#and Legend is bleeding out

[skyward-floored]

stabby stabby

[a-land-lacking-sleep]

A brief thought on the parallels of the Subway Bosses, The Tao Trio, and Warden Ingo's place

@waywardstation just made an amazing post on her thoughts of Warden Ingo's parallels to Kyurem. Nothing in the game directly connects the two, just like nothing in the game connects the Subway Bosses to the Dragons in Generation V. But the connections are still there regardless, because Game Freak made sure to fill Unova with so much symbolism.

These are the basic thoughts that connect each Man to their Dragon.

Subway Boss Ingo - Ideals; Aspire to greatness, never give up in your journey

Subway Boss Emmet - Truth; You are who you are, there is no need for a mask

Warden Ingo - Void; What is there when you lose who you are? No drive for greatness, nothing to mask. Ideals, Truths, nothing matters except the ground beneath your feet.

In each game that they appear, Ingo and Emmet are relatively flat characters. In Gen 5, they have enough personality to stick in your mind, and nothing past. And in PLA, Ingo's whole personality is "I lost my memory and am depressed, but have hope". Instead, we end up looking at word choice, and in the Subway Bosses cases, other media.

Subway Boss Ingo, across most media, embodies Ideals. He has his eyes to the future, always pushing himself and others to continue onwards. He frames battling and training as a journey ("What can I see after winning, winning, and winning? Where is my destination?"; "Your talent has brought you to the destination called Victory!"; "There is no terminal called End in your life!"), most often when he is victorious. He seeks to create his Ideal self, and wants to push others to do the same.

This comes up in Pokemon Masters EX as well, where the "no terminal" line returns (in an appropriately spooky tone), he also spends time in the Day With Ingo story event talking about how he seeks to better himself and "break through the mold of [his] past self". This event is also the first time he mentions the phrase "greater heights", which appears another 6 times in various snippets in Masters. And finally, we have a triple whammy of travel metaphors for growth in his level up lines.

For Subway Boss Emmet, his connection to Truth is admittedly a bit more tenuous. He doesn't have any tendency for truth-seeking or investigations (outside of the famous behavior in the manga where he likes to eavesdrop on drama, which gossip isn't exactly truthful), but what he has is a strong showing of being truthful, even if he ends up being blunt or disrespectful.

As a consequence of his writing in Japanese giving him a very casual way of speaking, the English translation has him speak in shorter clips, just the bare essentials. The naked truths of his thoughts. He doesn't seek the Truth, or give a Universal Truth; Emmet is True to himself and to those around him. (As a side note, I love when people give power to other usages of the word True through Reshiram. I did it in my fic with a turn of phrase, but I've seen it done beautifully in other works too).

In Pokemon Special, Emmet doesn't hide the truth of why they asked White to train on the Battle Subway ("We're studying you as an example of a Trainer who gets overwhelmed and loses every battle!" "That's not nice, Emmet."), not because he is intending to be rude (Ok, a little bit), but because that *is* what they are using her for. In the games, he speaks of how Pokemon battles can be decided on luck ("I won against you. But I think I just got lucky."), because the Truth of the matter is, you can be highly trained and just have a bad day or get hit by a critical hit. But, most importantly, he believes that battles must be serious for them to be fun. Because what fun is there in putting up a fake fight, when you could just be True to yourself?

Now, to speak on the connection of Warden Ingo to Kyurem, we must first understand what Kyurem is to Zekrom and Reshiram. On a surface level, it is a Husk, a leftover revenant that can be reassembled into a simulacrum of the Original being. But looking into the actual symbolism of them all is where you find threads of connection to the Warden.

Reshiram, the Dragon of Yin, is representative of a more static element, receptive of change but passive in how it does so. It is a recursive existence that reaches out and pulls back towards itself - Everyone has an individual Truth, but that is still able to be changed by The Truth. However, one does not go out and change The Truth, only altering the perception of it while it passively exists. You cannot change what is already there, only create something new. In comparison, Emmet is never really shown to focus on the future, but rather on the present. He knows of the Truth in his life, and while it can be changed by present actions, he knows that he cannot go back to change it, so there is no need to try, or to hide it.

