#its so funny 😭 ur allowed to pull people down AND THEY DO

[camelspit]

yall i think i found my new favorite sport 😭

[just-some-random-blogger]

[police sirens, a car chase ensues; pulls out a note pad] ok ok so from the top.

Viserys had made it abundantly clear time and time again that Daemon was not worthy; not worthy of being his Hand, not worthy of his daughter, and so he kept his distance. Let the bloody fools tear themselves apart.

😭😭😭😭 BARK BARK HES SO PETTY AND SOUR AND HES SO PUNCHABLE BUT I MEAN THAT AFFECTIONATELY LOLOLOLOLOL

He bristles with disgust at the Seven-Pointed Star before making his way to his brother’s bedchamber. The smell of decay hangs thick in the air as Daemon pushes the heavy wooden door open. He wrinkles his nose, taking a moment to compose himself against the acrid bile that rises in his throat, threatening to make him retch.

This^^ so vivid and well written. Wrinkles his nose. Yes. Acrid bile. Slay. I don't even know what acrid means HAHAHAHAHHAAH update i know what it means now NSJSJJSBSHHAJAHAHAH

Daemon knew Viserys was in ill health, but how on earth had it been allowed to get this bad? He steels himself as he approaches the bed, knowing what he is about to look upon will not be pleasant. He swallows thickly at the half-rotted man that lies before him. He is not even lucid enough to register Daemon’s presence. He bows his head, not trusting himself to speak. He knows a response is not likely anyway. Poor bastard.

IDK WHY BUT I FIND IT FUNNY WHEN PEOPLE DESCRIBE VISSY AS A ZOMBIE KSKSKKSJAJ HELP ME IDK IDK ITS KINDA LIKE UR NOT WRONG BUT LIKE 💀💀💀💀💀💀 THE HALF-ROTTEN KSJSJSJJS IDK IDK ITS SO FUNNY TO ME

Daemon cannot help the dry chuckle that escapes him. “Ah, yes, the pillow biter. I had quite forgotten.”

HE SAID PILLOW BITER KWNISJSJSNNSKSKKSKS HELLLLLPPPP MEEEEEEEEE BBBBBBBBBBONNNKKK🤠🤠🤠🤠🤠🤠🤠🤠🤠🤠🤠

“Speaking of bastards, where is my youngest nephew? I hear congratulations are in order - he has plucked himself a rose from Highgarden.”

SPEAKING OF BASTARDS 😭😭😭🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣💀💀💀💀 HES SO FUNNY A COMEDIC KING HONESTLY

Daemon surveys the scene in the near distance, taking in the appearance of Aemond. He was a mere babe the last time Daemon laid eyes upon him. Now he is tall, slender and a patch covers his left eye, with a ragged scar running the length of the same side of his face. Dressed all in black, he cuts quite the chilling figure, and Daemon can’t help but feel a little sorry for the poor girl that’s going to have to marry him.

HEY DONT TALK ABOUT AEMOND LIKE THAT HES JUST IN HIS ANGSTY TEEN EMO FACE YOU TRY WEARING AN EYEPATCH AND SEE IF YOU DON'T TURN EMO GRRR BARK BARK BARK😠😠😠😠😠😠🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪

“Gods, he looks like a fucking wraith…” Daemon mutters, more to himself than Rhaenyra.

HELLPPP A WRAITH

HES SO FUNNYYYYYYY I HATE HIM 🤬🤬🤬🤬🤬🤬🤬😭😭😭😭🤣🤣🤣🤣

Bruhh hes so old if he ever saw a wraith in the halls hed call out to it with Aemonds name 😭😭😭😭😭 HELP IM IMAGINING DAEMON WITH MATT SMITH GLASSES I CANT LSNSJSJJDJDJSJSJ

CRYING

Opportunity strikes when he sees Melessa admiring the tapestries unaccompanied. Daemon strides purposefully over to her, admiring how delicate she appears just standing there. It occurs to him that he could do whatever he wants to her and there is little she could do to stop him. He stands behind her, easily a foot taller than her and leans down to speak directly into her ear.

