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vampire-exgirlfriend · 1 year ago

Note

wyllaemond smut prompt: the fox of karhold and the rogue prince (ot3 verse)

well, this absolutely ran away with me. so much for being 1k words.

fall on me like night

pairing: aemond targaryen x oc wylla karstark

rating: e

words: 4.5k

this is a future outtake from the ot3verse, no more than i was or than i am, which you can find here

Lovely did not do justice to his sister's newest lady in waiting.

No, the Fox of Karhold was not lovely.

Haunting, perhaps. Or maybe devastating was a better word.

Her face was an amalgamation of features that may have been plain on anyone else: soft cheeks, rounded jaw, rosebud mouth. But her skin was pale as the moon, her eyes as gray as a storm that built off the coast. Narrowed in distrust as they were now, that storm built until he could swear he heard lightning in the distance.

“You want to dance?” she asked. “With me?”

The pointed question poked at the tender bruise of Aemond's ego. “That's what I said, isn't it?” he snapped, all snarling teeth but little heat.

He did want to dance with her. He'd watched her flit around all evening, draped in black velvet, diamond starbursts in her hair - hair that fell loose and curling to mid thigh. ‘Was it heavy,’ he wondered, ‘all that pretty midnight hair?’

“Fine,” she answered, her voice matching his bite even through her thick northern accent, and slid her small hand into his.

His uncle had goaded him into asking her, watching him as he watched her. “Go on then,” Daemon had said. “It's depressing to witness.” He had softened, pushing lightly at Aemond's shoulder when his face tightened at the implication. “She won't deny you. The pretty little creature has been casting furtive glances all evening.” He turned away then, back to Rhaenyra and Alicent beside her, both smiling at whatever inane thing they spoke of, his mother in a tiara of silver and emeralds, his sister in their father's crown. Rhaenyra turned toward him, as if she felt his stare, and gave him an encouraging smile, giving away that they had been talking about him.

Wylla Karstark’s hand was cool in his, as if the northern winds coursed through her veins instead of blood. It eased the heat that licked at his skin, ever present, perhaps more so since he had claimed his dragon.

“You're a better dancer than your brother,” the fox said primly, her eye on some faraway point over his shoulder as he guided her in the steps of the dance. His hands found her waist, pressing tighter than was altogether appropriate. But the way she inhaled sharply at his touch was worth the impropriety.

Aemond looked to where Aegon danced with his wife, Abrogail Strong. The red head was dainty, graceful even, and Aegon could not tear his eyes from her.

He cleared his throat. “Thank you.”

“I think this is the nicest you've been to me since I've arrived.” There was distrust in her voice.

Aemond bristled. “You say that as if I've been cruel.”

She laughed and the sound pulled at something low in his gut. It was a large laugh, boisterous, too big for her small frame. He wondered where she hid it. “Not cruel. Only disdainful. Distant.”

“You are my sister's lady,” was all he said in answer.

Helaena had taken to Wylla immediately upon her arrival from the frozen wastes she called home, wrapping her in dragon’s claws and claiming she would like to keep her. It made him happy to see she had finally found another friend. And Wylla did make her smile, letting his sister set her beetles to crawl over her skirts or placing moths in her hair like jewels.

He glanced down and found her staring up at him, head cocked, and suddenly he felt like prey, stalked through the Kingswood. But Aemond was not prey.

He was a dragon.

Leaning forward, he placed his cheek to her temple, feeling the little shiver that ran through her. “You have lovely eyes,” he murmured, and prayed the line would not leave him embarrassed.

Wylla cleared her throat. “Thank you, my prince.” He spun her then, the long bell sleeves of her gown fluttering around them. “Yours is lovely as well.”

He believed she meant it and smiled down at her, noticing for the first time a small scar that cut through her top lip.

The song ended and his fox was pulled away, though she kept her gaze on him until the crowd swallowed her up.

—

A week had passed since the queen's birthday feast and Rhaenyra had been in a happy mood. Her second-born, Prince Lucerys, had arrived back in King's Landing after a time spent warding with their aunt, Princess Rhaenys, and the Sea Snake. He was tan skinned from all the time spent aboard a ship, the tawny making his hair shine more gold than silver, all smiles and tales of life at sea.

Devoid of her attention, and subsequently his mother and uncle's, Aemond wandered until he found himself in his favorite spot in the gardens. A statue of Visenya the Conqueror rose up from a stone dais, her hand on the hilt of Dark Sister, her eyes cast to the distance. A fountain bubbled around her feet, and blooms he knew to be poisonous crawled up her legs like armor, blood red and a purple so dark and deep as to be nearly black.

There was a rustle of fabric from behind the statue and he leaned over to find Wylla Karstark looking over him, gray eyes wide.

Her raven hair gleamed in the torchlight, lit by servants as the sun set. Though they were alone now.

The thought curled deliciously in his gut.

“You could ask for her hand,” Daemon had said after the feast. “You know you want her. And her brute of a father would never turn you down.”

“Apologies, my prince,” she said, rising to her feet, blue skirts the color of the night sky tumbling around her legs. It was the same shade of blue as the sapphire he wore in place of his eye, lost six years ago in a sparring accident when he and Lucerys had been foolish enough to attempt live steel, both boys feeling as if they had something to prove.

“Aemond,” he choked out after a long moment.

“Excuse me?”

“My name.”

She raised a thin brow, finely arched. “Yes, I know your name.”

“You may call me Aemond.” He felt the blood creep into his cheeks.

“Och, is that right?” She was teasing him and he wasn't sure if he loved or hated it. “Well then, Aemond,” she purred, “I must be on my way.”

She passed, and as if his hand had a mind of its own, he reached for her, his fingers closing around her wrist. “Must you?” he asked.

The fox did not pull away. Instead she looked up at him from beneath sooty lashes, so long they graced the round of her cheek when she blinked away her surprise.

“Stay,” he commanded, though his voice nearly trembled with the word.

“I -.”

Aemond kissed her then to silence her. It was clumsy, foolish, but she didn't not push him away. Her fingers curled in the fabric of his doublet as if to hold him closer and his own hands found her waist to draw her against him. He had the feeling neither of them knew what they were doing, not truly. At least he did not, having only shared a few kisses with Helaena when they had snuck too much wine two years ago. But Helaena was to wed their nephew now, and Jacaerys made her happy.

He could not let her take Wylla to Dragonstone, not when he had only just found her.

They broke apart for a gasping breath and a flush crept over Wylla's snowfall skin.

“Do you often kiss women in secret gardens?” she asked, taking the measure of him.

He shook his head, though he could not help throwing back his own barb. “Do you often allow strange men to kiss you in secret gardens?”

“Not until tonight.”

He hummed and kissed her again, one hand finding its way to tangle in the hair at the back of her neck. A weak moan fought its way from between her lips, now swollen and pouting, and the sound of it nearly tore him apart.

Aemond backed her up in shuffling steps until they came to rest against the stone wall, the ivy framing her body and for a moment he wished it would entangle them, keep them hidden in this moment forever.

“Do you still find me disdainful?” His voice was a low rasp, stuck somewhere in his throat. He kissed across her jaw, down the column of her neck, his lips seeking purchase against any inch of bare flesh as his hand rose to brush a thumb over the little scar that marred her top lip. Visions of sinking his teeth into her danced across his mind and he wondered if she would enjoy the sting of pain as he did, a pleasure he had discovered when handling himself too roughly one evening, visions of her in that black dress painted behind his eyelids.

The girl blinked up at him, as if his words had only barely registered, and he felt a warm bloom of pride beneath his ribs. “Not terribly so,” she admitted, though her face was a strange mix of irritation and arousal, her eyes falling back to his mouth. He kissed her again, licking at her mouth, hoping for a taste. But her hands found his chest and she pushed gently. “I meant it when I said I must leave. The princess will require her bath soon and I must -.”

“And what of your prince?” He was pouting now, a familiar stinging petulance rising up in him. Aemond gathered her face in his hands, his thumbs brushing over her jaw, tightening a fraction too much. But she did not wince; she simply glared and pushed harder, ducking to slip beneath his arm.

“I’m sure the prince can find a multitude of ways to entertain himself in my absence.” The words were snappish, a cold wind, and he saw how she had earned her nickname, with her narrowed eyes and the feral cut of her mouth.

She gave him no time to reply, stomping through the arch and back toward the keep.

—

“You are pouting.” The soft voice curled around the shelf that he currently hid behind.

“I am not pouting.”

An indelicate snort of laughter, followed by the rustling of fabric, and suddenly his eldest sister sat beside him.

Rhaenyra did not wear her crown today. Instead her starlight hair was twisted into a series of braids that gathered at the back of her head before falling down her back in gentle waves. Her violet eyes, nearly the same shade of his, hid a glimmer of mischief, as if being queen held not a candle to the mental torture of her younger brother.

“Fearsome little Aemond, pouting over a girl.”

He glared. “And to think, the queen of the Seven Kingdoms sits on the floor in a library to tease her brother. Not particularly regal of you.”

“It’s a fair use of my personal time.” She nudged her shoulder against his, but he did not look at her, his eye still focused on the tome in his hands - the tome he had reread the same section of over and over. “The northern girl?” She asked.

Was he so hopelessly transparent? Had he become so pathetic?

“Not entirely pathetic, no.”

Aemond groaned when he realized he’d spoken the words aloud, dropping his head back against the shelf, the dull thud of it making his sister laugh.

“Aemond -.”

“Please don’t.”

She laid a hand on his knee. “I may have overstated your patheticness for my own amusement. But truly, you’re doing nothing wrong. Not nearly as ridiculous as your brother for the Strong girl or even Jace for Helaena. Of all my siblings, of all my children, you are the most stoic. But you aren’t doing anything wrong or shameful or embarrassing.”

“I hate this feeling. I hate the way it eats at me, the way it feels lodged in my chest.” He resented it, wanted to punish the girl for the sin of making him want her. At the same time though, he longed to see her smile directed at him, even if it was accompanied by her nearly constant ire.

Her answering smile was soft and for the first time in a long time, Aemond remembered how young she truly was, less than two decades his senior. Rhaenyra shifted, the black silk of her gown shimmering in the light that came in through the high windows. “If you’re lucky, that feeling never fades.” She waved her hand. “Take the girl flying.”