Zekrom, the Dragon of Yang, is active, ever expanding, and pushes up against those around it in it's search for Ideals. Ideals cause you to seek out a goal, to leave your home, your comfort zone, and push away from the past. To represent Ideals is to be in constant flux; Settling into a form makes you into a Truth, as an Ideal is a goal, something attainable, yet unreachable. We've gone over Ingo's future-forward gaze, constantly thinking about what is to come. Life is a journey, and every step you take in life is a step to self-improvement.

Kyurem is a Husk, a Shell. According to Bulbapedia, it is representative of Wuji ("Without a roof"), the absense of Yin and Yang, or "The Ultimate Nothingness". For this reason, I personally also attribute to it Mu, a concept of non-existence and negative space, specifically the lack of something normally there (modern Japanese actually uses "mu-" as a prefix the same way English has the suffix "-less"). Interestingly, the Japanese transliteration of Wuji is "Mukyoku" (lit. Non-polar, another translation of Wuji), connecting the two concepts neatly. In short, Kyurem represents Nothing and Everything.

Kyurem was supposedly the Original Dragon, the deity of Unova that represented Truths and Ideals in unison, a embodiment of Yin and Yang's harmony. In a sense, the Original Dragon was an embodiment of Everything, Unova's spirit of unity. Then, with the war between the Twin Princes (another pair also frequently compared to Ingo and Emmet, in case you think I forgot my boys), it was split into 2, but secretly 3, parts. This third secret part became Kyurem, a being lacking in its original qualities, leaving Nothing but the Husk.

Now, finally, we can get to everyone's favorite uncle, Warden Ingo. His connection to Kyurem is probably the least intentional of them all (which is saying something, because I'm honestly convinced that the Subway Bosses' own connections aren't intentional, but rather just a result of how Unova games were written with Truth vs. Ideal being ingrained heavily), but there still is one. As Wayward says in her fateful post, "Warden Ingo is an empty husk of who he once was ever since he was separated from his life, and from Emmet." Ingo as the Subway Boss may not have embodies the Everything that the Original Dragon has, but pairing with Emmet so closely still meant that Truth and Ideals mixed so cleanly that it might as well have been Everything.

However, the most important connection for Warden Ingo are the concepts of Wuji and Mu. To be "the Ultimate Nothingness" or "Non-Polar" means to be devoid of Everything, yet still have the capability to be far more than Nothing. The singular concept of Mu may mean that Warden Ingo is missing who he is and was, but that is not who we grow know in the game; We connect with a man who is slowly piecing together his sense of self, remembering facets of his past and growing happier with who he can be. Thus, the Mu transitions into Wuji, a void that isn't Empty so much as lacking.

The importance of distinction is that Mu is by nature Empty, while Wuji is Empty and Everything, limitless and confined. Similarly, Ingo is devoid of what made him him (His drive for self-improvement is impaired, even while he pushes the player to climb to greater heights), but becomes something new in the meta-narrative of the story. His actual, plot-related story ends when you quell Electrode and he becomes a challengeable NPC at the Training Grounds, but he becomes something of a kindred spirit in the greater plot of the game. He's like you, a Faller who has lost themselves, and also like you, an avid battler who pushes the system to it's limits (especially in the Path of Solitude).

In short, the connection between Kyurem and Warden Ingo isn't anything in the text, as Kyurem has no explicit in-game theming attached to it like Zekrom and Reshiram, and Warden Ingo doesn't have strong philosophical points that seeps out of the words he says to you. But when you look at the meta-theming for Kyurem, and subsequently Warden Ingo's meta-narrative, the connections become clearer.

Does some of this make no sense? Of course! A lot of this is extrapolating what was said in Wayward's post, and what came from my head as I thought of it. A lot of the connections of the twins to the Dragons has been discussed since 2010, but for all intents and purposes, Warden Ingo is a different character from Subway Boss Ingo. Narratively, he is the same person, hence why his appearance is a tragedy in Legends Arceus, one which we never get to solve. But on a meta level, he functions so differently, and lives so differently, that the themes he inhabits do not match up to the Subway Boss in any way. To end this on a sad note, Warden Ingo is exactly like Kyurem - Broken. He has lost what made him whole, and we've been shown that just reinserting Ideals isn't enough. Hopefully, if Game Freak decides to touch upon the Warden once more, we can find a way to reinsert his Truths as well.

