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aemonds-fire · 1 hour

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Thank you Jess!! 💕

I think this turned out to be my favorite modern Aemond. I just love him!

Crush

Modern Aemond Targaryen x Female (Oneshot)

Summary: Months ago Aemond hesitated to tell you how he felt. After your boyfriend breaks up with you, he won't make that mistake again.

Word Count: 3807

Warnings: MDNI, 18+, SMUT, Little plot, lots of smut, profanity, Size kink, Praise kink, Aemond being hot, seductive, funny, and adorable.

Personal Favorite 💖

Masterlist

‘Why the hell did I let them talk me into coming to this club?'

You know your friends are only trying to help you get through a rough breakup. “It’s time to stop moping and sitting around in your pj’s,” they tell you. “You need to get dressed up, go out, and have some fun,” they insist. So you give in, pampering yourself with a full beauty routine, choosing a racy bra and panty set, and putting together a little black outfit.

Checking yourself in the mirror before you leave, feeling better than you have in the past two weeks, with some of your old confidence coming back knowing that you look good. When your little trio walks into the packed club, you’re glad your friends talked you into coming out tonight, instantly feeling the intoxicating energy from the flashing lights, pulsing music, and dancing crowd.

Snagging a spot at the bar, you buy the first round of drinks, genuinely smiling for the first time since your boyfriend broke up with you. You’re enjoying your second drink and playfully teasing one of your friends when you spot him on the dance floor. Your now-ex-boyfriend who has his hands on his new girlfriend’s ass.

Wanting to act like it doesn’t hurt, you let your friends drag you out to dance. You try to enjoy yourself; you really do, but now the music is too loud, the club is too hot, and you just want to get off the dance floor. Giving your friends a weak smile, you let them know you need a break from dancing and head back to the bar.

Squeezing into a gap at the crowded bar, you try to catch the bartender's attention. While you wait, your mind goes back to your ex-boyfriend. Even though the spark between you was fading, the breakup came out of nowhere. How quickly he had another girlfriend led you to think he may have been cheating on you. So strong was your suspicion, you went to get tested just to be safe. ‘Doesn’t matter,’ you tell yourself. ‘It’s over, and you’re better off without him,’ you try to convince yourself, but it still hurts to be replaced so easily.

You’re drawn from your thoughts when a drink is placed in front of you. When you look up, the bartender says, “It’s from the guy at the end of the bar.”

Turning to look in the direction she’s pointing, you see the buyer of your drink, his long silvery white hair an easy giveaway to his identity. With a tilt of his head, he motions for you to join him.

You’re relieved to see a friendly face, so you don’t hesitate to pick up your drink and make your way over to him. With a genuine smile, “Hi Aemond, I didn’t see you over here.”

Aemond Targaryen returns your smile and immediately offers you his seat at the crowded bar. “Fortunately, I did see you.”

“Thank you, and thanks for the drink too,” you tell him as you slide onto the stylishly modern barstool, draping your leather jacket over the back.

You’ve known the Targaryen siblings for about a year, with Helaena being the one you met first. Since you were new in town, she took you under her wing, showing you the best places to hang out and eat and introducing you to people, including her brothers. Aegon is laid-back with a great sense of humor. He’s also quite a flirt, but a playful smack from his sister made it clear that you were her friend and not to be messed with.

Aemond, who’s a few months younger than you, is very different. Nowhere near as open as Hel and far more serious than Aegon, he's always intrigued you. He’s soft-spoken and reticent, holding back much of who he is, and that makes him difficult to read. You think that guardedness stems from a childhood accident that cost him an eye and left his face scarred.

For a while, you wondered if he liked you at all or if he was just trying to be nice because of Hel. But at parties, your boyfriend usually ended up playing games with Aegon and the guys, and you somehow ended up hanging with Aemond, just talking. Having those chances to talk one-on-one, you discover quick intelligence, a wry sense of humor, and a few shared interests. You decide that he’s just naturally reserved—someone who needs time to relax around people.

“You’re welcome. I’m glad I saw you,” he says, leaning down a bit to be heard better. “You look amazing."

Smiling at the compliment, “You clean up pretty good yourself."

While you’ve struggled to get a handle on his personality, there is no question in your mind regarding his looks. Dressed in black, his button-down shirt and trousers look tailored to his tall and trim build, he exudes sleek athleticism. His casually rolled-up sleeves show off his slender forearms, a stylish, expensive watch on his wrist, and beautiful, large hands with long, slim fingers. His angular face has chiseled features that give him a uniquely handsome appearance. Not even the faded scar or black leather eye patch can detract from his striking good looks. Tonight, his pale, silvery hair is simply pulled back into a loose braid that ends between his shoulder blades.

Taking a sip of your drink, you give him a curious look. “I’m surprised to see you here. Let me guess, Aegon dragged you out and then disappeared in search of something in a short skirt and heels."

“Are we that predictable?” He asks with a crooked grin. “Aegon wanted to meet up with some pretty little thing he’s had his eye on, and I apparently need to get out more.” Reaching for his own drink, ”What’s your story?”