😐😐😐😐🤨🤨🤨🤨 BOI

“Prince Daemon, forgive me! I did not see you there.”

🤨🤨🤨 [BOMBASTIC SIDE EYE] SHE KINDA SUS or i mean she could just be on edge cos fucking same bestie

“Smells like shit?” he offers with a wolfish grin.

💀💀💀💀💀💀 a moment of silence. Your honor he does not know its HIM that prolly caused that stank 😭

“Do I detect some trepidation, my lady? Are you unhappy with your match?”

BRUHHHH HEEEEL

“Liar.” he states with a smirk. “Tell me how you really feel.”

💀💀💀💀💀💀💀mans really goin for it. Does not give any shits. A whole menace salad. A big dense cake of watch me do it anyway.

He smiles warmly at her response. Excellent. This is precisely what he wanted. Not releasing his soft grip on her face, he prods further. “And do I frighten you?”

Girl dont do it

But of course she did. 😞 Smh it be like that

“Hmmm,” he muses thoughtfully, dragging his thumb across the plushness of her bottom lip. “Such a soft little petal. Tell me - are you this soft everywhere?”

But also

[clears throat] your honor, based on this evidence ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯ cant say i know how i feel just now it was incredibly well written vivid and daemon needs to be stomped or smth

🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨

Perzys se Rūkla (Fire and Flowers) - Chapter One

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x original female character (Melessa Tyrell) Warnings: Sexual themes. Word count: ~2k

Chapter summary: Daemon returns to King's Landing after a long absence and finds himself captivated by Aemond's pretty bride to be. Series summary here.

Endless thanks and all the love to my absolute ride or die @em-writes-stuff-sometimes for cheerleading, beta'ing and just generally being the bestest fandom boo a gal could have.

It has been fifteen years since Daemon has set foot in King’s Landing. Following his departure from the capital on the night of his niece Rhaenyra’s wedding to Laenor Velaryon, he has kept himself busy. Splitting his time between Dragonstone and Pentos, wine, women and war have served to push the thoughts of what might have been from his mind.

He has ignored all ravens from his brother, Viserys. Invitations to celebrate name days, the births of Rhaenyra’s children, the marriage of his niece and nephew, Helaena and Aegon, and the births of their children have all gone unanswered. He has been privy to all family gossip; Aemond claiming Vhagar and losing an eye at the hands of Lucerys, Rhaenyra’s alleged infidelity and her three children’s parentage being called into question. He has chosen not to acknowledge any of it.

Viserys had made it abundantly clear time and time again that Daemon was not worthy; not worthy of being his Hand, not worthy of his daughter, and so he kept his distance. Let the bloody fools tear themselves apart.

Daemon rolls his eyes as he enters his study on Dragonstone, noticing the rolled up parchment sitting on his writing desk. What joy. Yet another frivolity to be avoided.

As he unfurls the note he is immediately struck by the difference in penmanship. This is not his brother’s handwriting, yet it still bears the Royal seal of the King. This is the doing of that Hightower cunt. 

An invitation to the announcement of Prince Aemond Targaryen’s betrothal to Lady Melessa Tyrell. Spare me. But the allure of why Otto has written this and not Viserys is too strong to ignore. Something must have happened. Before he has time to fully comprehend his actions, Daemon is mounting Caraxes and flying southwest towards the Red Keep.

It hardly surprises him that it no longer feels like home when he returns - he has spent more than a decade avoiding it - but now it feels particularly unfamiliar. Alicent’s presence can be felt everywhere, from the removal of the tapestries, to the iconography of the Seven adorning every available space. He scarcely recognises it. 