He made a face. “I heard her tell Helaena she does not care for the dragons.”

“To be fair, the largest animal she’s seen, other than a horse, is those wolves of the north. Dragons are fearsome, they are magic made flesh. You, my favorite brother, are a dragon.”

Aemond rolled his eye. “Aegon is your favorite.”

“No, he is simply the most like me. Which probably makes him your mother’s favorite.”

“Hateful,” he teased, the knot of worry in his chest loosening slightly. “Daemon says I should simply ask her father for her hand.”

“Please only listen to your uncle in small increments,” she sighed, dropping her own head back beside his. “Just…just go to her. Learn her. Know her. See what you find.”

The idea of knowing Wylla, of learning her, made some dark thing, hot and a little wild, curl up in his belly - a feeling that was altogether uncomfortable as he sat beside his sister, his queen, on the library floor. Aemond shifted and then stood, reaching down for Rhaenyra, who took his hand and rose to her feet. She did not reach for him, did not comfort him in the way she might Aegon, who basked under physical contact like a satisfied cat. Instead she looked at him, truly looked, and the corners of her mouth curled into a smile. “You are a dragon,” was all she said before turning and walking out of the room, leaving him alone with his desires.

—

The low torchlight was Aemond’s only companion as he traversed the tunnels, counting his steps and praying that he wasn’t about to open the wrong door. From Helaena’s rooms, Wylla’s should only be a handful of paces away, close enough that Helaena could call on her at any time should she need her.

He stood before the seam that should open into her room, directed beside the fireplace, if his rememberings were correct, and wondered if he was altogether insane for even considering this. Rhaenyra had told him to dismiss her husband’s advice, but he could think of nothing else since Daemon’s sly reminder that the little fox was prime for the taking in her own rooms, with no one around to distract them. “How could she deny you?” he’d asked. “You are far too like me to say no to.”

Aemond was not sure that was the compliment his uncle believed it to be, yet here he stood, torch in hand, his fingertips pressed to the rough stone as he imagined the girl lounging across her bed. ‘Did she sleep beneath northern furs?’ he wondered. ‘Would she taste like wine she had snuck before bed?’

Forgetting his misgivings and focusing on that dangerous tendril that snaked through him, Aemond pushed open the door, setting the torch in the iron holder beside it. He blinked when he entered the room.

Candles burned low on nearly every surface and the air smelled of cinnamon, thick and spicy, but not cloying. The bed was empty, as was the chaise at the end of it.

Water splashed to his left and his head snapped in that direction, eye widening at the sight of her in the tub.

Wylla’s gray eyes were wide, a small paring knife in her hand, clutched between her slender fingers. He saw the tray of fruit on the small table beside the metal tub.

“What in the hells are you doing?” she hissed.

He noticed that she did not shout, did not raise her voice to alert the guards, and a new sort of confidence built in him.

Aemond stalked closer to the tub, his eye darting between her face and the knife she clutched. Lower still, he found the soft round of her breasts only just covered by the still steaming water. Her hair was plaited and piled loosely at the back of her head to keep from getting wet, tendrils curling around her jaw and he wanted to lick the water droplets that raced down her neck.

“Put down the knife,” he murmured, his eye darkening at the idea of just what she might do to him with it. It was not an altogether unpleasant imagining.

But Wylla did not put down the knife. Instead, she stood, baring herself to him, teeth showing in a snarl that went straight to his cock. Her breasts were small, no more than a handful each, and her waist tapered before blooming into hips that were wider than he had expected. He could imagine exactly how her plump rear would feel in his hands. “Why exactly would I do that?” she asked. “You sneak into my room from some hole in the wall and expect what? A warm welcome?”

His gaze traveled over her body, cataloging each freckle and blemish that marked her pale skin. Surrounded by steam and wet as she was, he wondered if this is what those old gods of hers looked like: silent, though wild, beautiful and yet terrifying.

He wanted to taste her, to sink his teeth into her soft flesh, and found that he was at a loss for words. Stepping closer, never taking his eyes from her, he approached the tub. The heat was delicious as it rolled off of her, and he desired nothing more than to strip from his doublet and press close against her, close enough to imprint himself upon her. Gently, more gently than he realized he could, he reached forward, his fingers twining around her wrist. When she did not release the blade, he squeezed, reveling in the way her delicate bones felt against his palm.

The knife clattered to the ground and Wylla opened her mouth, likely to attack him with her teeth, but Aemond pulled her forward with a sharp jerk and pressed his lips to hers. Before she could shove at him, fight him off, he pulled her from the tub, pressing her wet body to his, molding her to him.

She surprised him then, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him deeply, and with a little jump, her legs wrapped around his waist. Aemond moaned and she licked into his mouth, her tongue curling behind his teeth, her fingers gripping hard at his unbound hair.

In a clumsy rush, he walked them to the bed, doing his best to avoid tripping over unfamiliar furniture. He did not dump her against the furs, instead curling his body around hers, his hands finding her waist, her ribs, her breasts. She made eager little noises beneath him, finding the ties at the front of his doublet and ripping at them impatiently. He shed the damned thing and could not help but moan when she found his bare skin.

“My father will demand your head for this,” she murmured as he licked a trail over the column of her throat.

“He can’t.” His reply was breathless as he shifted, kissing the top of her breast before wrapping his lips around her peaked nipple. Wylla whined at that, arching her back.

“No?” It was a silly pointless question.

Aemond clutched at her other breast, molding it against his palm, delighted at the way his hand engulfed her flesh. “Not if you are my wife.” He abandoned his groping to undo the ties at his waist, lowering his breeches and small clothes until finally his cock was free, so hard it bobbed, throbbing against her thigh.

Wylla stilled beneath him. “Are you…asking me to marry you?”

The insanity of the moment, of the words he’d actually uttered, slammed into him. But such had been his uncle's advice and he owned the ludicrousness of it. “I don’t believe I asked.”

“You are telling me to marry you?”

‘Please, please, please,’ his heart thrummed, though his pride would not allow the begging question to cross his lips.

He kissed her soundly and pulled her bottom lip between his teeth, biting down sharply, as if asserting his desired ownership. “Yes,” he mumbled against her wet flesh.

A fearful look chased away the ire and desire he had seen just a second ago. “I cannot. I…I am promised to Lord Bolton’s son.” She gently gathered his hair in her hand, tugging sweetly at the ends of it in a gesture that had him wanting to rub against her like a cat.

Aemond expected rage. He expected that violent creature that lived in him to raise up, to swallow him and her both. He realized that she had allowed things to go as far as they had in a bid at claiming a bit of independence, a fantasy to cling to when she was back in the cold north, wife to a savage that burnished a flayed man on his banners. But it did not. Instead, something more solid, more demanding took its place. “No,” he said simply.

“No?”

“You are mine.”

He slid a hand between them then and found the place she wanted him most, and thanked the gods that his brother had beaten him over the head with bawdy retellings of his own escapades with his wife.

Wylla’s head fell back as he teased at her entrance, a finger dipping in only to retreat a second later. He found that little shock of nerves, working at it gently until she moaned for him, the sound surprisingly husky. She bucked against his hand and he surmised that she wanted more. So he finally took mercy and pierced her with a single finger.

There was something shocking about the tightness of her, and it kept him locked in his body, unable to tear his eyes from her as she writhed. Another finger added, and this time he curled them forward, tearing a groan from her chest. Fumbling hands found his cock and she stroked at him, no real finesse to her touch, but he was so desperate for her that it mattered not at all. All he longed for was to help her find his end, for he knew he would not last once he was inside of her.

His mouth found her breast again and she was so responsive to his touch, wanton even, when he sank his teeth into her, that it spurred him on. Aemond ground the heel of his hand against that spot that made her cry out, two fingers pumping in and out of her at a speed he slowly increased. The flutters around his hand were surprising, grasping at him as if to keep him there, and Wylla lifted her hips, riding him as best she could until she fell apart, panting his name, pulling him up and demanding a kiss as she whimpered.

She glowed beneath him and he could swear that her skin shined with the light of the moon. Had she hidden it beneath her skin, like some myth of old?

The question died in his mind as he pressed inside of her, and the world narrowed to only the places where she touched him. She was hot, scaldingly so, and so tight that he could not stop his eye from rolling back. A pained whimper caught his attention and when he looked down at her, her face was pinched in discomfort. He kissed the line between her brows, stilling until she relaxed. He wanted desperately to be gentle for her, but now that he was inside of her, his ability to cling to that softness was rapidly disappearing.

“I’ll be yours,” she whispered, her fingertips finding the scar that split his face, and he wondered if she felt beautiful in the reflection she saw shining back at her in his sapphire eye.

Those three words rended away his self control and he could not help but pull back, thrusting forward, and he moaned at the delicious friction. Wylla clung to him, her nails raking over his back, and he was surprised at how she matched each roll of his hips, as if even an inch between their bodies was too much.

It was only moments, but time stretched out strange and foreign before him as he fucked her, his face buried in her neck, his teeth catching purchase against her throat.

“Please, please, please.”

It was Wylla murmuring the words and they echoed in his mind, bouncing between the walls of his skull. He knew his end was near, that hot sensation gathering at the base of his spine. Aemond moved to pull back, to spill across her belly, not wanting to assume or risk getting a child on her before he had a chance to plead his case for her hand. But something instinctual in Wylla rose up, and she hooked her leg over his hip, holding him inside of her until he could hold back no longer and came with a groan of her name.

For a long moment, they simply lay there, him sprawled over her, his face against her chest. Wylla’s fingers found his hair, and she combed at the snarls she had tangled therein, the gesture shockingly comfortable for all of its intimacy.

“I warn you, my father is not the most agreeable man.” There was something hard in her voice, something full of resentment.

He looked up at her, resting his chin against his hand where it lay on her belly. “Good then, that I boast the largest and most ancient dragon in the realm.”

Wylla rolled her eyes. “Good then, that you also boast the largest ego in the realm.”

He crawled up her body and kissed her, just a soft press of his lips to hers. “Have I not earned it?”

