SPILL THE TEA ON WHY EDDIE IS DAEMON-CODED I WANNA SEEEEE
OK OK YOUVE OPENED PANDORAS BOX GIRLY I-
First of all Eddie is Targaryen coded, like prove me wrong but that man would 100% be the blood of the dragon.
Anyways Iâm also going on the principle that if youâd put daemon in the same setting as Eddie (in the 80âs, living in a trailer park with his uncle) he would be Eddie Munson. Like he would deal drugs, he would be called the freak bc Targaryens r all freaks, and they have this like free will to just be themselves bc thatâs the power the crown have given them for years, and even tho deamon was born with it, Eddie just has it. That recklessness burning in their veins. And maybe living Eddieâs life would give Deamon a tiny bit more of the compassion Eddie has, but I doubt it.
And although Eddie would be more loyal and sweeter than deamon. You canât tell me Eddie wouldnât act like Daemon does in a game of thrones setting!!! Like Eddie born and raised with the blood of the dragon? Eddie having an actual dragon? DUNGEON MASTER, CONTROL FREAK EDDIE being second heir to the throne his entire life? Nah that man would so be Deamon coded, but he would have more remorse I think. In the sense that Eddie would do chaotic things, but he would genuinely have more compassion and feel bad. But heâd be so so so stubborn like Daemon đ like what he pulled in Harrenhall would so happen to him
And then I mean, the smirk, the nonchalant, the long hair, the mischievous spark in their eyes!!!! I need to see Eddie own a dragon. I need to see a fan art of him as a Targaryen Prince đŤ
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Guess who let themselves think to much HotD and Mikaelsons together.
@riderofblackdragons mostly your fault, you encourage, I share I over think.
also can be blamed on @nightingale2004 Post here
Viserra our drunken horse riding princess got picked as the Mikaelson's Targaryen link so she lives yay, get gets to be the mother of the start of this nightmare mess
Warning for incest, I couldn't pick which parent was the Targaryen before I realised why did I need to pick just one.
Slight changes to Characters names
----
Princess Viserra was once known as the most beautiful of Queen Alysanne Targaryen's daughters, after her marriage she became better known as the cold dragon.
Following her marriage she vowed to give her father what he wanted and never return south, King Jaehaerys wanted his daughters out of his sight so he would never lay eyes on her again.
She kept her word, when years later following the birth of her first child; she refused to present her to the king and queen.Â
Queen Alysanne flew White Harbor herself with offers and promises, princess Viserraâs children would be princesses and princes of the realm.
Still the princess refused to leave the north instead Queen Alysanne returned to king's landing to present Princess Daehlia to the king, this was repeated the following year for Prince Mikael and a couple of years after that with Princess Aesther.
Theomore Manderly was clearly proud of his youngest children but after the birth of Princess Aesther he refused to share his wifeâs bed claiming he had been widowed enough that he wouldnât risk losing his princess.
Even when King Jaehaerys grew ill and it was said pleaded for his daughters and wife, Princess Viserra, his last living daughter, laughed and refused at both the letter summoning her south and her childrenâs request.
Her father didnât want his daughter running about the kingdom, she had sworn a vow and she would keep it.
â
As the children grew it was clear while Princess Daehlia had gotten her motherâs dark purple eyes and fine features even if she had gotten the dark hair found in northerners, her younger siblings were thought of as the king and queen come again.
Yet the arrangement came from kings landing that princess Viserraâs eldest children would wed as the Targaryen way, however Princess Daehlia vanished before the wedding could pass and Prince Mikael and Princess Aesther wedded.
Rumours spread that Mikael had done away with his dark haired sister so he could wed his golden one.
But however it happened, the marriage proved more fruitful than the royal coupleâs with their second child coming just days after the princess Rhaenyraâs tenth birthday.
While the lost of their first born Fraeya was said to have gutted the prince and princess the safe delivery of another son just months after her death was considered a breath of hope; but no one knows why, when any mention of how much the new child favoured the lost Princess Daehlia was met with rage from the new parents.
â--
âBrother pleaseâ his little brotherâs normally controlled voice contained almost panic when he discovered in his room âdonât do this.â
âAelijah.â Finn sighed pausing in his packing, âI can't be fatherâs heir.â he tried to explain.