He bristles with disgust at the Seven-Pointed Star before making his way to his brother’s bedchamber. The smell of decay hangs thick in the air as Daemon pushes the heavy wooden door open. He wrinkles his nose, taking a moment to compose himself against the acrid bile that rises in his throat, threatening to make him retch.

Daemon knew Viserys was in ill health, but how on earth had it been allowed to get this bad? He steels himself as he approaches the bed, knowing what he is about to look upon will not be pleasant. He swallows thickly at the half-rotted man that lies before him. He is not even lucid enough to register Daemon’s presence. He bows his head, not trusting himself to speak. He knows a response is not likely anyway. Poor bastard.

He finds Rhaenyra in the gardens. His last memory of her was on the night of her wedding to Laenor. She had asked him to take her away and make her his wife. He had left her and never returned. His heart hammers in his chest at the thought of seeing her again. There is so much that has been left unsaid between them.

And yet when he sees her the words die on his tongue. He feels foolish for expecting her to be the exuberant young woman he’d abandoned in the Great Hall all those years ago. The years have not been unkind to her, though she is thicker around the waist from bearing her children and her face has aged. It is not that that quells the fire in his blood for her. She is no longer his; someone else has staked their claim to her, and the three dark-haired boys that linger nearby are proof enough of that.

He stands silently beside her and she glances sideways at him.

“Daemon,” she states simply, her lips curving ever-so-slightly upwards.

“Rhaenyra,” he responds. He does not smile, though it is clear in the way that his eyes soften as he looks at her that he is pleased to see her.

They stand in comfortable silence for a few moments before she speaks.

“What are you doing here?”

“Can a man not simply feel homesick?”

“It has taken you fifteen years to start to feel homesick?”

It’s then that Daemon smiles at Rhaenyra - it’s small, but genuine. He has missed her quick wit and unwavering ability to call him out.

He sighs, casting his gaze downwards before back to her. “I hadn’t realised how bad your father had gotten.”

Rhaenyra nods solemnly. “You would have, had you not stayed away all this time. They are giving him milk of the poppy to manage his pain.”

“They, meaning that Hightower cunt and his doe-eyed mook of a daughter?”

“Mmmm.”

“You’re his heir, Rhaenyra. Surely you cannot allow this?”

“Until I am Queen, I have no say in what is and is not allowed. Besides, I have Laenor and the children to think about.”

Daemon cannot help the dry chuckle that escapes him. “Ah, yes, the pillow biter. I had quite forgotten.”

Rhaenyra rolls her eyes. “Daemon…”

He smirks. “Well, I’m sure those vile accusations have now been put to rest considering how much your brood looks like him. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Stop it,” she chides quietly, not wanting to draw attention.

“Speaking of bastards, where is my youngest nephew? I hear congratulations are in order - he has plucked himself a rose from Highgarden.”

Rhaenyra gestures to where Aemond and Melessa stand on the other side of the gardens, flanked by Alicent, Otto and Melessa’s father. The entire exchange looks tense and uncomfortable even from where they are standing.

“She arrived today. The official announcement is in three days,” Rhaenyra tells him.

Daemon surveys the scene in the near distance, taking in the appearance of Aemond. He was a mere babe the last time Daemon laid eyes upon him. Now he is tall, slender and a patch covers his left eye, with a ragged scar running the length of the same side of his face. Dressed all in black, he cuts quite the chilling figure, and Daemon can’t help but feel a little sorry for the poor girl that’s going to have to marry him.

“Gods, he looks like a fucking wraith…” Daemon mutters, more to himself than Rhaenyra.

It’s then that he sees her. Small in stature and slender in build, her long flaxen hair is so pale he’d almost mistake her for being of Valyrian descent if he didn’t know any better. Her blue eyes are wide, bright and full of innocence. Her upturned nose and plush rosy lips only serve to add to her girlish charm and beauty. 

Daemon stares at her with predatory hunger. He has not felt himself come alive like this since he last laid eyes on Rhaenyra. He knows he has allowed his gaze to linger for far too long - and yet he cannot, will not look away. The desire to conquer this sweet little maiden, to tear her apart and make her his own is simply too strong.