The girl flushed crimson, a delicious sight. “I suppose,” was all she said, but he took it as confirmation and gathered her into his arms, dropping back against the pillows. A minute twisted in a few and he felt his eyes grow heavy, the fox a warm weight against his chest. Her fingers traced idle patterns over the skin of his stomach as she settled.

There was a sigh, a small shift that pressed her closer.

“Fine,” she huffed, pressing her face against him. “I’ll marry you.

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x oc #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fic #aemond x wylla #aemond targaryen x original character #fyeahhotdocs #fyeahgotocs

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lucrezianoin · 11 months ago

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writing daemon aus, my beloved

Okay the main three unposted new fics I am writing and REALLY want to finish are:

Tav/Astarion + Wyll with bad stuff

Astarion temporarily goes back to the spawns and meet some very horrible people (probably

wyllstarion daemon au a CLASSIC

So I am thinking what daemons they could have. I imagine vampires' daemons would not die, as daemons are supposed to represent their souls, and vampires still have souls. So I decided that their daemons die and are born again (undead, same characteristics as vampires) and have to resettle into a new form.

So Astarion old daemon used to be some kind of cat, something flashy like a leopard (a snow leopard), something that was definitely able to catch admiration. Then after he died his daemon settled into the tiniest cutest bat (Northern ghost bat) ever, something that could hide easily and escape just as easily. OR A RAT.

Shadowheart went through "separate your daemon" training as a Shar follower, and I imagine her daemon used to love being a wolf, but then settled into an owl or a Martes martes maybe. Halsin of course has a bear (how inconvenient). Gale has his tressym it is only right, and Karlach could have an elk or a ram.

I really want Lae'zel to have a racoon but I feel like she should have an alien-like animal. I really want Jaheira to have a rabbit or maybe a monkey (Simia sciureus).

WYLL... I think Wyll should have a predator animal, not too big but fast. A fox maybe, or an ocelot. The Ethiopian wolf and the Maned wolf are two of my favorite canids.... THO I just googled Dhole and I decided it is too cute not to be that!

Also Wyll's father definitely has a wolf. Minthara has a poisonous snake, and Gortash has a racoon.

#daemon au #baldur's gate 3 #writing #the daemon au is gonna be wyllstarion because i said so but probably gen

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chim-aera · 3 months ago

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teeth

you want to devour me, whole, alive, I'm sure. all hands, and sinew, dark skin and dark smiles, gripping, grabbing, groping. I am laid bare, soft and shaking; the sharps of my canines filed down to a curve, to nothing.

where did my fangs go? I did not bite down, I did not go gnashed jaws to pierce your armor, so that when enamel met iron they cracked rough, jagged and just, a crime fitting the putrid punishment. no, I never struck.

snapped, maybe. yes. certainly. bristling like a wary fox, stepped oh too many times within bear traps to recognize the sight of metal and morsels to not comprehend the difference between a food bowl and a snare.

but you're all tangled metal, barbwire and battlements, sharp, glinting, and strong. you're so strong. immensely. you wrangle me into a wrest of motion, you seize my bared jaws mid snap, you can set me into stillness, you can cease my barrage of thoughts of bullet fire and bloodlust, you make me tame.

oh, a foolish, foolish thing, letting yourself be tamed.

but, you are wary of my defences. how can someone who's planned to, and has, ruined me, to a shivering, hollow husk of murmurs and morose, seen me stripped, of most my armor, mind you, fear the very teeth that have kept me alive all these bitter, blasted years.

how can a creature with claws look down in disdain at one with its own set of ivories. I'm trying to reason. but your doors are sealed. all mirrors, no vortex, no crawl space or conundrum, can I reach you at all?

you scare me.

but I do not fear you.

I want you, but not like you want me.

you want me, breathless, and bloody, the noose wound tight around my throat, bare to you, bare to your desires, and I'd let you. fucking nine hells, I'd let you.

I'd let you make me prey, which is, at the very least, entirely against every fiber of my nature.

but nevertheless I would let you.

but this, isn't love. it isn't even affection. these are bullet holes and betterments. friendly. yes, care, immensely, but not love.

we are not cut from the same fabrics when the gods stitched us out of stardust, I am hellebore, and ink stained pages the Goddess embellished me with, owl calls and moon eyes. your God made you from soot smoke and sea tides, sunlight and sandstone. you're good, gods there's so much I appreciate, so much I adore, you wanted me, and I simply longed to be wanted. but, I'm not what you wanted, what you seek. I'm made of dragon scales, and stories, I do not live in the world you reside in. my suffering has made me holy, harpy-mad, and chimeara-crazed, vicious, teeth bare, gums bloody, grey-eyed like a god. I demand to be worshipped, or, at the very least, perhaps, adored. cherished, held gently, knelt before, praised, pleased, and seen as precious.

as soft as the fur might be, a fox is, and never will be a rabbit.

a coyote will never be a deer.

I will never be a woman.

I will never be soft, not like Sunday bests, and a child's cries.

I'm rosewater, belladonna, and battle claws, but I'd have rather slashed my own palms then ever sink them into you. but I am realizing I don't wish to destroy myself anymore, I don't wish to set myself on fire. If you want me, all of me, I don't see it. we've never known each other in any other life, or maybe I simply did forget. witch and clergyman, hound and fox, or, even friends. but I don't think you accept me. like, yes, enjoy, of course, but I hold wyrt-cunner heritage, and ichor in my soul. daemon dauntless, and my grandmother's ghosts.

I'm not helpless, and I'm not fragile, if you're to glimpse me without my battlements consider yourself lucky, but, you may hold pride, I hold myself, when well enough, as my own god. I will never be your rabbit, I allowed you to make me yours, now I am taking myself back.

I am not prey, and I will not file my teeth for you, take me as I am, all old haunts, habits, screams and sobs, take me as the pretentious, prideful, hedonistic mess of harrowing hellscapes, or don't take me at all.

but yes.

my.

what big teeth you have.

#poetry #vent poem #dark academia

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lyledebeast · 2 years ago

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Patriot Characters and Their Daemons: Part One

I decided to write this because 1. No one else ever will if I don’t, that’s for damn sure, 2. It’s never too soon in the semester to start procrastinating, 3. It will be fun for me and add enrichment to my enclosure, which is reason enough on its own. Also, I haven’t read any of Phil Pullman’s works, but the idea of daemons is appealing to me.

Of course, I’m starting with the British.

Since the movie continually drives home that they are inept fighters, most of the enlisted men and officers have daemons that are fairly innocuous birds, mammals, and amphibians of the British Isles: moles, hedgehogs, wrens, robins, toads . . . Kenneth Graham characters.

Captain Bordon: red fox

General O’Hara: swan (beautiful and elegant, but fierce)

General Cornwallis: white peacock

Colonel Tavington: Bengal tiger

(I’m especially proud of the last two bc they’re both animals the British only encountered as colonisers, which is pretty appropriate for Cornwallis and Tavington in particular).

Captain Wilkins: . . . . a duck. I am so sorry, sweetie, but you are a dumb South Carolina Loyalist and there is nothing else for it.

#the patriot #daemons #his dark materials

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mrscoultxr · 1 year ago

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Upon approach, a smile blooms across Mrs. Coulter’s face, sweet and polite as ever, belying nothing as to her true intentions with such course taken. Her step is light, the soft clack of her heels upon the marbled floor serving more as a trumpet to signal her arrival, and yet made with such ease of step that the sound was not nearly a disturbance. It was a tune, as succinct and dulcet as she appeared, a compliment to her person and the practice and poise she had poured over for much of her youth. There was an air of excitement to her, an eagerness to speak, but not so overbearing. Rather, congenial, a promise of attention.

Oh, but she was curious. More than curious. Practically frothing at the mouth with the need to know all that Bedelia had discovered. Perhaps such a connection could find a way for the adult patients to act more naturally after the procedure. No, even better, perhaps they could eradicate the rather high 5% chance of death as a result of shock for the children, and work upon a rehabilitation program thereafter—

She was getting ahead of herself. First, a re-introduction was in order.

“Dr. du Maurier,” Marisa hums, her tone like honey, like syrup, so warm and inviting and gentle. “The pleasure is all mine.” The golden monkey pads his way from behind Mrs. Coulter, head bowed in interest, in deference to the silver furred fox. He makes eye contact, attempting to hold the daemon’s gaze with his own, a question in those beady black hues. Will the other permit them to stand near to one another? To converse privately among themselves? His human continues her conversation above his head.

“As it happens, I nearly didn’t come. But I heard tell that there was to be a special guest, and so I simply had to.” Another grand smile, full of true appreciation and delight. “And I am very glad that I did. I’ve been well, my work keeps me busy and I feel I’m on the verge of something… well, something interesting.” If she is referring to meeting Bedelia here of all places, at this exact point in her research, her face betrays none of it. Her smile is still held in place, the light in her eyes dancing with merriment. “And you? I mean, of course, there’s been quite the rumbling about your own work, but how are you?”

@mrscoultxr // continued from here.

the invitation had come as no surprise, in the end. talk had arisen in the coming weeks, and praise was exchanged towards her work by some, kept in highest regard as placing the foundations for something extraordinary while held under heavy ridicule by others. It had raised eyebrows on occasion, and she’d received a letter once, the sender clearly agitated and under the strong belief that there was a sort of sanctity to be kept between a human and their daemon. they claimed that in placing the connection under the lens of heavy scrutiny, picking apart the essence of thought and the subconscious mind, what it meant for both you and your soul, that you were violating the intended nature of such a bond on unfathomable levels. it was the sort of argument you could sense ulterior motive in, and while she's certain they tried to suppress it, they’d done a horrible job of concealing the implication that they had something to hide. ( it’d been unsigned, for starters. ) but it’d bolstered her theory, and it’d been gratifying to see the practice challenged all the same. debate and discomfort meant there was weight to the idea, they couldn't deny that.

she suspected at least one person to feel a similar way this evening, steeling herself for the possibility that she was walking into a welcome debate as she exchanged pleasantries throughout the evening. and for every question offered to her in the coming hour, passing company instead received an array of prepared half - truths in exchange for their guided intrigue. there'd been nothing spoken beyond what she'd written already- what was safer in the form of a simmering thought, than through the subtle albeit detrimental art of word-of-mouth. she had to be cautious.

no matter the occasion, she would observe events like this for what they were, and often found little merit in attending unless she had company or other means to uphold. though she enjoyed the opportunities it proposed, and it fascinated her endlessly to twist and pull, and watch on to observe the myriad of ways which people failed to conceal themselves.

all, of course, save for one attendee in particular.

fingers wrap around the offered champagne flute, a gentle thank you bestowed before she commits herself to the conversation. Adara watches the ongoing conversation with a passive sense of courtesy, tail folded neatly inward as she keeps near Bedelia's heel. her head turns momentarily- a languid motion coming to a subtle halt once her attention has been caught by something of interest- and Bedelia offers her attention inconspicuously during a decided point, a subtle glance graced upon the two through the corner of her eye.

daemon's eyes trained and ears upward, her head tilts lightly aside, attentive in how she oversees the potential approach. it isn't until the scholar they had been conversing with- relatively knowledgeable, despite his undoubtedly ill-guided manner- proceeds to excuse himself, that it occurs to her Bedelia may have said something to make him uncomfortable. she returns her attention briefly to the flighty nature with which the small mouse on his hand scampers to his shoulder, and it becomes apparent through the satisfaction Bedelia otherwise did well to conceal that it'd very much been intentional, and that he hadn't appreciated the question she posed at all.