“Some friends decided I needed a night out,” you admit sheepishly. As you answer, you see your ex-boyfriend back on the dance floor.

Aemond, noticing your stare, turns to see who you are looking at. He then moves around to stand between you and the dance floor, blocking them from your view. “Forget about him; he’s not worth it.”

You look down at your hands folded in your lap, trying to push down the hurt you feel when he urges your chin up with his fingers. He looks at you intensely and says, “Don’t cry over that asshole. You deserve far better than the likes of him, babe.”

Meeting his gaze, you nod your head and pull yourself together. ”You’re right. It may take some time, but I’ll be fine.” You down the rest of your drink with a determined smile.

Before you can stop him, Aemond somehow manages to catch the busy bartender’s attention and motions for another round of drinks. When you protest, he leans closer, putting his arm around you and resting his hand on your shoulder. “I’m taking care of you tonight, pretty girl.”

“You'll be better than fine, and it won’t take as long as you think,” he continues with a cocky little smile. “You just need someone who knows how to treat you."

A little jolt goes through your body; whether it’s from the heat of his hand resting on your exposed shoulder or the difference in his demeanor, you’re not sure. This is a more confident and assertive Aemond that you haven’t seen before, and the little nicknames are completely new.

But unsure of your instincts, you jokingly say, “Yeah, some day my prince will come.”

“Hmm. Maybe he already has, princess,” he replies before leaning very close to you, his lips almost brushing against your ear. “I’ve always had a crush on you, always wanted you.”

His words cause a flutter in your chest. When he takes hold of your hand and starts rubbing his thumb on your skin, your breath catches in your throat. “You never said anything." is all you can manage to get out as you turn your head to look at him in surprise.

“That was a mistake I‘m not making again."

Your faces are only inches apart; you’re studying him with wide eyes while your mind races to process this new revelation. The sounds of the club disappear; all you can hear is the pounding of your heart. Closing the slight distance between you, his lips barely brush against yours before pausing, waiting for a signal from you to continue. When your lips instinctively part, he takes that as the go-ahead to kiss you slowly.

His mouth is soft and hot, and his tongue running along your bottom lip feels so good. He pulls back much too soon for your liking, now that passion has sparked inside you. When you impulsively reach to wipe a trace of your lipstick from his mouth, he quickly captures your thumb, drawing it into his mouth, licking and sucking on the tip before releasing it with a kiss.

As warmth rushes through your body, you can feel your skin tingling. The thinking part of your brain tells you this is a bad idea; it’s too soon after your breakup and too impulsive. But the seductive look on his face, the breaking of physical barriers, and his admission of wanting you has started a throbbing between your legs.

Since you’re still stunned silent, he takes the initiative. “Tell me what's going on in that pretty little head of yours."

Biting your bottom lip, trying to sort your thoughts, you ask, “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

Aemond’s mouth tightens at the question, “I wasn’t sure if the attraction was mutual or if you just saw me as Hel’s kid brother. So I hesitated.” He looks away from you before adding, “Then you met him."

Knowing that opening himself up to others is not easy for him, you gently squeeze his hand in encouragement because you’re raw from your breakup and you need to know just what you could be getting yourself into with Aemond.

Shrugging his shoulders. "You seemed happy, and I thought I blew my chance with you.”

Little things about your friendship start to click in your mind, bringing a smile to your face. Now you’re the one holding his hand, rubbing circles with your thumb on his skin.

With a hopeful smile, he asks, “Can we get out of here?”

His request makes your heart thump in your chest, and you shift your hips in your seat before asking, “Where to?”

“My place?” Quickly adding, “We could talk some more or..." leaning close to your ear, his voice dropping lower with desire. “I could show you how much I want you, princess.”

Deep down, you’ve always loved the sound of his voice, and this new seductive tone causes a shiver to go up your spine despite the heat that is spreading through your body. Almost before you realize you're doing it, you’re slipping off the barstool, hoping your legs won’t shake.

Steadying yourself with a light hand on his chest and smiling up at him, you take a breath and say, “Alright, we can go... talk.”

Your reply earns you a rare, dimpled grin from him. He helps you slip on your jacket before firmly grasping your hand to begin leading you through the crowd to the exit. On your way out, you pass a grinning Aegon, but Aemond only glances at his brother, not bothering to stop.

Once outside, in the chill night air, he puts his arm around you as you walk through the parking lot. “You’re just going to ditch Aegon?” You ask with a chuckle.

“He knows what I’m up to,” he replies with a smirk. Laughing at your expression. “Aegon would get your boyfriend to play those stupid games at his parties so I could have some time with you.”

Reaching his car, he pulls you into a slow, deep kiss, holding you close to him with his large hands on your hips. Soon you’re fisting at the soft, expensive fabric of his shirt because it feels so fucking good kissing him, feeling him press his hard body against yours. You let his tongue tease its way past your lips to dance with yours as his fingers dig into your skin before he reluctantly pulls back to open the car door for you.

During the drive to his place, you text your friends, reassuring them that you are with Aemond and that everything is fine.

Curious about something, “So when Helaena would suggest a girls movie night, but we would end up at your place, you put her up to that?”