âAnd I can?â Aelijah heaved a sigh forcing Finn to turn to look at his little brother, just turned four and ten years old but with his hands set on his hip and looking at him with a serious look in his dark purple eyes he looked far older. Aelijah could be the perfect heir if not for birth order and the other misfortune of birth.
Finn stepped forward the moment he noticed the expression crumpled, Finn wasnât sure if it was greenseeing of grandfatherâs northern blood or the dragon dreams of grandmotherâs but the dreams had left AElijah overcome with moments of fear and confusion. Finn had grown up managing his brotherâs slip ups, he knew Niklaeus was just a versed, he wasnât truly needed anymore
âFinn the things that are coming,â AElijah muttered into his chest âthe house of the dragon is going to snap and claw and bleed itself and I can't face it alone.â
âAlright, I'll find another way.â He lied.
Prince Finn was last seen travelling with a flame-haired wildling woman.
â-
Rumours abound that Hayley Starkâs daughter is the child of Niklaeusâ not Aelijahâs, and Cregan used the shame to bring the calmer of the royal brothers into his house than lose his sister to another but whatever the truth was Prince Mikaelâs rage at losing another heir was clear to all.
There was no talk about the marriage itself the north knew better than to question whatever is going on between the younger sister of Cregan Stark, Prince Mikaelâs former heir and Lord Knott, it was their marriage and the mountain clans had their own way of doing things.
â-
Klaeus hates his father, that Mikaelâs grasping reach for power was the reason Aelijah took the first chance to flee to House Stark.
He knows Mikael blamed him for everything, that Niklaeusâ arranged it all so he could wed Rebaekah himself but he wanted his siblings to stay with him losing Aelijah to the starks was not part of it.
He was just glad he could still over over him though the ravens, it was how he knew the dreams were getting worse.
Klaeus grew up with Aelijah's dreams and then Rebaekahâs he knew to listen and read them, House Targaryen was going to tear itself apart and Mikael's want to be a part of it, for the power, was going to destroy them.
Klaeus was going to need to do something about his parents before they got them all killed.
GENRE: Alternatively Universes/Canon Divergence, Alternative Ending, The Greens Win, Loosely based on the books/show, Made up House,
DESCRIPTION: After the Greens win the Dance of The Dragons, you a left alone navigating the dangers and woes of Kings Landing. You were one of the last survivors of House Vermillion with the expectation to restore your House to its former glory. Pressured to find yourself a husband, you unintentionally catch the eye of the dangerously, one-eye kingslayerâhow will you ever survive amidst those who kill, those who take, and those who wish to eat you alive? Can also be read on AO3 here.
WARNINGS: Bodily Injury, Death, Graphic violence, Torture, Suspicion, Attempted murder, Murder, Poisoning, Possessive themes, Aemond in general
OPTIONAL PLAYLIST: Donât Fear the Reaper by Denmark + Winter, When You Break by Bearâs Den, Hold On by Brooke Annibale,Â
Darkness clung to the four walls that kept you contained. The repugnant smell of rot was profuse, while the stone ground was covered in a thick layer of grime.
You had been held prisoner since the day after the tourney, ambushed the morning after whilst walking the Street of Flour, a famous street for its many twists and bends as well as its countless bakeries and dessert stalls. Two cloaked thugs had roughly manhandled you before throwing you into their carriage and speeding away.
You had verily considered, fending them off, breaking an arm or two, and continuing your day as if nothing had transpired but ultimately you decided not to.
It sort to reason that someone had their grievances with you, most likely due to Aemond's recent antic of crowning you the Queen of Love and Beauty. Therefore, you chose to play along. To unearth the question of who? You wouldnât reveal your hand nor let on that you knew how to fight. You wouldn't risk such notions being spread by the wordlessly prying eyes of the city folk. For months you had tirelessly built an image of fragility and innocence. An image you intended to keep utilizing until you could successfully fulfill your duty to your House.
The dank and dingy vault below the castle was void of sunlight. The only light source available came from the dull lantern, its transparent case protecting the faint flame from blowing out. Beside it stood a short wooden frame that theyâd dubbed âthe bed of torturesâ. You were bent over the frame, ropes restraining your wrists behind your back. The twisted strips of hide gnawed at your skin, leaving cuts and burns behind. Exasperated, you blew the mattered strands of hair away from your face, your eyes trained on Lord Unwin Peake who sat on the opposite side of the cell observing how the interrogation progressed.