"poking around where you shouldn't is risky, you know that." is all she offers once she's found a spot further up, and she's met in return with Bedelia's hand running briefly through her fur, amused and unapologetic in nature though still a sign of silent promise. "I've said nothing of importance. Some people would just rather hear a lie."

“Mrs. Coulter,” the moments leading to their reunion pass quickly, Bedelia's silence spent examining nothing but intent. she'd read the other, ever since her college years, to be an admirably unrelenting force self assured with an aspiration others could only dream of. dangerous? undoubtedly, as all forces had been. but she was also due to be far more compelling company than she could say for other attendees.

there's a sense of failure to provide any overt surprise, nor the stage-led aura of shock one might possess upon reuniting with an old acquaintance. instead, she takes to an easy, polite smile, her daemon gently circling around her feet before exchanging a glance from Mrs. Coulter to the golden monkey. "What a pleasant surprise ... I wasn't aware you'd be attending. How are you?"

#░▒ ╳ many things interested her; and nothing satisfied her entirely;; (verse)#(cc: bedelia; drstcrture)#sorry for how late this is! I have no clue if you want to continue this #if you do that's great! and if not that's also fine!#drstcrture

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katierosefun · 2 years ago

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1/5 Just thinking about what kind of daemons the characters of BE would have? Like my first input for Dongsik would have been a fox (laughing but careful, independent but can be in groups?) but then again Dongsik's daemon would have settled before yu-yeon's disappearance (her daemon was definitely some kind of bird - a songbird or a painted snipe?) and I just think his would be a bird too (a jay?)

which would make everything even more hurtful in the long run because his daemon would fly away from him for days (and I just now remember that birds are meant to be witches' daemons - a bad omen, of course things would go awry with the Lee twins although her songbird was so sweet and well-mannered)

(the fact that Dongsik's jay has a distinctly male voice does not go unnoticed either) (years later there is the matter of Jae-yi's Maine Coon with her suave voice telling rude customers off) (would also love for Jae-yi to have a red-crowned crane? Actually?) Most of the Manyang crew have wolves daemons or animals that strive in mountain settings.

Jihoon's daemon barely changes even before he is settled, a quiet pup turning into a mixed breed. And then comes Han Juwon, who for the longest time was followed by a dog or a fox as he run in dark English corridors but whose daemon settles as a snow leopard

(of course dongsik's jay must come and settle on Juwon's daemon even as they are barely acquainted. Of course he would start pecking his head). Sorry for the rambling but your input is always really interesting?? So

aaah, anon, i actually adore this idea! i actually haven't been familiar with the concept of daemons before (but i think i get the gist of them after doing a few quick google searches). although also, i love the idea of dong sik and yu yeon having somewhat matching daemons: birds especially, with yu yeon's songbird to dong sik's blue jay. i did some more research, though, and in the process learned that witches can survive a long time without their daemon close by--and a part of my heart breaks at yu yeon's little songbird twittering up a scared storm right before The Thing Happens. (and dong sik not being able to find yu yeon's songbird, repeatedly telling himself that it's fine, the bird's just with yu yeon, keeping her safe when, in actuality, the songbird's long gone.) (no idea if that's accurate to the daemon canon--i'm not quite as familiar with his dark materials, even though i've been meaning to watch the series!)

i also love the idea of jae yi having a crane as her daemon: elegant, just like her. (also always keeping a watchful eye on everything that happens in manyang.)

as for the rest of the manyang crew having wolves or another mountain animals also makes me so happy, because i think they're mostly pack animals, right? and that sort of suits the entirety of manyang, in that whole "we piss each other off but as soon as we see a greater danger, we band together to shove the enemy out" mentality.

also, i personally love the idea of joo won's daemon shifting into a dog and then turning into some kind of big cat. (threatening at first glance, but turning out to be rather soft.)

dong sik's jay settling on joo won's leopard is also such a sweet image? i think joo won would probably get annoyed about it for a moment, because from what i've found on the internet, sometimes people's daemons interacting with each other can be considered a violation--or trust. i think dong sik would be a little bit miffed too, especially in the beginning, but i think the jay and snow leopard would get along oddly well (and it's only a matter of time before dong sik and joo won start doing the same).

also, because the birds can usually be a little ways from their human companions, i raise you "dong sik's blue jay won't stop pecking at joo won's window at like 2 am to be like go help your partner" and joo won very grouchily driving back to manyang (but also worried), only to find that dong sik's actually FineTM, his daemon's just playful and sly.

#answered #beyond evil #this is motivating me to actually watch his dark materials #(ann if you're reading this i swear i have no excuse now that it's summer)

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innytoes · 2 years ago

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Ooooo WIP ask games... Great, blush, jump? Thank you!

“Who looks totally badass, by the way, I bet your ears are great for picking out drum lines from songs now.”

(From the Daemon AU for @secretlovesongsfest, where Luke totally has his priorities straight when it comes to Alex' daemon settling as a fennec fox.)

“Of course, anything for you, Julie,” he said, and she could feel herself blush, but she also couldn’t bring herself to care.

(From the Soulmate AU, where I am stealing bits of canon for my own purposes.)

Like, get up and jump around with Throckmorton because they had their own private concert good.

(From the Daemon AU, where Willie and his raccoon daemon enjoy free Sunset Curve concerts aka band practice.)

#soulmate au #julie and the phantoms #daemon au #I am writing a thing #yes willie's daemon is named throckmorton of course he is

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mira-gilastorm · 2 years ago

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To Fix A Future

Chapter 4: Where Did You Get A Fox?

Ao3 Ch1 Ch2 Ch3

"I am naming Daemon Hand of the King."

Rhaenyra wanted to burst out in laughter at the dead silence in Small Council chamber. Dany stood off to the side with the red priest, who insisted on staying by her side - like some kind of guard.

"But- Your Grace. May I ask, have I failed you in some way?" Hightower's eyes were bulging.

She couldn't help but smirk, deciding she could speak up. "Tell me, Lord Hightower, how was it again that my grandfather died?"

He turned to her father, "A hunting accident, Your Grace! You know this!"

"I believe it was the Princess who was speaking to you." Her uncle's voice was nothing more than a growl and it sent shivers through her. Her husband in that other life.

"An accident that conveniently made you Hand. A second son with no real options to rise above your station in life - suddenly Hand to the King, with your daughter as the only Lady-in-Waiting to the princess." she hummed.

"You can't possibly be suggesting-"

Daenerys spoke from her place in the corner of the room, tiny voice clear, "We are not suggesting, Otto Hightower. We are accusing." She tilted her head in a very girlish way, "I'm sure such a learned man knows the difference."

"Forgive me, Your Grace," Grand Maester Mellos - another snake, "but these are the words of children. Hardly enough to ruin-"

Her father's hand slammed on the table, causing all the councilmembers to jump. "The words of dragons. You know nothing of what they speak, Mellos." She had never seen so much fire in her father. Sometimes it was easy to forget he was also one of them. "And you would be wise to tread carefully as well. Your advice on my treatment and that of my wife and son has left much to be desired."

The man's jaw clicked closed. Oh this was all so satisfying.

She took a step forward, hands laced behind her back, "Did the midwives tell you that they could not deliver my brother, Maester? Or was it you who told them he could not be delivered, I wonder. It seems so odd that Targaryens keep dying at the hands of those from Oldtown, does it not?"

"How dare you! My house has been nothing but loyal!" Hightower's voice raised in a dramatic shout, throwing himself up from his chair.

He was quickly met with Dark Sister dangerously near his throat. "I'd be careful how you speak to your future queen, Otto. Threatening her is treason, after all."

Lord Beesbury glanced over at her, ignoring the scene of Daemon and Otto. "Ah, excellent. Naming an official heir will bring stability to these trying times."

"A woman, though - hardly a thing that will bring stability."

Lord Corlys laughed from his place at the end of the table. "Still thinking a woman cannot rule. Rhaenyra is Viserys' rightful heir." He turned to her uncle, "What I want to know is why you are relinquishing the position so readily."

Daemon lowered his sword a bit before spinning it and sheathing it with a little flourish. "Easy answer. I've never wanted the Iron Throne. I want to protect my family and our House, our history and traditions. Court is boring - let Rhaenyra deal with the politicking, she's better suited to it."

"A remarkably honest answer from the Rogue Prince," Lord Strong nodded respectfully to him.

He snorted, "You'll find I'm a remarkably honest person, despite what certain people would have you believe."

Lord Strong looked around the room nervously, "So we will need a new commander of the Gold Cloaks. Are there any other changes being made? Other than the Hand's position, of course, Your Grace."

Dany stepped forward, "I will be fetching a retinue of healers from Essos to found a new school of healing here in Kings Landing - just healing, not the breadth of knowledge that the maesters subject themselves to. We will also be creating a position on the Council for Master of Whispers, which will, for now, be held by Melisandre."

Mellos stood to turn and face Daenerys in a rage. Rhaenyra and Daemon both moved to protect her little cousin.

