

“It is, y/n, it is as easy as breathing.” He said earnestly, warm umber eyes trapping your gaze.

“Then why did he want others, why does he not love me?” You whispered, voice breaking as you finally spoke aloud the questions that had been plaguing your dreaming and waking mind.

His face fell, and he shushed you gently, pulling you into his embrace as you sobbed into his tunic.

Tag list: @nyctophilic0vitnir, @svtansdaddyx, @fan-goddess, @dc-marvel-girl96, @shintax-error, @bellameshipper, @the141bandicoot, @the-phantom-of-arda, @haydee5010, @partypoison00, @serrhaewin, @issshhhaa, @pax-2735, @malfoytargaryen, @sahanna, @dellalyra, @mxrgodsstuff, @jkhomes, @unusual-raccoon, @boofy1998, @kravitzwhore, @caribbeangel, @krispold, @issshhhaa, @afro-hispwriter, @ryswritingrecord, @prettykinkysoul, @elissanatok, @sahvlren, @its-sam-allgood, @happinessinthbeing, @8e-h-e8, @feyres-fireheart

[bbygirl-aemond]

i'm so sorry i am so down bad and my mind is absolutely in the gutter

[greenmeanqueen]

Daemon "love" is just like cersei's

https://www.reddit.com/r/HouseOfTheDragon/s/QfX1MKIgKi

What is your opinion on this post? Do you agree or disagree?

thank you for your ask, anon! this was a really interesting analysis to read! i can get behind OP's perspective on daemon's character, but besides the one statement, i'd like to see them explain just how cersei and daemon's "love" is similar.

but in my opinion, is daemon's "love" like cersei's? i think they come from wildly different circumstances that effect how they interact with the world (i.e. daemon's from the house that currently sits the throne, a dynasty of conquerors, rides a dragon, and was born male; cersei, born female, has no magic and comes from a wealthy and influential house, but could only get closer to the seat of ultimate power via marriage, and even then her sex still limits her). i think any comparisons between their relationships would stop at the superficial, as when we get to the nitty gritty, their worlds are just not the same and that carries over into their characters. i think it's fair to say that based upon what we know about westerosi society and the societal self-deification of the targaryens, daemon was awarded a lot more privilege than cersei, and that's not nothing for who they became as people.

[anothersarcasticdolphin]

Fic idea:

Something from Alicent's POV.

An au where Laena is alive and Daemon is the father of all of Rhaenyra's children but she is still married to Laenor. Basically all four of them are living on Dragonstone together.

It would probably be a one-shot, just a recounting of a family dinner of some sort to mark Viserys' nameday, maybe.

But basically the entire fic would be Alicent wondering how everyone else is so blind to the fact that Daemon is obviously the father of all the children present. And maybe a scene after dinner where she and Criston talk about it.

[sabraeal]

Tenderness Like a Bruise, Chapter 2

[Read on AO3]

Took a small break from frantic bingo writing to make this for @puffdragongirl‘s birthday! Robin asked for MORE OD ANA, and since I had always meant to continue with this fic...I was happy to tack another chapter on!

The petal and wings of Wisteria may burst across this man’s throat, but he’s no royal messenger Od Ana’s ever seen. Too young, for one; his pale hair fluffs out from his scalp like a chick’s feathers, kind that shouldn’t be wandering so far out from under their mother’s nethers. His daemon’s been ridden hard too, her flanks heaving the way an experienced rider would never allow. 

Still, she’s got enough spirit in her to give Od Ana one of those wall-eyed stares, the kind that shows white all around. That’s what they get, having their reputation precede them like it does. The prince’s messenger and his witch daemon. Sometimes he’s got her so far away you can’t even see her. Can’t trust a man like that. 

They’re lucky that daemon doesn’t take more after a horse and balk for the shock of it.

Ah, but whatever she thinks of its bearer, the bad news is stamped with the royal seal all the same. “There’s the message. From the prince himself!”