âLet me ask again,â The foul-breathed servant of Lord Peake tormented, âWhat kind of relationship do you have with Aemond Targaryen?â
You near rolled your eyes, spent by the same handful of questions the servant had repeatedly asked. You grappled with yourself whether you ought to just tear off the restraints you had managed to loosen over time and stab the servant with the knife you had hidden in the pockets of your undergarments.
Your limbs ached, your stomach famished and most pressingly your mind was bored. You had despised being held hostage during the war and the sentiment hadnât since changed.
âI guess one canât go ahead with killing Lord Peakeâs servant without inferring further consequences for oneâs self,â Your mumble was inaudible, neither Peake nor his servant catching what you had said.
The servant sneered, âWhat was that? Speak louder girl!â He chastised.
You said nothing, your lip curling in defiance. Â
It appeared you had made a powerful enemy out of Lord Unwin Peake, the hand to the king. Aemondâs declaration and favor towards you during the joust had foiled Lord Peakeâs plans to propel his daughter, Myrielle Peake into Aemondâs arms (and eventually bind the two with marriage). You huffed. Your intentions were never to be thrust between such political affairs, your initial plans were but to attract a wealthy Lord to marry and to save your House. However, after being held captive for days, you were feeling particularly spiteful... Perhaps you would change those plans, perhaps you'd begin to embark on the dangerous political game you'd thus far avoided. A new plan, with a new goalâone which involved the Targaryen Prince after all.
âThe relationship between Prince Aemond and I?â You toyed, prolonging your eye contact, âWould you care to hear that weâre close? Or would it make you feel safer if I said we werenât?â
Lord Unwin Peakeâs face soured, comprehending the underlying threat of your words. The conveyance was that if Aemond indeed considered you more than a plaything, more than a pastime then Lord Peake would be faced with the Princeâs unrelenting wrath.
A thick silence lingered as Lord Peake thought through his options.
âFrom this moment on you shall stay away from the Prince,â He calmly rose from his chair, dusting his trousers, âIf you care for that life of yours, Iâd advise you not meddle where you ought not to.â He then nudged his head toward one of the instruments that hung to the wall, âFinish off her punishment.â He ordered.
âItâd be my pleasure, my Lord,â The servant eagerly bowed.
You heard the crack of a whip, the distinctive sound of leather.
Lord Peake stopped before the cellâs exit, turning aback, âHer face is to remain untouched,â He soon left, the cold metal bars slamming loudly behind him.
The whip came lashing at your calves. You squeezed your eyes tight, balling your fists until your fingernails dug into your palms. A flurry of curses were stuck to your tongue as you tried to drown out the pain by thinking of happier thoughts, such as taking your sweet revenge and plunging your knife into the servantâs chest.
You felt the warmth of your blood streak down your legs and feet, a puddle of scarlet pooling on the ground below.
A manic laughter echoed throughout the dungeons, âScream for me,â He sadistically urged.
You gritted your teeth. You wouldnât oblige. You wouldnât give him the satisfaction of hearing you beg. You held in any sound, swearing to yourself youâd inflict a pain tenfold worse onto both Lord Peake and his servant.
The fire burned, its flames licking the wood of the balsam fireplace in Helenaâs study. Aemond was lent against the fireplace, absently watching Maelor play with his toys. The young boy roared aloud as he pretended his dragon carved from birch burned down the stick figures of men.
Helena had neglected her book, her violet eyes fixated on her brother. She was curious about what had brought on Aemondâs recent behavior. Aemond was not known to listen to just anyone⌠Even their dear mother struggled to put him in his place. Yet, during the joust heâd immediately caved to your demand, stopping just as youâd asked.
Helena knew this displeased her mother greatly. Aemond was handful enough for her to restrain but to have him now obey another? It threatened all sheâd thus worked for, all sheâd done to ensure Aemond wouldnât rise up against Aegon and seize his brotherâs crown.
Gaomagon ao hae zirČłla? Do you like her? Â Helenaâs dreamlike voice inquired.
QilĹni? Who? Aemond grumbled, well aware of whom his sister was referring to.