Neither had a chance.

The red woman's stone around her neck glowed a bright red and he began to gag, face turning a bright purple as his hands went to his neck. The old man fell to his knees, begging wordlessly as Dany stood over him with an impassive face.

The lovely face twisted into a sneer. "Your death is a mercy. You should have been butchered as my aunt was."

There was that same far-away look in her eyes as Mellos shuddered and collapsed in a heap at her feet, dead.

Lord Corlys and Lord Commander Redwyne both stepped away in shock, but Rhaenyra joined her cousin in standing over her mother's murderer.

"Magic in the world yet."

Her father let out a derisive laugh, "Oh but if you only knew, cousin. If you only knew."

Melisandre hummed in that odd way of hers - almost like a purr. "No magic. Only the power of the Lord of Light."

The Sea Snake shook his head, "We call the powers of the Drowned God a magic. What would make your god so different? The powers of the dragons and Old Valyria? Is it not all magic by another name? Just because you know its source does not make it any less what it is."

"I must say, I cannot argue with such sound logic, Lord Sea Snake."

Daemon hummed from next to her. She hadn't realized how close they'd moved in trying to get to Dany, "A marvelous feat, I assure you."

Lord Beesbury stared at the red priest as if she were one of his numerical accounts he were trying to make sense of. "I presume this woman and her powers are the way you know of such plots against your family, Your Grace?"

Her father sat back down sullenly. "She is not. If she were, it could easily be written off as attempts to sow discord or disrupt our kingdom. No, Melisandre is not the source of this knowledge."

"And we are certain this information is beyond doubt? It is valid and provable?" Lord Strong was the only member still seated at the table, though his face was markedly pale.

Daenerys stepped over the maester's body to stand in front of her. "Have you seen Alicent this morning?"

"What? I- No. I dressed on my own in a hurry. Why?"

She turned to the guards at the door, "Fetch Alicent Hightower."

Everyone in the room sat in an uncomfortable silence while one of their guards sought out her lady.

As she rushed in, poor Alicent looked flustered and terrified. Dany gave her a brief smile and a calm nod. "I want you to know that you are in no way held responsible for whatever is said here today. Okay?"

"Dany- I mean, Princess, I don't understand."

"It's okay. I just need to ask you a question and I want you to answer completely honestly and without fear of any kind of repercussions, okay?"

Alicent only nodded, her eyes flickering over Daenerys' shoulder to her father. Something in Rhaenyra growled at that.

"Alicent, last night, did your father tell you to go to the King's chambers - wearing one of your mother's dresses - to comfort him?"

Her friend's eyes went wide. "He- I- But I didn't go! You were all gathered there together and I was so relieved that I wouldn't have to-"

"You stupid girl!" Hightower shouted at her, rushing toward his daughter as she trembled behind Daenerys.

"Ah, ah, ah." Daemon stepped in his way, hand on Dark Sister's hilt. "I believe my niece promised Lady Alicent there would be no repercussions for telling the truth."

Rhaenyra turned to the Small Council, "You wanted unequivocal proof, here it is. Things that could not be known and yet are. Daenerys Targaryen possesses the ability to dream as Aegon the Conqueror did."

Lord Commander Redwyne stalked over to Otto, grabbing him by the arm, turning to the king. "What shall we do with this traitor, my King?"

"I'm in favor of a public execution, myself." Her uncle toyed with his sword again as if it were restless.

"Of course you are, brother."

An image came to mind. "I think we should follow my cousin's example and let the one responsible for our loved ones' deaths burn on their pyres."

Dany didn't respond, just stared at Otto as he wilted in the Lord Commander's grip. She lifted the Hand's pin off his doublet and moving to set it in place on her uncle's chest.

"Hae Jaes, syt mirre jēda, lentor letagon - isi ondos isse ondos, se sīr ēdruta īlon."1

---------------------------

What an entertaining morning it had been. Named Hand, stood side-by-side with Rhaenyra as her protector, got to watch that leech, Hightower, be dragged away - what a genuinely lovely morning.

And the way the red woman had protected Daenerys had been interesting. He followed the gods of Old Valyria, but it was clear her power was nothing to mess with.

"I'm afraid I'm about to ruin your good mood, brother," he turned to see Viserys leaning against a column lining the garden.

"You must have truly dreadful news then, Viserys, because there are very few things that can overshadow watching Hightower get dragged to the dungeons."

"I think Rhaenyra should marry Laenor."

If it had been anyone other than his brother suggesting such a thing, he would have cut them down. Rhaenyra was his. It was destiny.

"You can't be serious. You heard the same history as I did - her children were never fathered by Laenor -"

He could feel his chest tightening. She would take a lover, someone outside the bounds of her political arrangement. There didn't have to be anyone else-

He couldn't do it. He couldn't share her.

"I did hear the same history. I heard two people so much in love with each other they would spurn their father, brother, king - to be together. Forego mourning for their loved ones, wage war together." His brother moved to rest his hands on his shoulders. "You two are true dragons - all fire and blood. What kind of chaos am I unleashing if I let you wed?"

He gave a small huff, "Imagine the chaos we cause to get back to each other."

"Well, what do you propose we give Lord Corlys, then? He believes his wife should be on the throne."

"Marry his daughter, then."

Viserys withdrew from him, "She's a child!"

He rolled his eyes, "I didn't say bed her. A betrothal until she's - say, fifteen, then discuss with her whether she wants to bear children or not. Given Dany's dream, I feel it's safer for her to be with us any way."

He intended for he and Rhaenyra to have heirs of their own long before then either way. His princess' rule would be secured.

"That's remarkably sound advice from the King's new Hand," his brother smirked at him.

"It's entirely self-serving, I assure you."

Viserys watched him for a moment. "I'm sorry, for what it's worth."

Daemon felt himself go still in surprise. "What are you sorry for?"

"For letting them poison my opinion of you. I've envied your freedom since I became king that it became easy to resent it. But you're right - you're honest, and you'll protect our family and our House until your last breath. And that's what I need."

He held back a smile, "You mean you need someone to tell you when you're being an idiot and trying to marry your daughter off to the wrong man."

His brother laughed, "Yes, I suppose that too."

"Why would you try to marry Nyra to anyone other than Uncle Daemon?" The trio of girls stepped out of a large door, Daenerys in the lead, a red fox laid across her shoulders.

"Dany, hush!" Alicent giggled - she didn't know about their conversation the night before, she would think they were just teasing.

Rhaenyra didn't even glance his way. She looked straight at her father. "Political advantage. If I had to guess, my cousin Laenor was the candidate being discussed."

Maybe this was something that had changed. He hadn't considered it yet, but since she'd found out they'd been together, she hadn't even spoken to him.

Whatever had made her fall in love with him - maybe it changed.

"You would be correct, Princess."

She finally turned her gaze on him. "And yet the Hand disapproves."

There was something fiery in her stare. What was that? Did she want him to say that, no, of course he didn't approve? She belonged to him and him alone? Was it a challenge to see if he was capable of playing politics?

"I believe the princess would find it hard to have an heir with one who prefers the company of men."

She hummed, turning her gaze back to her father who had been watching the two of them with interest. "Wise council. I'm inclined to agree with him. Ser Laenor would sooner bed Prince Daemon than myself - not that I'd begrudge him that - but it would make it difficult to produce an heir for our House."

Did she-

Alicent cackled, "Rhaenyra!"

Viserys groaned as Daenerys let her fox down to run about the garden.

Daemon looked over to see Rhaenyra give him a wicked smile before she turned back to Dany. He was not going to think about that smile - or her words or that fire in her challenging stare- No.

He frowned at his little niece, "Daenerys - where did you get a fox?"

----------------------------------------------------------

Melisandre could tell that more and more of her old life was slipping away - but it was better for the princess.

Now, though, as they stood around - gathered at the pyres for Queen Aemma and the small Prince Baelon - that hardness was back. It was a stone that formed, layer by layer, from grief upon grief and loss upon loss.

Daenerys had insisted that her dragons' eggs be present, as her cousin and uncle's dragons were. Syrax had become protective of the stone eggs - she knew what they were, what they would become.

The traitor was brought out before the gathering, the Lord Commander leading two of his Kingsguard as they dragged him through the grass. What an undignified way to meet your end.

Redwyne's voice boomed out, "Otto Hightower, you stand accused of the murder of Baelon Targaryen and of treason in the plotting against the King and his House."

Melisandre had to admit, it was an interesting way to mete out justice - with humiliation first.

"Where are the accusers?"

Daenerys stepped forward first. "Here."

Rhaenyra. "Here."

Then, the final blow, his daughter stepped forward. "Here."

The Lord Commander turned to the King, "Your ruling, Your Grace?"

"Guilty. Treason against House Targaryen will be met with fire and blood."

He sounded very much like a king. This Viserys was growing in her esteem - not an easy feat, by any stretch. Perhaps ridding them of that maester had done more than she'd thought.

"No! No!" The Hightower man was screeching as the soldiers fastened him to the funeral pyres.

She would have done the burnings separately, herself, but vengeance rarely thought logically. If the dragons wanted blood, who was she to deny them?

A final step - one of the dragon keepers approached with the warming chamber of the egg that had been meant to be the babe's. Daenerys took it with no gloves - no protection from the heat - and moved to set it on the pyre next to the small, wrapped figure.

Only death can pay for life. Perhaps it would hatch with this offering to the gods of Old Valyria. Perhaps it was merely symbolic, sending the child off with the dragon that would have been with him in life.

She longed to say the words - to relinquish these children of fire and blood up into the flames. But they were not children of her flames. They belonged to the Fourteen. Let the words of the Valyrian gods carry them away to their own fires.

"For the night is dark and full of terrors," she murmured still.

Daemon set a hand on Daenerys' shoulder, speaking their own words. "Valar morghūlis yn īlon zālagon lēda Perzys Ānogār"

The others repeated it softly. "All men must die but we burn with fire and blood."

A sniffle came from Rhaenyra. Melisandre raised a brow. The princess was quite stoic and calm - she would not have expected tears from her.

The wind rustled the black lace over her red dress - the nearest she had to a mourning gown, and it was only out of respect for her Lady. There was a deep silence over the hilltop, despite Otto Hightower's whimpers.