“I did not; she volunteered to do that.”

“My friend sets me up so her brother can walk around like a slut in sweatpants and a messy man bun. Wow, you Targs are something else,” you laughingly tease.

“I was desperate, pretty girl." His blush was visible even in the dim light of the car. “But you noticed,” he chuckles.

Aemond’s apartment is in one of the pricier buildings in the city, but you know his family has money. You’ve been here before, hanging out with the siblings for movie nights. Before you can even toe off your heels by the door, he pulls you to him with one arm around your waist, burying his face in your neck, nipping at your skin, then soothing the little bites with his tongue, making you moan softly.

“Wanted you so bad for so long,” he murmurs between little wet kisses over your throat.

Playfully, you tease him while tugging on his long braid. “Have you been thinking dirty thoughts about me all this time?”

“Fucking filthy thoughts,” as he crushes his lips against yours in a demanding kiss that takes your breath away. You both work to shrug your jacket off, letting it fall to the floor. You can feel the wetness forming between your legs as his long fingers caress the bare skin of your waist.

Pulling his shirt up, your hands explore the lean muscles of his flawless skin. When you bite at his lip, he groans into your mouth and grinds his hardening cock against you.

Trailing his lips down your neck, “Tell me you want me. I need to hear it," he pleads.

“I want you, Aemond; I want you to fuck me,” you moan breathlessly.

With your words, the last shred of restraint either of you had disappeared. By the time the two of you reach his bedroom, both of you are half naked, leaving a trail of clothing and shoes along your path.

“Fucking gorgeous tits,” he mumbles against your hardend nipple before taking it into his hot mouth again, sucking eagerly. Your other breast is being cupped in his strong hand, his fingers teasing the delicate peak. “Perfect tits all for me,” he hums as he switches to begin lavishing the other with attention.

His loose braid is long undone, and your fingers are tangled in his silky, soft hair. You can’t resist the urge to bait him a little. “You think just ‘cause you lick it, it's yours?”

His eye immediately shoots up to your face, and you feel a rough hum against your skin. Backing you up until your legs bump into his bed, he playfully pushes you down on the mattress.

“Aemond?” You squeak as you see the evil gleam in his eye. Kneeling on the floor, he pulls your legs to the edge of the bed and presses his face between them, rubbing his nose over your covered clit and inhaling deeply.

Resting on your elbows, you watch him tug down your panties, leaving you naked. He pushes your thighs wide with his large hands, and you see him shamelessly stare at your soaking wet pussy. “Who made you this wet, princess?"

You let out a gasp as he flattens his tongue and licks the length of your slit, never taking his eye off you. “Mine now,” he says with that familiar smirk of his.

Giving him your best, not impressed look, “It’s gonna take more than that, Targaryen.” you reply sassily. You watch him stick out his long tongue and start flicking your clit, before placing his lips over your little bundle of nerves, alternating between sucking gently and swirling his tongue over it.

Before long, you fall back on the bed, closing your eyes and giving yourself over to the wonderful sensations his mouth creates. His lips and tongue move through your folds, teasing your entrance, before returning to your swollen bud. Every little whimper or sob he pulls from you seems to spur him on. Compared to your ex, Aemond is the pussy eating champ.

Finding a rhythm that has you moaning “Fuck, you’re good at this.” He swells with pride, determined to make you a quivering mess. He relentlessly applies just the right amount of pressure on the right spots again and again. Your world is nothing but sloppy, wet sounds coming from between your legs and the orgasm building deep inside you.

When you reach down to tangle your fingers in his hair, your nails rake his scalp, causing him to moan into your pussy. "Mmm, baby, I’m close..don’t stop,” as you start to grind your hips against his mouth. Before you know it, waves of ecstasy that have your toes curling are crashing through you,leaving you shaking and breathless.

Aemond stares at your quivering pussy, watching more wetness leak from you. “You never answered my question. “Who makes you this wet? Hmm?”

Still blissed out from your orgasm, you gasp as he slides a long finger inside you. “You do, only you,” you whimper.

“That’s my pretty princess,” he coos as he adds a second finger, slowly dragging them in and out of you. “You gonna let me fuck this pretty pussy?”

‘Mmm yes,” While he rises from the floor, you move to the center of the bed, stretching contentedly and giving your legs a rest. You enjoy the sight of his erection straining against his boxers while he opens a drawer in his nightstand and pulls out a condom packet.

“Aemond, we can skip that if you want. I already got tested after the breakup; all good.

“I’m good too, promise," he says as he drops the condom back in the drawer. Lowering his boxers, he frees his hard cock. You wet your lips with the tip of your tongue at his perfect size while you watch him lazily stroke himself. Just looking at him makes your pussy clench; he’s the perfect blend of beauty and masculinity.

“Do you realize how fucking gorgeous you are?” You wonder aloud, your voice smokey with your arousal, taking in the glorious details of the sight before you. From his tousled hair falling past his shoulders to his defined, lean muscles and slim hips, you think he is a work of art.