Se riĂąa lÄda mele laesi. The lady with crimson eyes.
Before Aemond could answer, his mother Alicent came sauntering into the study, Ser Criston Cole following shortly behind.
Alicent's neck was flushed, her expression clearly vexed, âWhat do you think youâre doing?â She bellowed, the volume of her voice startling young Maelor.
Helena quickly attended to the boy, picking up Maelor as he began to wail.
âWhat does it matter?â Aemond countered, his arms firmly crossed against his chest.
âWhat does it matter?!" Alicent exclaimed, âIt matter so, youâve crowned a maiden from a lower House. A House insignificant in comparison to the great Houses we are hosting during the tourney.â She flailed her arms, âGreat Houses we intend to forge allyship with.â
âHouse Vermillion wasnât always insignificant,â Helena softly corrected, âDespite, their small fleets they were unmatched in naval warfare. Their vessels were painted red as their sigil, their cargo carried a myriad of hibiscusâ which they threw into the sea to bribe the gods for their victoriesââ
"House Vermillion was a House which supported Rhaenyraâs false claim to the Iron Throne," The Dowager Queen Alicent cut off her daughter, her eyes narrowing, âA House which should have been wiped out completely.â
Aemondâs jaw clenched at his motherâs last sentiment, âA House, like many others Aegon pardoned,â He sternly rebutted, âAn idea you proposed would unite the Seven Kingdoms.â
Alicent's bottom lip trembled, taken aback by Aemond's retort.
âIf thatâs all mother, Iâll excuse myself.â Aemondâs heavy boots stomped, the door slamming behind him as he left Helenaâs study.
âI cannot believe it,â Alicent bespoke to Ser Criston Cole, âOf all the noble ladies in King's Landing why her?â She shook her head in objection.
âPerhaps, it is but a fleeting affection that will die when the controversy and excitement begins to wane.â Ser Criston offered.
Alicent peered upward, still riddled with doubt, âDo you truly think so?â
Ser Criston Cole opened his mouth to respond, only to be interrupted by Helena.
âHair of silver. Eyes of crimson. Footsteps in a set of three,â Helenaâs eyes glossed over, as she faded into a trance.
Alicent and Ser Criston exchanged looks, Alicent quickly bending down beside her daughter. She gently took Maelor off his motherâs lap, offering him to Ser Criston to hold while Alicent tried to regain Helenaâs attention.
âWhat do you see?â Alicent had long learned to heed her daughterâs words, to pay mind to Helenaâs prophecies, as frequent to none, they near always came to tuition.
âA motherâs beauty. A fatherâs temperament. All is sound, all is as it ought to be.â Helena finished her train of thought.
The Dowager Queen Alicentâs face hardened. What possibly did the gods have in store for her son Aemond?
âKeep an eye on Lady Y/N Vermillion,â She instructed Ser Criston Cole, âAnd report back to me. I want to know whom she interacts with, her goals, and her every intention.â
The midmorning offered your deprived and cold self a yearned warmth and solace. The sun's golden rays filtered themselves through the stained-glass windows, reflecting a merriment of colors on the ground beneath your bloody feet. Without assistance, you had managed to crawl up the stairs of the dungeons, trekking a trail of blood behind you.
Your torture had been drawn out the length of the night, Lord Unwin Peake's servant only leaving after the seventh hour. You couldn't discern how long you had stayed laying motionless on the bed of tortures, staring at the unlocked door to your cell. After what felt like an eternity, you dragged your rigid body off, your calves protesting as you forced yourself to stand.
The pain, however, grew too great, causing your vision to blur, and your head to spin. You stumbled, your knees buckling from underneath. You placed a hand on the wall beside you, stopping yourself from faceplanting into the tiles. Days without food and water had finally taken their toll and you hadnât the energy to continue.
âLady Y/N Vermillion!â A surprised voice called aloud.
You felt their hands immediately rope around your hips, in an attempt to keep your torso upright. You blinked a couple of times, trying to determine who had found you.
âSer Criston Cole?â You croaked, your cracked lips turning downward. Surely, you were mistaken.
âYes, it is I,â He said softly, brushing back your wayward hair that draped over your face.