[lancelots-squire]

god you can't even challenge all passing knights to a battle and then lock them up in your dungeon anymore. because of woke

[fluentisonus]

a lot of folk songs have fucked up murders in them but I think long lankin/lamkin/lankyn (child 93) has got to be one of the creepiest

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Okay, I'm way late on the prompt thing, but if you happen to still take them - or as something to hold onto for later - I'd love to see a little snippet from the ill-fated cruise ship HC Legend worked on!

Hadn’t there… been a storm? What…?

Link squinted against the bright sunlight, feeling sore and overheated, strangely stationary but still somehow dizzy. He heard seagulls, and—

Seagulls??

Groaning, Link opened his eyes, the sun seeming to shine directly into his eyeballs. What had happened??

“Link? Oh, you’re finally awake!”

He knew that voice. “Marin?”

The familiar face appeared in his vision next, red hair nearly radiant in the sunlight. She looked haggard, clothes a little torn, face flushed, hair a mess. “Oh, Link, I’m so glad you’re okay!”

“We’re on a beach,” Link slurred, completely disoriented. “Did we…? Weren’t we in a storm?”

“We were,” Marin answered, shadows covering her face all of a sudden. “We were.”

The heaviness of her tone made him nervous. Sitting up, Link looked around, seeing several life rafts strewn along the beach, alongside a handful of other people in various states of disarray. He felt the bottom drop out of his stomach.

They were… they were stranded, weren’t they?

“The ship…?” He looked at her, asking for confirmation.

She shook her head. “It’s gone.”

He already knew, really. He could put the pieces together. But hearing her say it made him feel his entire world flip. What were they supposed to do? Who had survived? How had he even gotten here, anyway? He just remembered the storm.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Marin repeated. “When you got thrown I was so worried.”

When he got thrown? He remembered huddling in the medical bay with Marin; they’d both known it was too dangerous to be anywhere on the deck, exposed to the weather. He must have hit something.

“How did I get here, though?” He asked.

“Well, you were awake for a bit, just kind of groggy,” Marin explained. “The captain said the ship was sinking, we all got on life rafts, but the storm flipped some and… we managed to make it here with the rest.”

“And the other medical crew?”

“They’re… they’re gone, Link. They’re all gone.”

Gone?? How could they--he knew those people, had worked with them, they were--

Link grimaced as he moved his arm, staring at a large gash slicing along it. Marin helpfully grabbed a first aid kit, noting, “This is all we have left for medical supplies. This and one other, that is. But… it isn’t much.”

It… he… they…

This was insane. This couldn't be happening.

Shaking his head, Link tried to orient himself to the situation, slowly straightening his posture as he reached shakily for the first aid kit. “How many others are injured?”

“A few,” Marin answered, hastily adding, “I’m okay, though, don’t worry.”

Link looked her over. She was certainly run down, but he didn’t see any immediate signs of injury. Based on her story, they… hadn’t been thrown around too much, right?

Right?

But how had he gotten this wound, then?

Shaking his head, Link tried to focus. “Can you help me triage the others?”

Marin nodded, determined, reaching to help him stand. Link refused to let everything sink in all at once.

They had work to do.

[sirmariusrenathyr]

Marius, where are ones that bit you so I can enact vengeance on them?

(@lethica-nightborne)

I don't know, they just bite me then leave. You don't need to kill anyone, I'm fine.

[luck-of-the-drawings]

THE ORDER OF PALMS An order of holy folk that serve The Helm, working to create powerful Aasimar Paladins for the purpose of protecting any who hire their help. [BACKSTORY UNDER CUT]

One day, Gjör and her peers were lead by their mentor Opheria, to a mission far from their home. On the peak of that mountain village, they saw upon the horizon, the castle of their home go up in flames. Horrified and scared, the apprentices sought to follow their mentors guidance, and followed her lead into a small barn. It was there, that Opheria proceeded to slaughter each and everyone of the apprentices. It seemed she somehow had a hand in this sudden attack on the Order of Palms. Gjör D'annevual survived a sword through the 'heart', on account of a rare condition, that places her heart on the other side of her chest. When she finally managed to bring herself back home, the Order was insulted by her survival. She had so many better peers, why couldn't any of them have survived? This runt was seriously the only thing that survived Opherias wrath? It was better to just wash their hands clean of this. Thus the Order decided to banish Gjör from their ranks. She now travels the land in search of a purpose.