There’s a certain amount of pomp to these things; the messenger holds it out, a little square that can’t have much more than a handful of lines scrawled on it, and bows like it’s some lordly edict. And for all that, Obi sits back in his hips and takes it, opening it with little more than a flick of his wrist.

There’s a trick to it, of course: apply the correct amount of force at the right angle and wax sheers from the sheet without even clipping the Wisteria wings. But messenger boy doesn’t know it; he just stands there gawping like he just fell off the wagon, impressed by nothing more than a party trick. Od Ana hopes for his sake he learns to hide it better. There’s plenty of thorns in Wistal’s garden that would enjoy having a bumpkin in their pocket. The king, for starters.

“Ah, but also...Sir Obi...on my way here...”

Od Ana glances up, claws flexing over collarbone, and, ah, she’s seen that wide-eyed gaze before, that starry shine. She may have no name to put to a face for him, but it looks like whatever reputation has wended its way back to Wistal has more in common with Hiro’s hero worship than city folk superstition.

The messenger’s reedy voice drops to a whisper. “I heard news about the string of attacks on noblemen.”

Obi glances up, the bristle of his hair brushing her feathers. “Oh yeah? A new development?”

“Well...” Under Obi’s direct attention, the boy shies the way young men do at a pretty girl’s doorstep. “They say that the lead suspect is, ah...”

Hisame Lugis. The name springs to her beak on reflex, instinct. She’s only seen the man once, malingering at the edges of a ballroom, but she’s heard enough about that little ladder-climber to know he’s the sort that wouldn’t be shy sharing a few knives to the back among friends. Especially if those lucky pals were thinking about putting their grubby paws on the same heiress of Seiran.

“...Sir Mitsuhide Lowen.”

The papers flutter to the cobbles, Obi’s hands boneless above them. “What?”

Obi might have a memory like a steel trap, but between the two of them, it’s Od Ana who reads faster. She hunches over his shoulder, skimming the prince’s sloping script, and still, she can’t put it all together, can’t make it make sense. The lords, the murders, Sereg, Mitsuhide. Maybe from a distance the edges blur into a big picture, like one of those fancy paintings in Wistal’s galleries, but from here, on the ground, she can’t see it. Can’t see how anyone would think a man like Mitsuhide Lowen would send another man to do his dirty work. Dust, that he’d have dirty work to begin with.

She’s got a hundred thoughts buzzing in her head, each more nasty than the last, but Obi doesn’t say a word, doesn’t do anything but lean over the stone and stare out over the plaza. Shirayuki’s down there right now, with Ryuu too, and neither of them know, neither of them could even suspect...

Her beak clicks, annoyance biting at her like mites. “You aren’t actually thinking of going.”

It’s not a question, it’s a hope. A blind one, flung out into the wind as an attempt to slow their descent. Because she already knows the answer: he is. And the longer he says silent, the more sure she becomes.

“Don’t.” It’s not in her to plead. Birds don’t have knees, she’d always say-- not where Shirayuki hear-- but, oh, Obi has enough for them both. What’d be nice is if he could stop getting on them. “Zen hasn’t even asked for you.”

“He has.” The words roll off his lips just like that first step he took in the forest. Playful, testing the edge of his limits, flirting with the promise of pain. The next one will be worse, she knows, and the next, all the way up to when it suddenly isn’t. To when it’s all gone. “There’s no other reason for Master to send another guard up here.”

Not unless he’s already expecting Obi to come sit at his heel. That’s how these Wisterias work, of course: everything written between the lines. Obi wouldn’t be sagging underneath his sir if he wasn’t fluent in it. If they both weren’t.

Doesn’t mean she has to like it.

“We have something good here.” And she’s not ready for that sting again, for the burning in her chest as another bond breaks, left to die somewhere out in snow. “Something real. There’s no reason to give that up to--”

“They need us.” One corner of his mouth lifts, helpless. “And if we turn our back on them now, on Mister...”