Prince Daemon stepped toward Rhaenyra, "They're waiting for you."

"Drac-" Poor girl. The word stuck in her mouth, probably caught on the grief she was still swallowing down. "Dracarys."

The great golden beast gave her rider a mournful stare and released a stream of white flame from her jaw. It was blinding, just as the screams of the traitor were piercing.

Before she could stop her, Daenerys darted forward. "Princess!"

"Dany!"

Rhaenyra moved to follow, only to be held back by Daemon. "You do not have a history of walking through fire unburnt, dear niece. Trust her."

At Rhaenyra's outburst, Syrax ceased her stream of fire. The pyres were still burning and Melisandre had to remind herself that Daemon's words rang true - Azor Ahai would not be harmed in the flames.

A figure could barely be seen, so small. She was still so young. But she was also not alone in the fire - the screams of that traitor Hightower had stopped. He certainly died fast.

The smaller pyre collapsed under the weight of itself and Daenerys could be seen more clearly, surrounded by fire with- with Otto on his knees at her feet.

"What is she doing?" The princess next to her growled, the dragon perched up above them echoing her sentiment.

There was murmuring from behind as the gathered lords and ladies of the court started to express their confusion. Obviously, none of them had seen a Targaryen walk into fire willingly.

Go.

Melisandre would know her Lord's voice as easily as her own. She moved toward the large pyre where the fire was still burning - where her princess still was.

The sound of the wood cracking was deafening as it collapsed, taking most of the open flames with it.

Daenerys stood out among the pile of ashes, the cloud of embers framing her like the Valyrian goddesses of legend. She was unburnt. Unlike the husk of a man still prostrate at her feet.

She moved to mirror him, kneeling at her princess' feet. "Yet again, you prove to the world that Azor Ahai lives, Princess."

The girl's violet eyes swept over the hillside, probably taking in the faces of everyone that could finally see her as the miracle she truly was.

"Please perform your last rites on him, Melisandre. I promised him something more than just a traitor's death."

The Last Kiss. "As you command," she answered to both her Lord and Lady.

Dany moved away and she could see that Hightower had clung to her like the coward he was. As she moved, ash left a powdery shimmer over her black gown, turning everything on her silver to match her hair.

She truly did look like the Maiden the heretics of the Seven worshipped - a goddess in her own right - as she stepped across the hot coals of the pyres, stirring up flames as she gifted them with air.

The body of the man was essentially fused into the position he'd died in. The flames had melted his skin and clothes together. Syrax had certainly done her job well.

Generally, she would clean the body and prepare it entirely before returning the body's flame. But it was unlikely that this body was missing fire. It was the blessing and the power it needed.

"Life is warmth, and warmth is fire, and fire is R'hllor's and R'hllor's alone." She felt the heat of the ruby at her throat as her Lord filled her with his power.

She leaned down and pressed a kiss upon the burned skin of the man's head. If he was worthy now, it was because he had been purified in the fire and forgiven by Azor Ahai.

"For the night is dark and full of terrors." Melisandre stood and stepped back to her place beside Daemon and Rhaenyra.

The prince stared over at her, "Better than he deserved."

She turned her golden eyes to him, "It was not for me to decide. I am only a servant to my Lord and his chosen."

There were low growls from around them - both Syrax and Caraxes clambered closer, causing nervous whispers from the group around them. Even Melisandre wasn't entirely comfortable around the giant creatures of living flame.

"Syrax!"

Daemon turned to his own beast and tilted his head. "What is it?"

Both dragonriders turned toward Daenerys simultaneously as she knelt down into the glowing coals.

Out of the ashes she pulled a small silvery bundle. She clutched it to her chest as she moved to stand over Hightower again, ready for him to gasp loudly, taking in his first new breath as a servant to the Lord of Light.

The fused and burned skin peeled off as scars and he reached out toward the princess. She stared down at him. "Otto Hightower, you have been judged and you have paid the penalty with your life. I have granted you new life for you to serve House Targaryen in perpetuity. Will you swear this?"

The traitor began to weep at her feet. "I swear. Of course, my Princess. I swear."

She nodded, looking out at the crowd gathered beyond her family. "Let it be known that the House of the Dragon stands strong and united."

To punctuate her statement, the silver bundle in her arms stretched its translucent wings and let out a high-pitched screech.

Only death pays for life, indeed.

-----------------------------------------------

This wasn't right - in the same way being born with Lannister blood wasn't right. The beautiful silver and red dragon curled up in front of her hearth wasn't the one that she was meant to hatch.

Both the dragon and her fox were laying near the fire comfortably as she watched them.

"What will you name her?" Alicent was brushing out her wet hair. She'd desperately needed a bath after covering herself in soot and ash.

Rhaenyra looked up at them from where she was reclining on the floor near the dragon, "Dragons more or less name themselves. It's a sort of impression they give their bonded - a name that just fits."

"Then I suppose it will not be me naming her."

Alicent paused in her brushing, "What do you mean?"

"She doesn't plan to bond with her." Rhae turned to them, sitting up, "Isn't that right, Dany?"

Daenerys pursed her lips, feeling every bit the petulant child she was. "She's not my dragon!"

Her cousin stood up, scooping the hatchling up in her arms as she did. "You can cling to your stone eggs if you want to, Daenerys, but they're not supposed to hatch for another two hundred years!"

"Two-" Alicent started to question, clearly confused.

"You don't know that!" She stood from her seat, startling Alicent. "Why would she have brought them here if not for me to have my children again?" A small yip came from the fox near the hearth.

There it was - that familiar hollow ache that would just sit in her chest until she felt like she couldn't breathe anymore. "I don't know how to explain it, Nyra, but they were all I had - the only thing I was ever going to have. Losing them was like losing limbs - carving out pieces of myself."

Her cheeks were wet. She hadn't realized she'd been crying. "I know it's not real. I do, really. I know it's just dreams and some twisted kind of memories, but that doesn't make it hurt any less. The dragons are the most vivid part - more vivid than dying. They're my children and they looked to me as their mother. Drogon was there as he killed me, probably avenged me, actually."

Rhaenyra sighed, stroking along the spines of the silver she-dragon. "That's the black and red one, isn't it? You tend to carry that egg more than the others."

"Yeah," she sighed. "He was the one I rode."

Her cousin nodded. "Okay, I'm going to put something forward that might be hard to swallow, but I just need you to listen."

Alicent huffed, "This sounds like we're about to get in trouble."

Rhaenyra gave her a brief glare. "The opposite, actually." She took Daenerys' hand and transferred the small dragon to her. "You hatched her, whether you want to admit it or not. But that is not what I want you to think carefully about.

"How vital were your dragons to the fight against the Night King? To the prophecy and fulfillment of you becoming the true embodiment of Azor Ahai? How badly will those stone eggs be needed by your next life?"

Every word was a deeper blade through her chest. The sky had only bled when she had hatched her dragons, she had rescued the Night's Watch from Drogon's back. It was hatching the dragons themselves that became the forging of Lightbringer.

Her children were needed for the Long Night. And she had a tiny creature in front of her that needed her.

"You're right." She scratched at the jaw of the small thing in her hands, drawing a little chirp out of it. "And what kind of Targaryen would I be if I abandoned her for a memory of a dream?" She sighed, "Even if it makes my chest ache like I've been emptied out and filled with steel."

Alicent hugged her from behind, careful of the dragon. "Oh, Dany. The grief gets easier - I promise. I know that exact feeling. It's how I felt after my mother died. After time, it's like the weight gets lesser and lesser. I don't know that it ever quite goes away, but it gets bearable, at least."

Rhaenyra grabbed one of Alicent's hands and rested her other one on Dany's cheek, brushing away a stray tear as if she weren't crying herself. "We can grieve together. You said it today, Daenerys. We are united and we are strong - even in our grief. Yes?" Her thumb wiped away another tear.

Dany nodded, "Yeah." She sniffled as her cousin wrapped her arm around both her and Alicent.

There was a small screech in protest as the little ball of silver scales got pressed into her chest.

Kaeres.

She laughed. Not just at the noise or the fact that, yes, they were clearly bonded. But at the irony. Kaeres - spirit. Ghost.

"Her name is Kaeres." There was a happy squawk from the little she-dragon as she bounced up in Dany's lap, frightening Alicent.

The two cousins laughed at their friend, quickly dissolving into hysterics as Dany fell to the floor and Kaeres nested in her now-dry hair, also drawing Melisandre over to examine her.

Even Alicent had to admit they were adorable. Good, perhaps it would cure her of her fear of dragons.

A knock sounded at her door and the three of them sat up. "Enter."

Ser Harrold pushed the door open, bowing. "Princesses, Lady Alicent, the Small Council will be convening shortly. I believe you will be expected." She watched his eyes wander around the room. "As well as the Lady Melisandre."

It took every bit of decorum she had not to laugh at the fact that no one had figured out where Melisandre was when they couldn't see her. Or where the fox had come from. Honestly, everyone was so blind.

"Thank you, Ser Harrold. We will be there." The Kingsguard saw himself out.

"What do you think they want?" Alicent was not accustomed to being in the Small Council.

Dany reached to squeeze her hand, "There's much to discuss. They're going to want to know if you're going back to Oldtown or if you'll stay on as the King's ward."

Rhaenyra hugged their friend tight, "Don't worry, we won't let them send you anywhere."

"I don't understand. Why wouldn't I just stay here with my father?"

She took a deep breath, bracing herself for the tears of her friend, "Because I'm sending him to the Wall."

----------------------------------------------------------

It was true - Alicent had cried when Daenerys told her they would be sending her father to the Wall. But it was also true that he wasn't quite her father any more.

When the three of them made their entrance into the Council chamber, she saw him standing hunched between two guards - or, more accurately, what was left of him.

All hair had been burned away, leaving only shiny patches of white scars mottling every surface of skin that could be seen. His hazel eyes had brightened to a familiar gold - the same as Melisandre's.

The shiny parts of his skin almost looked wet - like they were oozing some kind of clear liquid - while the rest of him seemed like it was peeling off in thin layers. He was something monstrous to see, certainly.