His pale skin, already flush with his own desire, colors even more down to the tip of his beautiful, long shaft. Joining you on the bed, positioning himself so he is looming over the length of your body, he lowers down to kiss you, his hair falling in a silvery curtain around your head. You can taste yourself as he plunges his tongue past your teeth, deliciously invading your mouth.

Wrapping your arms around his waist and your hands on his back, you pull him closer, wanting to feel his weight on top of you. The soft hairs on his chest and legs tickle your sensitive skin, while his cock is hot and hard against you. You part your thighs wider to let him settle between them, curling a leg around his hip.

“You ready for my cock, pretty princess?” His voice is rough with his need to be inside you when he starts moving his length between your sensitive folds, coating himself with your slick wetness.

Nodding desperately, “Mmm, yes,” you murmur, ready to start writhing beneath him.

Finding your entrance, the head of his cock slowly pushes into you, making him hiss, and he doesn't stop until he can’t go any deeper. “Fuck, you're tight around me.” Slowly, he withdraws halfway before sliding back in and holding himself steady. Giving you a cocky grin, “I think you’re used to something smaller being in you.”

You know it’s true. You’ve never felt this full before, so wonderfully stretched. Your eyes go wider, and a moan escapes you when he gives a more forceful, deep thrust into you.

“Hmm, I’m right,” he smirks knowingly. His muscles flexing with each snap of his hips.

Sensing that he eats up praise the way he eats pussy, you’re happy to give him what he wants. “Fuck, you’re big; it feels so good.” Each time his cock hits that sweet spot inside you, a little jolt of exquisite pleasure goes through you, and you grip his hips harder, raking your nails along his skin.

“So beautiful.” He’s captivated by the sight of your tits bouncing as he pounds into you. “Taking all of me so well, princess.” He coos as he hooks an arm under your knee, the new angle causing more friction against your patch of nerves as he somehow picks up his pace.

“Close, so close,” you whimper. It’s not long before the tightened coil suddenly snaps, making you cum hard with an earth-shattering orgasm that leaves your body shaking.

Your pussy clenching around him starts to send him over his own edge. His balls tightening as he keeps fucking you through your climax. His release leaves him grunting and shuddering as his cock twitches and spurts hot cum deep inside you.

Both of you are left reeling as Aemond rolls off and flops on his side next to you. He gently gathers you into his arms, pulling you close and burying his face in your hair.

You can hear his soft hum of satisfaction, and you can feel his heartbeat against your hand on his chest as you lie in his arms, both of you trying to catch your breath.

“You good, princess?” He asks and gives you a soft kiss on your forehead with your contented sigh of "yes." Soon you both force yourselves from the too-comfortable bed to clean up. When you come out of the bathroom, Aemond gives you a soft, well-worn t-shirt to put on while he is already wearing gray sweatpants that hang low on his hips, no shirt, and his hair is up in a messy bun, earring a muttered, ”Slut,” from you.

“How come I call you princess, and apparently my nickname is 'Slut'? he teasingly asks.

“Awww, would you rather I call you ‘Prince Aemond'? You come back with mock sarcasm.

Grinning, “Prince Aemond, I like that.” Laughing when you roll your eyes at him, he heads to the kitchen for water and snacks for both of you.

#Modern Aemond #Jess 🥰#lovely comments

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aemonds-fire · 6 hours

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The Unraveling of Mr. Aemond Targaryen 🤭

The hand flex is the first chink in Aemond's armour despite his seeming coldness and brooding exterior. It is a small physical reaction that indicates a very big emotional one. 💖

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aemonds-fire · 6 hours

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EWAN MITCHELL as AEMOND TARGARYEN | House of the Dragon, ep. 9

#aemond

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aemonds-fire · 6 hours

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are you a September Virgo or an August?

Hi Eleanor,

I'm an August Virgo, but barely. August 31st.

#asks

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aemonds-fire · 1 day

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The Sapphire Spell Ghost Aemond x Female Reader Part Two - Cabinet of Curiosities

Summary: Can a spell cast by Alys long ago bring Aemond Targaryen back to life centuries later in Westeros? When the remains of the Kinslayer are found and put on display in a Cabinet of Curiosities, the ghost of Aemond discovers the proprietor’s beautiful daughter is the only person who can see or hear him.

Word Count: 2290

Warnings: None

The Sapphire Spell Masterlist

Aemond Targaryen Masterlist

Enjoy! Reblogs and Comments are much appreciated.

Centuries later

“Good morning, father,” you say cheerfully, leaning down to kiss his cheek before joining him at the small dining table. Once you are seated, he says a short prayer before beginning to help himself to breakfast. “What are your plans for today?” you inquire while taking a sip of your tea.

“Ah, my lovely girl, today is the day,” he exclaims, looking at you with a twinkle in his eye and a happy smile on his face. This morning, I will receive my latest additions to the collection. We have a great deal of work to do, much of it to prepare for our newest arrival.”

You stare at him with surprise. ”Oh, I finally get to know what this wondrous item is." You truly cannot remember seeing your father more excited than he has been recently. He still has an almost childlike wonder for new things, an enthusiasm unmatched by most for the curiosities of the world. “Will you at least give me a hint? You have tormented me long enough,” you ask him playfully.