His shoulder lifts, and oh, she knows that hopeless look all too well. If we don’t go, his smile says, then we aren’t who she thinks we are.

The worst part is: he’s right.

“Shirayuki,” Suzu observes, far too mild. “Your flask is going to boil over.”

“What? Oh!” With a blink, the apparatus comes into focus, and ah, yes, that is too rigorous a roil when she’s looking for something just a hair above a simmer. “Ah, thank you.”

His shoulders shrug the way a hanger might, all wires and sharp edges, coat surviving through sheer hardiness of the fur. “Don’t mention it.”

And just like that, he walks away. No, ‘gee, Shirayuki, what’s got you so distracted?‘ or ‘is there something on your mind?’ Hermia gives a sympathetic blink,  but she doesn’t so much as croak to slow him down either, just sits on his shoulder like a moss does on a log while he wends around the lab, aimless.

Shirayuki sighs, turning the valve on her burner until the flame flickers at a much cheerier orange. Fiddles with the legs on her alembic’s stands for good measure too; anything to keep her mind from drifting back out to the market, to the stairs she’d watched for nearly half an hour before Suzu came to distract her with work. His work, specifically, but it had been better than sitting on cold stone and wondering.

“Worrying,” Perkunas hums, paws catching her around the ankle. “You’d been worrying. Like you are now.”

“I’m not,” she snips, because she isn’t, not at all. It’s just that Obi and Od Ana exchanged one of those glances of theirs before they left, the kind that came just before a blizzard blew down from the mountains, or before adopted brothers climbed up a balcony to steal her away to the mountains. The kind that said trouble was coming, and they’d have to put themselves right in its path.

Not that she’s been turning that over in her head all afternoon. She hasn’t. It’s just been there, tugging at her thoughts the same way Perkunas tugs at her patience, siphoning off gulps of her attention until--

Well, until things boil over. Which she’s half tempted to do as well, if Perkunas can’t leave her hem alone. “Oh, honestly,” she huffs, ducking down to glower at him. “Aren’t you supposed to be the wise one?”

He only stares back, all glossy eyes and innocence, as if one of his claws weren’t already caught around a stitch. If only she were Od Ana, she could click her beak right at him and let him know just how close he’s coming to her limit, and--

The lab door clanks against the shelves, her only warning before an all-too familiar voice calls out, “My Lady!”

It’s impossible to tell who cries “Obi!” first, but it’s Perkunas who trundles down the stairs so quick it yanks at their tether, hard enough that she hits a hip against the table trying to follow. She hobbles over to the top of the staircase just in time for his head to butt into Obi’s shin, and oh, she feels that all the way back in her mouth, molars jittering together with every descending step.

The hand that scritches behind Perkunas’s round little ears is thoughtless, a habit, but when Obi stops in front of her, smile stitched poorly into place, the space he leaves is purposeful. For a moment, she wishes he might reach for her, might catch her elbow in a palm, but instead he turns to a spooked Suzu and lilts, “Sorry about that. Mind if I whisk her away for a minute?”

“Uh?” Suzu glances between them, wide-eyed. “Go ahead.”

Hermia ruffles her feathers, all mouth when she adds, “Doubt we could stop you.”

It’s Od Ana’s place to click her beak, to drawl a clear, you got that right, but--

But she’s not here. And that, more than anything, makes her breath catch, makes her practically gasp out, “Lead the way.”

It’s strange to see Obi how the guards must, his back to the pillar and arms folded, all his usual warmth filed away for professionalism. Perkunas scampers after him, parking his round bottom right over one of his boots, and-- and it’s the sort of thing that might make her laugh, if he could meet her eyes.

“According to the messenger--” Obi’s voice echoes in the empty hall, a low, rasping thing made for grim conversations and even grimmer secrets “--the royal guard is sending a messenger to Sereg to basically put Mitsuhide under arrest.”