"The Princesses Rhaenyra Targaryen and Daenerys Lannister, and the Lady Alicent Hightower." Ser Harrold announced them. Dany flinched at her family name as she always did.

Rhaenyra walked in front of them as the heir, her face expressionless and stern. It was a miracle the whole world didn't bow before her in sheer respect, at least in her opinion. Daenerys had just become more Targaryen and mystical, carrying her new silver dragon in her arms and her mysterious fox on her shoulders.

And then there was her - just Alicent, next to these women who would be the things of legend.

"Ah, Ladies, welcome," the King seemed pleased to see them, which she counted as a good thing. She knew her friends had promised not to let anything happen to her, but the King still had the final say.

"Thank you, Father." Rhaenyra moved to take a seat at the table across from her uncle - generally reserved for the queen.

The new Grand Maester looked around the room, "I confess, I was hoping to meet this red priest I've heard so much about. Is she not with you, Princess Daenerys?"

Alicent realized she hadn't seen the Lady Melisandre since the funeral. It was odd for her to leave Dany's side.

The fox hopped off the princess' shoulder and lifted its chin to reveal a collar with a large ruby. The ruby glowed bright enough to blind, forcing everyone to look away. As the light dimmed, there was no longer a fox, but Melisandre standing in its place.

She smirked mischievously, "You'll find, maester, I am indeed never far from the princess."

Prince Daemon laughed, "Clever. Who would keep a princess' pet from her? Very clever."

Lord Strong stared at the red priest thoughtfully, "Also quite useful as the Master of Whisperers for the Small Council, which I suspect Princess Daenerys knew when she had you named."

"Amongst other talents she possesses, yes." Dany moved Kaeres to her shoulder to free her hands and the dragon instantly burrowed behind her neck into her hair.

Melisandre crossed to take a seat across from Lord Beesbury, leaving Alicent and Dany standing. It didn't seem to bother Daenerys at all, but Ali didn't know what to do about it.

"Alright, we're all here. Princess Rhaenyra is to sit in as heir and behave as a participating member of this council from this time forward."

Her best friend inclined her head to her father, "Thank you, my King."

He nodded to the table in general, "Now, to the matter of House Hightower-"

Almost everyone around the table began speaking at once, trying to have the king hear their own idea of what should be done with her and her family.

"Enough!" Daemon shouted, silencing everyone. "I believe my brother was speaking."

Alicent and everyone else gave him an impressed look - except the two princesses. They didn't seem surprised at all.

King Viserys cleared his throat, "As I was saying, I would like to hear Lady Alicent's request before any decisions are made."

Her mind went blank. "Mine?"

"Indeed. No one knows the minds and hearts of your family better than you. We know your father and uncle are complicit, but do you think others in your house capable of treachery?"

She thought on her brother and cousin. "Both my brother and cousin would seek to rise above their station, but so would nearly every Lord in Westeros, Your Grace. I don't know that makes them capable of treason. I do not think it is an obsession for them as it was for my father."

"And do you wish to return to Oldtown to be with your brother and cousin?"

"No, Your Grace. If it pleases you, I would rather remain and continue in my service of the princesses."

The king smiled at her and she felt a surge of relief. "It does please the crown to allow you to remain here as a ward of House Targaryen until the day you find a suitable match and are married into a house worthy of you."

"Thank you, Your Grace." She curtsied.

He nodded and turned back to his council. Alicent moved to stand next to Dany over at the table with the cups.

"And what of Otto?"

"The Wall," Dany stepped away from her. As she approached, it was like Hightower gained new strength, standing straighter.

"Of course, Princess. However I can serve you."

Daenerys moved to face the room at large, "Otto Hightower will serve at the Wall. He will take the oath of the Night's Watch and uphold it, waiting, watching, and listening for the signs of the Long Night. When the rumors of the dead rising with blue eyes begin, or wildlings fleeing south, or the Others waking begin - he will alert us."

She lifted her chin, "And House Targaryen will know it is time for the stone eggs to hatch."

"You speak of fairy tales, Princess." Grand Maester Orwyle clearly hadn't been told about how his predecessor died.

Lord Beesbury turned to him, "You are looking at a man brought to life before your eyes and a girl who walked through dragonfire unburnt, yet you speak of fairy tales? Have some sense, Grand Maester."

Prince Daemon laughed again. Rhaenyra glared at him and he instantly quieted.

Dany practically glided back to her place by Alicent with as gracefully as she moved with Kaeres on her shoulders.

"The matter of House Hightower is concluded, then." Daemon announced to the table. "I put forth Ser Harwin Strong as my successor as Commander of the City Watch."

Lord Strong flushed a bit, sitting forward. "All in favor?" There was an echo of 'aye's around the table. "Any opposed?" No one said anything. "Ser Harwin Strong will be sworn in as Commander of the City Watch. Lord Hand, my House thanks you for the honor."

Daemon's jaw twitched slightly, "No need. He's simply the most qualified for the position."

The King watched the exchange with the same curiosity she herself felt, except he seemed to know something about it. "Very good. Now, on to the next order of business - Rhaenyra's naming as heir. Have all the ravens been sent, Grand Maester?"

Orwyle nodded, "They have, Your Grace."

"And where are we on planning the tournament?"

Rhae sighed, "Father, is a tourney entirely necessary?"

"Actually, it will help foster good relations between you and your future subjects, Princess." her uncle raised a challenging brow at her and Alicent half expected a scene between the two of them.

Instead, Rhaenyra pursed her lips, "I can see the wisdom in that. As absurd as I find it."

Lord Beesbury took the opportunity to answer, "All is according to plan, Your Grace. The feasts for the commons and court are prepared, and the tournament purses have been funded."

"Excellent."

Lord Corlys stood at the end of the table, "Final order of business, Your Grace. There is still the matter of the Stepstones. The Crabfeeder has cleared the pirates from the shipping lanes and is intent on owning those shipping lanes in the name of the Triarchy."

Alicent watched as Daemon and Rhaenyra both leaned forward simultaneously.

"Father, I think we should take this seriously."

"Your Grace, this is likely going to be something that will become a problem-"

It was all she could do not to laugh at the shade of red her best friend was turning. She turned to meet Dany's eyes. Oh they were so going to make her regret this later.

The king looked between the two of them with an amused expression, "It would appear my Hand and heir both believe we should intervene. What were you proposing, Lord Corlys?"

"I would urge you not to allow this Triarchy much latitude in the Stepstones, Your Grace. If those shipping lanes should fall, it would beggar our ports."

Rhaenyra stared down the table at him, "Do they currently hold a strong military presence?"

"Not as strong as it could be, Princess. They are still finishing their campaign to remove the pirates from the caves. Once they have finished that and dig their own way in, they will be almost impossible to root out."

There was a meaningful look passed between Rhaenyra and Daemon - like they knew something about this that the rest of the room didn't.

Prince Daemon nodded toward Corlys, "Then we will likely need to intervene before that happens. What do you need?"

"Ships and tender, Lord Hand. Likely men, calvary and archers alike, as well."

The Master of Coin sighed deeply, "That sounds like you intend to fight a full war. In all of its history, my lord, the Seven Kingdoms have never entered open war with the Free Cities. Were that to happen, the losses would be incalculable."

"These pirates are not the Free Cities, Lord Beesbury." Rhaenyra eyed him steadily. "I doubt they want open war with us any more than we do with them. They can easily disavow this Crabfeeder, and likely will."

Lord Strong nodded, "If we give a show of strength, she is correct. It will give no reason for the Free Cities to believe they can strike back."

Daenerys tugged Kaeres out of her hair, "Dragons, then?"

King Viserys nodded, "Indeed. It is settled. Lord Corlys, Driftmark will have the Crown's support in coin, ships, men, and our dragonriders as well." He stood, with everyone following suit. "This concludes our business. Daemon and Corlys, stay. We have one more thing to discuss."

She and Dany waited near the door for Nyra and Melisandre.

"You've really been the fox this whole time?" Alicent stared at the red woman. After a few moments, the oddness of her golden eyes made sense - they were a fox's eyes, with angled pupils rather than fully round. It was subtle, but it was there.

The priestess cocked her head at her, "I serve the Lord of Light, Lady Alicent. Some days it is nice to just curl up in a patch of sunlight and bask in his presence." She smirked, "The freedom to come and go as I please is nice as well."

Alicent hummed, "Maybe I should convert and have you teach me your ways. That does sound nice."

The two princesses shook their heads at her as they left the Council chamber. They all knew she was too dedicated to the Seven, no matter how appealing changing into a fox and shirking all responsibility truly was.

1 "Divinity, eternity, family - they go hand in hand, and so must we." - Unknown

#daemyra #daemon x rhaenyra #daemon targaryen #daenerys targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen #alicent hightower #viserys targaryen #jonerys #got #hotd #mine #mira writes #back on my q shit

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therianimal · 4 years ago

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A Simple "About Me"

My name is Blue, I'm 25 and my pronouns are he/him. I use the labels alterhuman, nonhuman, therian, otherkin, plural, nonbinary, trans, and queer. My 'types are border collie, black wolf, domestic cat, red fox, and hawk. I'm the host of a non-disordered, non-traumagenic system called The Primula System. I (as in Blue, the host) am basically median as well, with various facets as well as a daemon named Solaris/Sol. I'm neurodivergent - I have autism and ADHD, as well as misc. mental illnesses. I'm also a leftist, casual furry, and polyamorous.

This blog mostly hosts alterhuman-related essays, but I occasionally stray into other topics. I also post art and photos of "me" (aka. my 'types). My posting is inconsistent due to my disabilities, social anxiety, and lack of spoons, but I try my best to post content when I can. I typically delete hate asks rather than engaging, but I love getting positive ones! Feel free to ask questions as well :3 (in good faith, of course).

#about me #blue speaks

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mylordshesacactus · 4 years ago

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I am SO CONFLICTED about Cinder’s daemon assignment now that @eighthdoctor is out here also having excellent opinions.

Because with the added context of Midnight, specifically the fucking shock collar that no one was willing to intervene about when placed on an actual human child, I AGREE that having Cinder settle as a neurotic Malinois, abused and forced to suppress her emotions and pushed to the limit until she finally snapped and came up the line hard, works really, really well.