Smiling mischievously, he says, “I suppose I could tell you that a former resident of the Red Keep will be brought to their new home today, but that is all I will say."

“The Red Keep? I didn’t think there was anything left in that old ruin,” you say, looking at him curiously. “What could have possibly been found there?” you ask him.

“Let’s just say that everyone in this city knows my reputation for paying good money for interesting objects,” he smiles, finishing his meal. As he gets up to leave, he tells you, “I’ll be next door; I’ll see you there after your lessons.”

After he leaves, you continue to linger over your tea, intrigued by your father's excitement. Long abandoned, the Red Keep had fallen into ruin for well over a century. New rulers had built palaces and government buildings. A fire several months ago mostly destroyed what remained. Workers have been toiling away for weeks, clearing through the rubble. What could have been found to cause him this much excitement, you wonder?

When you hear your tutors' arrival in the front hall, you hurry off to begin your lessons. While you are grateful for your father’s insistence that you continue your education, focusing today will be a struggle.

After seeing the tutor out, you rush to find your father in the adjacent building. Walking past the numerous displays of natural and man-made artifacts and oddities, you cannot help but smile, thinking about how your family’s fortunes changed in less than two generations.

Your family originally came from Flea Bottom, eking out a meager existence for generations. Your grandfather was born as one of six children. As a young boy, he dreamed of the sea, spending as much time as he could outside the city's old Mud Gate, where ships docked. Willing to learn anything he could about sailing and willing to do any task, he managed to gain favor with a ship's captain, who took him on as a cabin boy. At a very young age, he began a life at sea, steadily working his way up, taking on more responsibility with each voyage, and eventually meeting the great explorer, Lord Swann.

He was a member of Swann’s crew when the lost treasure of the Stepstones was found. With his share, he bought a respectable home in the city, away from Flea Bottom, married a pretty widow, and began a family of his own. He continued sailing with Lord Swann for several more years. During his sailing years, he amassed a number of unusual items he found during his travels to far-off lands. After an injury ended his career at sea, he dedicated his time to his growing collection, eventually buying the property next door and opening the first Cabinet of Curiosities Museum in King's Landing.

Your father inherited everything when he passed. Growing up with a love for the collection, he also possessed a flair for the dramatic and a sharp mind. He saw opportunity in the public’s fascination for things never seen before and kept expanding the collection. While he acknowledged the authenticity of most items in the collection, he also acknowledged the inclusion of a few forgeries.

There was still quite a bit of work to be done before the grand reopening of the collection in two days. Since your family had been adding oddities and artifacts for over fifty years, the assortment was getting quite large. It now takes up the entire first floor of the building. The new exhibit is part of an expansion to the second floor. Flyers had been distributed throughout the city, promising something new and exciting. The collection's temporary closure also allowed your father to have renovations done to the building. The major improvement is the installation of the new innovation of electric lighting, not only in the Cabinet of Curiosities Museum but in your own residence next door.

Once you find your father, you immediately understand his excitement these past few weeks, because this particular display is like nothing else in the collection.

He sees you standing back with a look of shock on your face and laughs. Coming over to put his arm around you, he says proudly, “I’d like you to meet the Kinslayer, Prince Aemond Targaryen."

The Kinslayer is the infamous second son of King Viserys. He claimed the dragon Vhagar as a boy and started the Dance of the Dragons when he murdered his nephew. He was named Prince Regent when his brother, King Aegon II, was seriously injured. After his half sister, Queen Rhaenyra, took Kings Landing, he went on a rampage, burning the Riverlands.

Besides his horrific deeds, not much is known about him. It’s as if he was a stain on House Targaryen that they tried to erase from memory.

The remains of a man are on display before you; his bones lie on black velvet within a specially crafted glass coffin, his skull still bearing the damage from the sword strike from Dark Sister. The suit of night black armor he wore, sword and dagger attached, has been cleaned and reassembled next to the case, as if standing a ghostly guard. Hanging on the wall over the case is a somewhat damaged painting of a young man wearing an eyepatch. He has the trademark silvery-white hair of the Targaryens.

Stunned silent for a moment, you finally manage to ask, “How did you find this? I thought the Targaryens always burned their dead."

Your father explains, "While clearing the rubble from the fire, an underground chamber was found." As you continue to examine this new display, you glance at him. "Most of it had collapsed, but one corner of the room remained unscathed. They had placed these remains in a stone sarcophagus and stored the painting and armor nearby."

“Why his body was not burned, I cannot say, but the fact that he was found under the Red Keep, along with the research I’ve done, convinces me that these are the remains of the Kinslayer,” he continues. “Now we have him, his armor, and his portrait. Once word spreads, people will be lining up outside to see him. He is going to make us a fortune.”

"The only thing missing is the sapphire he reputedly wore in place of his eye," you remark, noting that the prince was a rather tall man by the looks of his skeleton.

"That remains undiscovered, likely in the depths of the God's Eye." Small chance of anyone ever seeing that again,” your father sighs.