“Don’t.” Rhaenyra’s bluntness snaps him out of his reverie and he looks at her, an expression of faux innocence plastered across his features. But she knows him. She knows that look. She has been on the receiving end of it many times before.

If only he had any intention of stopping.

Throughout the day, Daemon’s attention falls solely on Melessa; the sheen of her hair as it catches the light, the way her delicate rose petal mouth shapes around words as she speaks. He ponders what it would feel like to push his cock past those lips while her wide blue eyes look up at him filled with innocence. He stirs in his breeches at the thought.

He has to have her. It would be an injustice to marry her off to his scarred, frigid wretch of a nephew. A flower such as her needed to be tended to. She would surely wilt under Aemond’s inexperience and lack of care, he is sure of that.

Opportunity strikes when he sees Melessa admiring the tapestries unaccompanied. Daemon strides purposefully over to her, admiring how delicate she appears just standing there. It occurs to him that he could do whatever he wants to her and there is little she could do to stop him. He stands behind her, easily a foot taller than her and leans down to speak directly into her ear.

“Enjoying yourself?”

The scent of almond oil and rosewater causes him to take a sharper inhale than he would ordinarily, and he enjoys the sight of how gooseflesh appears across her pale skin at the sensation.

She turns, clearly startled, before making an effort to compose herself, curtsying to him. 

“Prince Daemon, forgive me! I did not see you there.”

Pride wells in his chest at how she addresses him. A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth as he takes in her flustered appearance, the flush of her cheeks and the surprise in her eyes. It is an image he commits to memory and will absolutely make use of later.

“Please, Lady Melessa, spare me the formalities. We are to be family.” He cocks his head as he stares down at her. “How are you liking King’s Landing?”

“It is nice,” she says shyly. “It…”

“Smells like shit?” he offers with a wolfish grin.

He watches with amusement as she attempts to hide her giggle behind her hand. So innocent. He would have fun with this one. It is clear that him making her laugh has broken some of the tension. Her shoulders relax, pulling away from her neck as she smiles up at him.

He presses on, deciding to be bolder with his probing. “You must be excited about your betrothal to Aemond.”

Melessa nods, though her response is hesitant. “...Yes.”

Hardly the image of a blushing bride. Daemon watches as she squirms with discomfort, averting her eyes. Oh, this was almost too good. He cannot resist prodding further.

“Do I detect some trepidation, my lady? Are you unhappy with your match?”

“No!” she answers too quickly, fear returning to her gossamer features as her eyebrows shoot upwards and her eyes widen.

“Liar.” he states with a smirk. “Tell me how you really feel.”

She shakes her head, looking away. “I cannot… it is improper.”

He tuts, taking her chin between his thumb and forefinger and tilting her face back to his. “You may speak freely with me.”

Melessa opens her mouth, drawing in a deep breath and then closes it again. Her cheeks turn pink and when she finally speaks, her voice is a mere whisper. “He frightens me.”

He smiles warmly at her response. Excellent. This is precisely what he wanted. Not releasing his soft grip on her face, he prods further. “And do I frighten you?”

“A little,” comes her breathy response as she gazes up at him, the very image of childlike wonder.

“Hmmm,” he muses thoughtfully, dragging his thumb across the plushness of her bottom lip. “Such a soft little petal. Tell me - are you this soft everywhere?” If she understands the crassness of his words, she does not show it. Her expression remains placid and innocent.

All too soon, he is breaking away from her, the sound of her father’s voice beckoning her from down the hallway interrupting his moment alone with her. He turns without a word and leaves, eager to shut himself away in his chambers and relieve the aching hardness that presses itself painfully against the confines of his trousers.

Daemon is certain now that he simply has to have her. He has to move swiftly, to capture his prize before the betrothal is officially announced. He has just three days to make his claim. 

Three days.