(Did you know Malinois come in mahogany? Because the biggest catching point for me before I remembered that fact is that this is RWBY, and half the struggle of daemon assignments--is that they have to match in terms of personality, symbolism, AND aesthetic. But a blood-red-and-black Malinois matches Cinder’s aesthetic perfectly.)

Because here’s the thing. A malinois is an extremely highly-bred, specialist working animal. Extremely intelligent, extremely strong, extremely sharp, extremely fast, extremely....uh, “extremely” is just a pretty good summary of the Belgian Malinois as a breed, honestly. They sure are Extremely.

But they don’t look it. They look like a leggy, scrawny mutt of a dog that you brought off the street for the apparent express purpose of finding and killing both your furniture and God Himself.

And Lady Tremaine over here would a) hate that and b) make SO MUCH use of it. A dog is a servant’s daemon. And Cinder apparently can’t even merit something small and clean and tasteful. No, she’s got this massive sloppy-looking thing, with its huge tongue and massive paws, shedding all over her clean hotel, always in the way, obtrusive and insolent, ugly, some disgusting trashy farm dog, I thought I’d beaten that kind of dirty Mistrali nonsense out of you but apparently there’s only so much that can be done--

So the question isn’t “does a malinois work, thematically, for CInder” but rather “does it work BETTER than a red cross fox”.

I have two sources of doubt, the first of which is that...daemon stereotypes are a thing, right. But the thing is, Cinder is the only person who’s got this weird obsession with ruthlessly excising any remnant (haha) of her powerless past. Cinder is the only person who looks at herself and feels disgust and weakness and is consumed by the need to cut out all those reminders and remake herself.

Cinder is the only person who would look at a beautiful, elegant red fox daemon and, instead of anything else you could associate with that, hear the old sneers of urban pest. Unwanted scavenger. Filthy dumpster-foraging scoundrel. Of course, that frankly also goes for a malinois; no one is gonna look at a bristling attack dog and have their instinctive thought be “servant” no matter HOW deep they are in the daemon stereotype kool-aid.

The big one for me is that malinois are...powerful. Like, they just are, in and of themselves. They’re purpose-bred attack dogs, they are in their element in an all-out 1v1 speed-and-power-vs-speed-and-power lightning-strike physical assault.

And every time Cinder tries something like that, she fails.

Cinder is at her best working from the shadows, waiting and watching, using misdirection, sneaking in behind someone and stealing their lunch, moving lightly and quickly and avoiding direct confrontation as both not worth it and not the best way to solve a problem--clever and tricky like a fox.

And she hates it.

And tying in to the idea that Cinder, who hates herself, would also inherently resent her daemon for settling in a form that’s infuriatingly accurate as opposed to feeding in to her vision of the person she wishes she was...the fox may just win out there. Or maybe it doesn’t. They’re both really good matches.

Regardless, we’ve DEFINITELY found Cinder in the Remnant Kennel Club that’s for damn sure.

#rwby daemons #cinder fall #...hell #remnant kennel club

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lewis-winters · 4 years ago

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Some additional dæmon!au headcanons, a continuation of this headcanon list.

Ok so I thought about it some more and decided to change Dick's dæmon from a Caracara to a Gyrfalcon. Still a raptor, but a larger one that has, historically, been used in falconry and hunting and is, in some European countries, a symbol of patriotism and national pride. Dick's daemon is a female, silver-streaked Gyrfalcon that settled sometime after college but before Fort Benning. Her name's Anahida, and she speaks like a queen. Like, literally, I imagine her voice sounds a lot like Helen McCrory's (gee, I wonder why). She's very large and eye catching, but she only speaks when spoken to-- which is rare. In a society as repressed as 1930s - 1940s America, I imagine speaking to another person's dæmon would be seen as rude or taboo. Because of that, Anahida barely speaks and thus, people often forget she's there. There are rumors too, that Dick's the son of a witch, because Anahida likes to fly far above and at a distance, farther than any human-dæmon bond should go. However, it isn't true. They just practiced a lot growing up. Dick's always wanted to fly, in some way or another, and practicing as well as testing how far they can both stretch from each other was their afternoon play time. It's weird. I know. But this is Dick we're talking about. Of course he'd do something like this.

Anahida is the only one allowed to berate Dick when he's being exceptionally petty or self-righteous. She keeps him in check. It never happens often, but it happens enough. Other than that, they're right as rain and very in-sync with each other.

Is anybody surprised that the only other person who will ever address Anahida directly is Lewis? Show of hands? None? Yeah, me too.

Liebgott's dæmon's name is Chaya and, after some pondering, I've come to the conclusion that she's a Bat-eared fox. Very chatty, too. She and Lieb are very blunt, but she's arguably the blunter one of the two. Where Lieb sometimes gives into the urge to hide or repress feelings, Chaya is willing to take more risk. She does this thing where she will boldly go one way, the way she knows is good for them both, stretching their bond even to its thinnest and most painful, just to get Lieb to finally concede and agree with her. They're both stubborn as all hell, that's the problem. Sometimes Lieb will deny himself things for a myriad of reasons. Chaya has no such qualms. She loves him, but she definitely thinks he's an idiot sometimes. It also sometimes extends to how Lieb gets really soft around people he cares about. In the wild, male Bat-eared foxes are the more nurturing of the young, while the females are the ones who go out and hunt. Kind of the same with Lieb and Chaya. Lieb takes care, he hovers and forgets that boundaries exist-- his own, and the person he's taking care of. But Chaya's the kind who remembers, and reminds Lieb that sometimes you can't give all of yourself away, no matter how much you want to. Does that make sense?

(Disclaimer: I gotta admit. The reason why I hesitated with Lieb was because I didn't want to accidentally be anti-Semitic. I grew up in a country that is primarily Christian and Muslim so I am only familiar with Islamophobic visual vocab, not so the anti-Semitic ones. I had to make sure the animals I assigned a Jewish man's literal soul to were not anti-Semitic or used in anti-Semitic imagery by Nazi propaganda in any way. So. Yeah. Um. Pigs, goats, lizards/reptiles, rats, rodent-adjacent, or any animal seen as "pests" or "vermin" were immediately struck out. Nope. Let's not.)

You wouldn't know it at first glance, but Web and his raven dæmon have a very intense love-hate relationship. Annabelle is a very act-first, introspection-never kind of thing. Web is the opposite. Sometimes, Annabelle will act before Web himself will, and she can be very, very vicious. Because of this, Web is afraid of her and Annabelle resents him. They never fight in public, they largely ignore each other, but often when they get into it... well. It gets almost... a bit too violent. Some of the others have never seen a human and a daemon hurt each other until they’ve met these two. Sometimes, Annabelle often thinks that she’s somebody else entirely, a completely different entity from Web, and sometimes, Web thinks she’s a changeling. That maybe some fae or other switched his real daemon out for this cursed one. It’s a really fractured, complicated relationship.

When they’re on the same wave length, though, they’re scary. The only thing they can seem to agree on is passionate and impulsive anger. Web will always regret it afterwards whereas Annabelle is always smug about it. They calm down after the war and they’re back home. During the war, though, they’re both a mess.

Joe Toye’s daemon is a doberman pinscher named Alessia who is just about as quiet and solemn as her human. Classic soldier daemon. He calls her Al for short. When he loses a leg, she doesn’t. I don’t think amputation in the daemon world works that way, at least not according to Pullman’s original text. Going back home with her after his amputation is easier because she’s there to encouraged him and hold him up when necessary. They make a good team. They share similar fears and insecurities so it’s easy for the both of them to understand each other and help each other through it.

Pat has a little american robin as a daemon. Which is really funny, honestly. Big tough guy like Pat, you’d think he’d have a big tough daemon for sure, but that’s not the case with him. He’s always been gentle and unassuming, Pat and so is his daemon. Her name’s Aoibheann (pronounced ay-veen). She likes to sit on his shoulder and rarely flies far away from him. When they jumped, she stayed inside his jacket at all times, tucked away and close. The only time she flies is later on at peace time, when she knows they’re both safe and she can leave Pat for a few minutes without it being too much trouble.

Johnny’s daemon is a mongoose named Corentine, but he calls her Cora. She’s fiesty. Sobel’s rooster daemon, Julius, wasn’t very fond of her. In fact, he was downright frightened of her. It’s why Sobel won’t mess with Johnny. It’s really funny.

Perco’s daemon is in the same family. A weasel. A tiny little thing he can hold in both his hands. Her name’s Jackie. I have no idea why. But it fits.

Ralph Spina’s daemon is a raccoon. It’s adorable. His name’s Nimaphael. But he hates it and everybody just calls him Nim. Ralph carries him around like a baby on a sling, strapped to his chest. Unlike Harry and Saoirse, you can tease them about this. They’re aware it looks ridiculous. They also don’t care.

Bull’s daemon is a sun bear. I know. I didn’t see this coming, either. But I thought about it and... honestly? It fits. Not to mention Bull’s pretty big. He can carry her no problem. Her name’s Xanthia, by the way. And she’s very sweet, if only a little gruff in showing affection. She’s also not afraid to do what needs to be done. If she needs to have a go at an enemy’s daemon, then you know she’ll do it. She definitely isn’t afraid to get down and dirty. It scares the replacements for awhile, until they realize that she only does it to protect her own.

I finally figured out what Merriell Shelton’s daemon is-- it’s a Jaguarundi. It’s a wild cat that looks to be a mix between a house cat and a mongoose. They’re fascinating and they hiss. A lot. It’s a perfect fit. Again, he name is Charlotte, but he calls her Lotte. Imagining them swaggering down the streets of 1940s New Orleans appeals to my aesthetic sense so much I cry just thinking about it.

BONUS:

Kitty Grogan’s daemon is, not surprisingly, a cat. But not a domesticated one. He looks like it at first glance, but he’s not. He’s an African Wild Cat and he’s a sarcastic little shit named Xaphania. Xaph for short. Send me a wink if you understand that reference.

#dæmon au #band of brothers #dick winters #joe liebgott #david webster #joe toye #pat christenson #johhny martin #frank perconte #ralph spina #bull randleman #kitty grogan #the pacific #merriell shelton #bob hcs #bob aus

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