“That’s...” Her tongue plumbs the cavern of her mouth, suddenly strange with unfamiliar words. “That’s absurd. H-how? Why?”

One of his shoulders shrugs, the lazy sort he used to do back when he spent more time hanging down from trees than with his feet on the ground. From when she used to wonder if he had a daemon at all. “The decision is based on the testimony of this knight, Taws.”

And who is he? she wants to ask. How is his word worth so much more than a man like Mitsuhide’s?

All she manages is a strangled, “Mm.” Partially from the anger constricting her throat, and partially--

Ah, well, it’s distracting for Perkunas to paw at him like that, hopping around and bapping at his waist, enough that the wool scratches at her own hands. And when Obi bends down, scooping him up...

“Master didn’t mention any of it in his letter,” he grunts, arranging the chubby body over his shoulder. Perkunas trills, the round dome of his head bonking into Obi’s jaw once, twice, before he figures out how to fit beneath it, like a child who had long outgrown a lap but is loath to admit it. “So I guess he probably hasn’t heard. Yet.”

Shirayuki smooths a palm over her waist; it does nothing for the phantom press there, nor the one just behind her thigh, but, well, it’s hardly unpleasant. “Ah...”

His gaze meets hers over Perkunas’ head, and oh, it would be nice if she could fit as neatly, if only so she might be held when he says, “I’d better look into it.”

Perkunas grunts, annoyed. “Why?”

Obi’s mouth pulls thin. “Because I know for a fact what kind of person Mitsuhide is.”

That steadies her, makes her knees feel more solid than commissary jelly. “Yeah,” she breathes, giving her head a stiff nod. “So do I.”

“What about us?” Perkunas whines, wiggling in his arms. “Do you think they might come after us?”

Obi’s grip stiffens, eyes pulsing wide.

“I won’t let that happen,” he promises, pulling Perkunas closer. He gets another head butt for his troubles. “You just stay here in Lilias, the both of you.”

“But--”

“Okay.” It’s a betrayed look her daemon turns to her, his clownish face rumpled in a grimace, but she just stares at him, serious. “We’ll stay put, if that’s what will help.”

Obi lets out a sigh, his whole body slumping down the pillar in relief, Perkunas cradled tight against his chest. “Yeah, it sure will.”

His head lifts, and Perkunas wiggles again, squirming until his back half plops on the the ground, front paws still clinging to Obi’s shoulders. “Anyway, you little sausage,” he laughs, scrubbing him behind the ears. “If they were gonna threaten Master through you, it wouldn’t make sense to go round about it like this. No--” his brows tilt, thoughtful “--they’re after him and the aides. I’m sure of it.”

“I don’t like it.” It’s so easy for Perkunas to say those things, to play the petulant child when he’s all clumsy cuddles and funny faces. If she tried-- well, there’s a reason she doesn’t. “Couldn’t you just tell them...?”

“Nah, they’ve got enough on their plate. This is my job.” Obi presses his head to his, serious as he says, “So I gotta do it.”

Perkunas sits back, arms hanging sulkily over his belly. “All right,” he whuffs, put out. “If you gotta.”

“That’s the thing,” Obi says, smile too tight. “I really, really do.”

It’s easy to keep her head when it’s all just...logistics. Shikito still has to arrive from Wistal, and Obi has a handful of leads he can chase all from the leisure of his desk. Permissions to seek as well, not the least from Makiri, who won’t be happy to see one of his most experienced guards snatched out from under him right before inspections. The more she doesn’t think about dates or times, the further it seems, like that lunch she keeps promising Izuru or Suzu’s thesis defense.

But when he leaves her in that hall by herself, begging off to go send off a few notes before dinner, it’s--

It’s real. Too real. And much, much too close.