You chuckle. “If it is ever found, I’m sure you will find a way to acquire it.”

Smiling, he says, “I would try.” Gazing at the empty crates and packaging that the artifacts arrived in, he declares, "I'll assign the boys to tidy up. We still have a lot of work to do if we are to be ready to reopen.”

Taking a last glance at the portrait of the Targaryen prince, you follow your father to see what you can help with.

The next two days go by quickly as you spend most of your time making sure everything is in perfect order. Your father’s enthusiasm is contagious, making the work more enjoyable. You are both optimistic that more people will be eager to see the new and improved museum, and they will be willing to pay the increased admission price. While you are not wealthy, it is a profitable business that affords you a very good living. Despite society’s expectations that you should be looking for a husband, you are happy with your life.

You also find yourself drawn to the painting of Aemond Targaryen, standing in front of it several times. You can’t help but notice how regal he is, unsmiling but strikingly handsome; he has a strong jawline, good cheekbones, and a natural curve to his lips. His characteristically Targaryen silvery-pale hair, pulled back from his face, is long and straight. The eye patch over his left eye, with the scar trailing above and below, gives him a rather dashing appearance, you think.

As you remind yourself there is work to be done, you become aware of the freezing cold air around you, and you swear something grazes your hand. Startled, you whirl around to look behind you, only to find yourself alone in the exhibit. Nervously brushing back the tendrils of hair that have escaped your loose chignon, you sense there is another presence here with you.

Trying to steady your breathing, your eyes dart around, but you see no other person near you. You can faintly make out the voices of some of the staff you employ, but they are distant. With a quick shiver from the cold, you shake it off and head downstairs.

Finally, the time has come to reopen the Cabinet of Curiosities Museum to the public. With a glance out the window, you can already see that a crowd has begun to line up for the ticket window. Joining your father just inside the entrance, you can’t help but think he looks rather distinguished today. Your father is a natural showman, which is one of the reasons the collection has remained a popular attraction in the city. You love watching him, dressed elegantly in a tailcoat tuxedo, enthrall an audience with history and somewhat embellished tales of artifacts.

Playing your part as well, you are dressed in a fashionable gown with your hair styled up and adorned with jeweled combs. You act as a hostess for the collection, guiding visitors and answering questions.

You smile, knowing your father will be in rare form tonight, telling the tale of the Kinslayer from the Age of Dragons.

The afternoon and evening pass by in a blur. The grand re-opening is a stunning success, with high society rubbing shoulders with common folk. It seems that regardless of one's status in life, all share a fascination for the unusual and mysterious.

Several times, your father holds court, telling the tale of Aemond Targaryen. He captivates the crowd with the tale of the villainous prince who murdered his nephew to begin the Dance of the Dragons, declaring himself Prince Regent, mercilessly burning the Riverlands, and consorting carnally with a witch.

It was long past nightfall when the last patrons were ushered out and the doors locked. Your father brings out a bottle of the finest Arbor champagne for you and your small staff to celebrate the night’s success.

By the end of the week, you're exhausted from the nonstop activity and the throngs of people surrounding you, and you're relieved that the museum will close tomorrow for the weekly day of worship of the Seven. After you and your father visit the Sept in the morning, you look forward to a more peaceful day with a pleasant walk if the weather allows. However, as you get ready for bed, Prince Aemond occupies your thoughts once more.

Whenever you are in the museum, you feel compelled to visit his display. You’ve found yourself looking down at his remains that lie on black velvet, staring at the bones of his hands, noticing how long his fingers are and how much larger his hand would be compared to your own. You've even had the strange urge to open the glass case, reach in, and touch him. But it is his portrait that captivates you the most. While his angular features may not be considered conventionally handsome, you see a strikingly unique splendor to his image. His scar and eye patch only deepen his mystery for you.

You confess to yourself that you find it difficult to reconcile this portrait with the accounts of the cruel monster he was said to be. The story of his short life and terrible deeds should repel you, but they intrigue you more. You have an intense curiosity about him. 'What was he thinking as he sat for this portrait? What did his voice sound like?’ Questions like these have been going through your mind all week.

Also on your mind are the odd feelings you have when in the museum.

Many times, you have the feeling of being watched. You experience sudden, icy cold drafts that come out of nowhere and make you shiver. A few times you feel as if someone is standing beside you or behind you, much closer than would be proper, and each time you are alone with no one around. And tonight, as you were preparing to leave, you thought you heard a hushed voice whisper your name.

As you drift off to sleep, your final thought is that everything started when the museum received Prince Aemond's remains.

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The Sapphire Spell Masterlist

Ghost Aemond Targaryen x Female Reader

Eight part series completed 12/2023, Reposted 04/2024

Can a spell cast by Alys long ago bring Aemond Targaryen back to life centuries later in Westeros? When the remains of the Kinslayer are found and put on display in a Cabinet of Curiosities, the ghost of Aemond discovers the proprietor’s beautiful daughter is the only person who can see or hear him.