He observed the terrible state you were in, deducing it to be in result of what had transpired with Aemond during the joust. Others besides the Dowager Queen Alicent would consider you a threat to their political agendas and wouldnât think twice about taking their frustrations out on you.
Ser Criston Coleâs eyes momentarily flickered toward the sound of footsteps in the distance, âLet me help you back to your room,â He whispered, sounding almost as if he pitied you.
Without waiting for a response, he hurriedly lifted you off the ground and cradled you against his steel-plated chest. You were too frail to argue, allowing him to carry you throughout the rest of the castle.
Ser Criston took an alternative route to your chambers, sensing the footsteps heâd heard, belonged to the prince. Over the past day or two, he'd had been discreetly watching Aemond from afar, noting the numerous times heâd tried knocking on your chambers only to be turned away by Lady Alyssa Royce. Ser Criston Cole was weary of the scene Aemond would surely cause if he saw you in such a state.
As Ser Criston reached your door, his knuckles thumped on the wood.
It was Lady Alyssa Royce who answered, âIâm afraid my Prince, Lady Y/N, still hasnât returnedâ" She abruptly paused, sighting you limply lying in Ser Criston Cole's arms.
âY/N?â Horror replaced her usual unemotive persona, âWhat happened to her?â
âLet us lay her down first,â Ser Criston bypassed Alyssa without a further explanation.
He quickly lifted the furs and delicately placed you down on the bedspread, âWe have to roll her over.â He directed.
Lady Royce obliged without complaint, aiding Ser Criston to roll you onto your stomach. You muffled a cry, the sudden movement aggravating your open lesions. Blood continued to hemorrhage, spilling onto your white linen sheets.
Lady Royce's brows furrowed as she hastily lifted your skirt and removed your torn petticoat. She gasped, once the true extent of your wounds was revealed. The soles of your feet had been mercilessly slashed, whilst the irate lacerations to your calves had cut deep into the muscle.
âThere are some gauzes and string in the cupboard,â Lady Royce demanded forgetting her station, âIâll find us some alcohol to disinfect her wounds.â
âShouldnât we call for a maester?â Ser Criston Cole questioned.
You grabbed Lady Royceâs hand with haste, squeezing it with all the strength you could muster, âNo,â Alyssa Royce said firmly, apprehending what you were trying to communicate, âOtherwise, Lady Clarice Osgrey will be summoned. Let us keep this between ourselves.â
Sir Criston reluctantly nodded, undecided if heâd pass on what had occurred to the Dowager Queen.
Aemond stalked the corridors, his irritability only increasing by the hour. Over a week had since passed, and you had missed the chaos that was brought by the melee, an event where forty or so riders armed with blunt weaponry, fought to be prized as the next knight. Aemond disinterested how the contest unfolded, drowned himself in drink instead. Â
You were avoiding him, or so he thoughtâŚ
As the afternoons passed, he began to grow dubious. Suspicious, why all the other ladies beside you and Lady Royce were in attendance at the Targaryen festivities? He'd also taken note that Lady Myrielle Peake was now serving his niece Princess Jaehaera in your stead.
He reached the large oval door of your chambers, reaching of its handle. However, Lady Alyssa Royce opened the door first, her body blocking Aemondâs view of the inside.
âWhere is Y/N?â He sternly imposed, âShe has not been in attendance to melee nor has she served my niece.â He drew a maddened breath, âPrincess Jaehaera has naught been impressed by her replacement.â
âIâm afraid Lady Y/N is still unwell your highness,â Lady Alyssa Royce politely bowed, her voice ever so slightly trembling. Â
You listened from inside, overhearing another of Lady Royceâs fumbling excuses. You and Alyssa had always been civil but far from close. Nonetheless, she had aided you, stitched up your wounds, and kept your injuries secret. You owed the girl a great debt, one youâd hope to someday repay.
You were running a fever, your insides hot, your outsides cold. You were sat against the headboard of your bed, leaning on some flat pillows while your legs were covered in furs. A small smile crossed your lips as you continue to listen. In truth, you were gladdened by Aemondâs concern. Thankful, for the countless times heâd implored for you. It wasnât something you were accustomed to, the worriment, the exertion. Nobody had ever put so much effort in for you.
Aemondâs exasperation was obvert, he was growing tired of the evasiveness of Lady Royce, âStep aside,â He, at last, demanded, the intensity in his tone, making Lady Royce cower.