There’s a fluttering by the window, a golden shape taking form on the sill, and all it has to say is, “Shirayuki,” and--

And that’s enough. Her eyes blur, and with a single step she buries her face into Od Ana’s breast.

“I’m not crying,” she tells her, because she can’t be if feathers catch the tears before they ever fall. “It will all be fine. I know it will be.”

“Of course,” Od Ana agrees, beak nuzzling at her hair. “It can’t be anything else.”

And oh, how nice that would be, if only either of them believed it.

[flowerandblood]

Okay, we'll have Aemond's POV in the next chapter of The Impossible Choice for what's been going on with on the feast, but do you want a Daemon POV too??? Hmmm??? Choose wisely.

[atopvisenyashill]

If The Dance was written as POV chapters, who would you want to hear from and why?

Ooo I've done this for the Conquest and Robert's Rebellion but I don't think I've done it for the Dance.

I go back and forth on whether Rhaenyra would get a POV chapter - we don't get the king/patriarchs but we do frequently get ladies of all stripes whether they're the wives of kings and lords like Cat and Cersei, ruling ladies themselves like Arianne and Dany, or the daughters of ruling lords like Sansa, Brienne, Arya. I don't think she would but I'm still throwing her out there. Otherwise there's also-

DRAGON TWINS DRAGON TWINS DRAGON TWINS

Larys Strong - WHAT is cooking in that man's head!

Steffon Darklyn - I know he has some thoughts

Jacaerys Targaryen - THAT'S MY SON. THAT'S MY BOY.

Black Aly - I think she would be our insight into my boy Benjicot and the Lads and I think they're interesting PLUS "warrior goes on cross country road trip from hell with young child" is a tried and true trope George likes to do in this series and I think Black Aly/Benjicot really fits that. PLUS seeing that "road trip from hell" character help cause the hell? Chefs kiss muah.

Tyland Lannister - the torture chapters would be so much fun

Johanna Westerling - fuck Jason Lannister all my homies hate Jason Lannister he doesn't deserve his cool Westerling warrior wife!!

Sabitha Vypren - WARRIOR LADIES LET'S GOOOOO

Qoren Nymeros Martell - once again saying Qoren should have beena main character in HOTD and "fixing the mistakes of got" without addressing Dorne is half assing your narrative

Marston Waters - bastard on the kingsguard let's gooooo

Tess or Lysa Farman - being a salt wife is terrifying, being a salt wife to Dalton Greyjoy is probably particularly awful, I want to get their POVs during the war!

SYLVENNA AND ESSIE. THIS NEEDS NO EXPLANATION.

Helaena - but only the dreamer version of her thanks.

Addam Velaryon - i know his chapter on the isle of faces would fuck it up!!

also..

*pressing my mouth against the microphone and breathing heavily* dragon twinsssssssssssssssssssssss

[cashweasel]

It was hard to pick,,,,, so, fjskdjsksjs it’s so many (only sort of sorry,,ngl) 😂

5,17 for kiyazan

9,25 for daemon nd karima

8,15 for Gideon and valen loll

29 for all of em 💀

Once again I FORGOT ABOUT A BLORBO ASK but I literally had this in the drafts and everything and today I bring you answers FHRHDJKSSJ

Kiyazan:

5. How do they comfort each other when they are sad?

Yazan is a big actions guy so if something is bothering her he’d want to take care of it and fix it immediately also kiki loves cuddles and cuddles she shall receive fjskakdjdk will literally do anything to make it better,, holding her, talking about it, dancing it out, ordering her favorite takeout (yazan talking about it is a mix him being sincere and dissing the shit out of the person/situation and I kinda love it djdjskdjdk) leaving kiki’s part for you because I wanna know 😌💗

17. Their ways of expressing their love.

We talked about yazan putting up the shelves that kiara got that have been sitting around since forever and that pretty much what it’s about 😂 he just does things for her, or does things so she doesn’t have to. Pre relationship or pre living together yazan would just go around her house and fix anything that needed fixing fjdksidjdk,, also a big part of why he doesn’t mind doing the chores. To put it shortly acts of service and quality time!