Series Warnings - Aemond is a bit dark, Smut, Murder, Angst

Part One - The Night Before

Part Two - Cabinet of Curiosities

Part Three - A Haunting Introduction

Part Four - Ghostly Obsessions

Part Five - No One Will Stop Him

Part Six - The Kinslayer Lives

Part Seven - Swept Away

Part Eight - A New Age - Conclusion

Main Masterlist

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The Sapphire Spell Ghost Aemond x Female Reader Part One - The Night Before

Word Count: 708

Warnings: Canon character death.

Enjoy! Reblogs and Comments are appreciated.

Sapphire Spell Masterlist

Aemond Targaryen Masterlist

The Night Before

21st day of the 5th moon of the year 130 AC

Aemond paces restlessly, watching his lover, Alys, stare into the flames of the small fire he has made for them. They are camped under a full moon at the edge of the forest, near a clearing large enough for Vhagar to rest in. He remains silent, hesitant to distract the witch while she searches for visions.

Only when she leans back slightly, searching through the bag she brought, does he stop. “Tell me what you have seen,” he demands. The months of maddening rage at being outmaneuvered by Daemon eating away at him, along with his obsession for Alys, and the terror he is now unleashing upon the Riverlands, slake his thirst for vengeance to any degree.

“You will fight Daemon in the skies above the God’s Eye, and he will die, but not before he kills you,” she ominously tells him as she lays out herbs, oils, and other magical items beside her. "But I can change that fate." Alys looks up at him, smiling darkly, the glow from the fire casting shadows over her face. “Give me your sapphire eye, and I will cast a spell on it. You will feel the pain of your wounds, but the magic I will put in the stone will heal them. You will survive your injuries, while your uncle will not.

Impetuous and unrestrained fury replaces rational thought as Aemond removes the sapphire from his eye socket and hands it to Alys. “You are certain my uncle will die?” he asks irritably, driven by a savage need to deal a death blow to Rheanyra’s side by killing her husband and greatest weapon.

She places the sapphire in a bowl, then adds the other necessary items. She then draws her dagger, looking up at Aemond. “I have seen it; now give me your hand,” she says, holding out her own to him.

Without pause, he extends his hand to her. He does not flinch as she takes her blade to his palm, letting his blood flow into the bowl. Alys begins to speak words he does not understand, chanting them again and again before pouring the contents into the fire, causing the flames to dance higher while changing to unnatural colors. This continues through most of the night, until she returns the shining stone to him, neither undamaged nor soiled by the flames, as dawn approaches.

“Nuncle, I hear you have been seeking us,” says Aemond.

“Only you,” Daemon replied. “Who told you where to find me?”

“My lady,” Aemond answered. “She saw you in a storm cloud, in a mountain pool at dusk, in the fires we lit to cook our suppers. She sees much and more, my Alys. You were a fool to come alone."

“Were I not alone, you would not have come,” said Daemon.

“Yet you are, and here I am. You have lived too long, Nuncle."

“On that much, we agree,” Daemon replied.

As the two mighty dragons claw and tear at each other with flames so bright, it looks as if the clouds have caught fire. Daemon leaps from his dragon to the other, driving Dark Sister into Aemond’s blind eye and forcibly dislodging the sapphire from the socket.

It was upon the twenty-second day of the fifth moon of the year 130 AC when the dragons danced and died above the Gods Eye, and two men, two dragons, and a sapphire stone fell into the waters of the lake.

Some years later, after the end of the Dance of the Dragons, Prince Aemond’s armored bones are found still chained to his saddle, with Dark Sister thrust hilt-deep through his skull. His remains and the skull of Vhagar are brought up from the lake bottom and returned to the Red Keep. By Targaryen tradition, the dead are burned by dragonfire, but there were no more dragons and no one left alive who would mourn the Kinslayer, so his bones are placed in a stone sarcophagus in a chamber deep beneath the Red Keep, to be forgotten for centuries.

The sapphire he wore in place of his missing eye was not found, lost beneath the murky waters of the God’s Eye.

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"Instead of putting one another down, let's start lifting each other up." - An older woman I heard say at a local Café.

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Thank you @itbmojojoejo 🤍

No pressure tags @thought--bubble @targaryen-dynasty @vipervixxen @persephonerinyes @chattylurker and anyone else who wants to.

Thank you for thinking of me @bhxrdy 💜

No pressure tags for funsies/to help you procrastinate: @deandoesthingstome @vhagar-balerion-meraxes @fictionalmenjusthitdifferent @lord-aldhelm @aemonds-fire and whoever else would like to join in xox

#tag game

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This one is for you @thought--bubble

Do not blame me for who I am. The doctor prescribed me 20 mL of #salad days twice a day.

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I’ve been silent for too long and can no longer bear to keep this inside: @itbmojojoejo is a good person and deserves many good things.