Your smile faltered, conceding Aemond was going to barge in. You hurriedly unraveled your legs from underneath your furs and forced yourself to stand upright.
You silently yowled, it was as if lightning had struck your legs. It took a few seconds for you to regain your breath, the agony that pulsated from your calves immense. You used the bedside table for support, wincing as you slid on your cloth slippers.
You had made the short distance to your vanity when Aemond furiously pushed back the doors to your chambers, his violet orb narrowing as searched around your room.
âPrince Aemond,â Short of breath, you did your best to bow.
Aemondâs annoyance dissolved instantaneously. Yet, the creases on his forehead remained. He swiftly approached his silvery hair bouncing behind him as he moved. You took a short moment to admire how his hair glistened underneath the yellowish candlelight, how it only enhanced his fearsome beauty.
Aemond abruptly stopped before you, his large hands unexpectedly cupping both of your cheeks, drawing your face closer to his. You involuntarily shivered, as his thumb brushed across your cold lips.
"What is it you are ailed with?" He searched your face, his brows knitted.
Aemond studied your sickly pale hue and the shade of blue that replaced the color of your lips. He felt a protectiveness over you. A feeling which was foreign to him.
âIâll send for a maester immediately,â
âNo,â You shook your head, his hands still firmly resting on your cheeks, âI have no desire to cause a fuss. All I need is some rest.â
Aemond didnât feel assured, in fact, it only strengthened his worry.
âYouâve had a weekâs worth of restâ He pressed âYou should be seen by a maester. What if your sickness gets all the worse?â His hands slowly slid from your face and down your arms until he grasped your two hands within his own. Aemond held you so gingerly as if he was afraid youâd break.
Your stomach fluttered, recalling the change of your plans. Lord Unwin Peake desired you to stay away from the Prince⌠And youâd do nothing of the sort.
âI wonât get worseâ
âYou couldnât possibly be sure.â His face close, his breath hot.
You stifled a smile. Boldly you closed the distance, using your nose to gently nudge his, âI am,â You insisted, pulling away.
Aemondâs eye widened, the violet of his iris deepening. He was overwhelmed by the impulse to pull you back but to capture your lips this time.
âJust a few more days of rest and Iâll be back to my true self,â You wriggled your hands free, âBut first you must go,â You incited, softly pushing his chest to leave, âYouâve caused me enough trouble. If someone catches you in my chambers, Iâd never hear the last of it.â
âWhat trouble? I only crowed the one deserving of the title of the Queen of Love and Beauty,â Aemond smiled smugly âAnd showed King's Landing of my intentions,â He playfully tilted his head, his hair falling off his shoulder, âAnd what a mistake it would be if others were to approach what is mine,â He whispered the last part.
âI repeat,â You light-heartedly shook your head, âTrouble.â
Aemond laughed, relenting and taking a step back, âIâll go but if you feel worse, promise me youâll summon a maester?â
âI promise,â You nodded, âMy Prince you may take your leave,â
âNot until you are tucked soundly under the covers,â He directed, lifting an arm towards your bed.
âYou wonât leave otherwise?â You swallowed, dreading the walk from your vanity back to your bed.
âYes,â He maintained, âDo you need some help?â
âNo need,â You vigorously shook your head, exchanging a daunted look with Lady Royce who had been loitering by the door.
You tried your darndest to ignore the heat that radiated upward with each excruciating step. You just needed to make it to the bed without falling, you told yourself.
Aemond followed you with his gaze, his body stiffening as he caught the stain of red on the hem of your nightgown.
âY/N,â He said, his tone spine-chillingly cold.
You hadnât the chance to turn completely round when he wrapped a steel arm around your waist and carefully lifted the cotton of your nightgown to expose your calves.
You sucked in a breath.
Aemondâs face darkened, while an enraged snarl left his mouth. His playful disposition vanished, a seething fury coming to take its place.
âY/N,â He growled, his arms shaking uncontrollably, âWho dared to harm you?â
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Am I the only who thought Criston wasnât trying to attack Rhaenyra but stop Alicent from doing something in the heat of the moment because she was upset over her son? Thatâs the way I saw it. Daemon was just dying for Alicent to loose her shit.