Daemon and karima:

9. How open are they with their feelings?

I know why you’re asking this 😂💀 karima is…. Unfortunately still not the best at it at least in a serious vulnerable context and she bottles up a lot BUT she would sit down with him and be like “can I tell you something homie to homie 😔” and even then she tries to to keep it from getting too deep even when it comes to expressing love she’s not one to get Too sentimental but will let him know she cares about him. But this is mostly when they’re still in the beginning of their relationship (honestly it might take her 2+ years of being like that 💀) but I will say the first time she lets herself cry in front of him…………..

25. Share any headcanons about their relationship.

FHDKSJSKDJ ok so you know karima will just KO whenever wherever and her sleep is heavyyyyyy lol and I just think daemon doesn’t let her sleep in her makeup that’s all 😌 she’s knocked tf out snoring and all and he’s just 🥰 wiping her makeup off and doing her skincare for her

Valen and Gideon:

8. What are their most prominent memories of each other?

PLEASE 😭 valen’s is that he used to keep a pet rat as a kid, everybody refused to acknowledge it because it wasn’t actually a pet it was some rat he found lurking in their gardens and deemed it his bestie and would check up on it every day fssksjdjdj and when the rat died gideon was the one that buried and held a funeral for it 😔

Gideon’s most prominent memory has to be valen punching his dad in a room full of people loll bc not only was it incredibly humiliating and an act of love towards his bestie but it was also the first time anyone really stood up to this bully of a man and he just got wrecked by a teenager fjskaksjdj it was great seeing him hunched over w a bleeding nose until he made a comment about the company his son keeps and then it was both boys vs the guards trying to tear them off him fjdksksjskdn

15. Does their view of themselves differ from their partner’s view?

Sort of lol,, gideon struggles so much with his self image and thinks he’s broken and has nothing to offer or that letting ppl get to know him is essentially a burden on him and them so he just doesn’t make friends or meaningful relationships easily and valen over here just Fails to fathom it because to him gideon’s the most solid friend he’s ever had and literally nothing like all those things he says about himself and so he always makes it a point to let him know all the things he appreciates about him

Valen on the other hand thinks he’s the most interesting and amazing person anyone has the pleasure of knowing and that he’s worth it and because he’s set that expectation for himself any criticism from others or negative emotions from himself is shoved aside in favor of the facade and while gideon agrees he’s amazing and lowkey idolizes him lol he’s the only one actually capable of giving him a reality check that he’ll listen to and seeing him as just valen

All:

29. What are your favorite moments that happen between them?

WAAHHHH LMAO ok to be completely fair my fave kiyazan moment is them throwing up into the same toilet together and kiki tolerating the bugs yazan collects despite hating them bc if this isn’t love idk what is 😂

My favorite daemon karima moment is him kicking the ball in her face when they first met DJDKSKDJDJFN and also ceramics class

And my fave valengideon moment is them going into the city and buying some lame lizard which turned out to be a large dragon they tried hiding in a barn where hay and fire don’t mix very well SGDHFKSKDJDJ rip

[oc romance asks]

[luwupercal]

another bust of this guy I prommy i'm working on other art like a ton of it... I gave him a name courtesy of @yestheantichrist it's Vici, pronounced like in veni vidi vici. maybe his full first name is venividivici wouldn't that be silly. also fuck custodes helmets wtf is a banana [several eagle emojis]

[feral-and-chaotic]

"He watched more alertly as the cat approached the spot again, just an empty patch of grass between the hornbeams and the bushes of a garden hedge... The cat stepped forward and vanished." - The Subtle Knife by Philip Pulman

Inktober: Golden.

Inspiration for the cat and area taken from my neighbour's cat:

[acaciapines]

you thought big silly owl pov was hard get ready for: literally is a flower.