#true

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HOUSE OF THE DRAGON 1.09 "The Green Council"

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Writing Tips - Beating Perfectionism

1. Recognising writing perfectionism. It’s not usually as literal as “This isn’t 100% perfect and so it is the worst thing ever”, in my experience it usually sneaks up more subtly. Things like where you should probably be continuing on but if you don’t figure out how to word this paragraph better it’s just going to bug you the whole time, or where you’re growing demotivated because you don’t know how to describe the scene 100% exactly as you can imagine it in your head, or things along those lines where your desire to be exact can get in the way of progression. In isolated scenarios this is natural, but if it’s regularly and notably impacting your progress then there’s a more pressing issue

2. Write now, edit later. Easier said than done, which always infuriated me until I worked out how it translates into practice; you need to recognise what the purpose of this stage of the writing process is and when editing will hinder you more than help you. Anything up to and including your first draft is purely done for structural and creative purposes, and trying to impose perfection on a creative process will naturally stifle said creativity. Creativity demands the freedom of imperfection

3. Perfection is stagnant. We all know that we have to give our characters flaws and challenges to overcome since, otherwise, there’s no room for growth or conflict or plot, and it ends up being boring and predictable at best - and it’s just the same as your writing. Say you wrote the absolute perfect book; the perfect plot, the perfect characters, the perfect arcs, the perfect ending, etc etc. It’s an overnight bestseller and you’re discussed as a literary great for all time. Everyone, even those outside of your target demographic, call it the perfect book. Not only would that first require you to turn the perfect book into something objective, which is impossible, but it would also mean that you would either never write again, because you can never do better than your perfect book, or you’ll always write the exact same thing in the exact same way to ensure constant perfection. It’s repetitive, it’s boring, and all in all it’s just fearful behaviour meant to protect you from criticism that you aren’t used to, rather than allowing yourself to get acclimated to less than purely positive feedback

4. Faulty comparisons. Comparing your writing to that of a published author’s is great from an analytical perspective, but it can easily just become a case of “Their work is so much better, mine sucks, I’ll never be as good as them or as good as any ‘real’ writer”. You need to remember that you’re comparing a completely finished draft, which likely underwent at least three major edits and could have even had upwards of ten, to wherever it is you’re at. A surprising number of people compare their *first* draft to a finished product, which is insanity when you think of it that way; it seems so obvious from this perspective why your first attempt isn’t as good as their tenth. You also end up comparing your ability to describe the images in your head to their ability to craft a new image in your head; I guarantee you that the image the author came up with isn’t the one their readers have, and they’re kicking themselves for not being able to get it exactly as they themselves imagine it. Only the author knows what image they’re working off of; the readers don’t, and they can imagine their own variation which is just as amazing

5. Up close and too personal. Expanding on the last point, just in general it’s harder to describe something in coherent words than it is to process it when someone else prompts you to do so. You end up frustrated and going over it a gazillion times, even to the point where words don’t even look like words anymore. You’ve got this perfect vision of how the whole story is supposed to go, and when you very understandably can’t flawlessly translate every single minute detail to your satisfaction, it’s demotivating. You’re emotionally attached to this perfect version that can’t ever be fully articulated through any other medium. But on the other hand, when consuming other media that you didn’t have a hand in creating, you’re viewing it with perfectly fresh eyes; you have no ‘perfect ideal’ of how everything is supposed to look and feel and be, so the images the final product conjures up become that idealised version - its no wonder why it always feels like every writer except you can pull off their visions when your writing is the only one you have such rigorous preconceived notions of

6. That’s entertainment. Of course writing can be stressful and draining and frustrating and all other sorts of nasty things, but if overall you can’t say that you ultimately enjoy it, you’re not writing for the right reasons. You’ll never take true pride in your work if it only brings you misery. Take a step back, figure out what you can do to make things more fun for you - or at least less like a chore - and work from there

7. Write for yourself. One of the things that most gets to me when writing is “If this was found and read by someone I know, how would that feel?”, which has lead me on multiple occasions to backtrack and try to be less cringe or less weird or less preachy or whatever else. It’s harder to share your work with people you know whose opinions you care about and whose impressions of you have the potential of shifting based on this - sharing it to strangers whose opinions ultimately don’t matter and who you’ll never have to interact with again is somehow a lot less scary because their judgements won’t stick. But allowing the imaginary opinions of others to dictate not even your finished project, but your unmoderated creative process in general? Nobody is going to see this without your say so; this is not the time to be fussing over how others may perceive your writing. The only opinion that matters at this stage is your own

8. Redirection. Instead of focusing on quality, focusing on quantity has helped me to improve my perfectionism issues; it doesn’t matter if I write twenty paragraphs of complete BS so long as I’ve written twenty paragraphs or something that may or may not be useful later. I can still let myself feel accomplished regardless of quality, and if I later have to throw out whole chapters, so be it

9. That’s a problem for future me. A lot of people have no idea how to edit, or what to look for when they do so, so having a clear idea of what you want to edit by the time the editing session comes around is gonna be a game-changer once you’re supposed to be editing. Save the clear work for when you’re allocating time for it and you’ll have a much easier and more focused start to the editing process. It’ll be more motivating than staring blankly at the intimidating word count, at least

10. The application of applications. If all else fails and you’re still going back to edit what you’ve just wrote in some struggle for the perfect writing, there are apps and websites that you can use that physically prevent you from editing your work until you’re done with it. If nothing else, maybe it can help train you away from major edits as you go

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