[pinklink130]

dear god link no he told you not to drink the grimace birthday shake from mcdonald’s :(

[majorproblems77]

Day 26 - Seeing double

Ohhh boy, buckle up people

Sorry in advance to any legend fans

im not sorry it was his turn

[pand0monium]

@extraterrestrialoracle tagged us to share 9 of our favourite album covers! Love this trend idea (I spent way too long picking lol)

Bleed Out - The Mountain Goats

Sun Leads Me On - Half Moon Run

Remedy - Son Lux

A Different Kind Of Human (Step II) - AURORA

Epilogue - Keaton Heston

Planet Her - Doja Cat

Parade - Prince

Curtis! (Deluxe Edition) - Curtis Mayfield

Transgender Street Legend, Vol. 1 - Left @ London gonna tag a bunch of my moots because I wanna know for EVERYBODY: @dominijoyce, @profane-form, @brainrotdotorg, @starzz-venti, @transmurderous, @cosmic-latt3, @maple--autumn, and anyone else who wants to!

[nimmie-nugget]

Applesauce

🍎🥫

ALL HAIL APPLE SAUCE

[skyward-floored]

I’m having a lot of fun with this one febuwhump ( @thepinklink your prompt idea was so good thank you >:D) which is funny because it’s pretty much been Wild and Legend arguing the whole time

[whalehouse1]

Urban Legends featuring angry Robin!Jason, defiant Jason, not a good detective Jason and many other Jasons that you (read me) don’t like but we offer you beautiful art, a story you want to see how it concludes and Jason’s first kid.

Me: I hate that I’m enjoying this but it is compelling. Unlike the Grifter story where Lucius is just being a dick to people.

[inknopewetrust]

𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐌𝐞, 𝐈 𝐇𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐒𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐝.

Summary: After days of uncertainty, you catch Aemond in the throne room and envision the future of what power can hold. [Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader] [WC: 2.8k]

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, smut, oral (f receiving), public sex, exhibitionism, overstimulation, enemies to lovers dynamic.

Quick Links: Masterlist | gif by @vizual-demon

“Knee deep in the [throne room] and you’re eating me out… is it casual now?”

“Do you always look so smug after killing your own blood?”

In your shadows, Aemond Targaryen stared at the Iron Throne in the storm.

Thunder eclipsed the skies over the castle. In the late evening, you could feel the shocks of lightning beneath your fingertips as they grazed the columns of marble that flanked the room. Each scream of anger echoed through the stones, you could hear it so clearly.

You could see him in the shadows of the throne.

Aemond Targaryen had returned from battle two days ago.

In those two days, the world had changed drastically compared to the one that it was before. A King incapacitated, a legend buried in the rubble of a fallen house, and two sides burning as bright as the cascading terror above.

The tide was shifting and the power in the halls was striking.

Aemond’s arms hung limp at his sides. For someone so thirsty for the power the room held, his apathetic nature would bury him. He could see the darkness of the swords; twisting and bleeding each person dry for their aspirations.

He wanted to be someone who was remembered.

Aemond Targaryen did not want to be immortalized in history as a weak member of the greatest family to ever exist in this world. In his dreams he saw a man of profound strength and terror—someone who reigned a fearsome government with unyielding standards.

In his cruelty, he wanted people to see a person who would not sacrifice his name for peace.

So yes, he was a bit smug at Rhaenys’ demise and ultimately Aegon’s injury. He would not be in this position now had he not done what was asked of him.

But he didn’t answer you—Aemond did not feel the need to acknowledge it because he knew you understood. Even if you were to be cutting and cynical, Aemond knew you rationalized his beliefs in a similar fashion.

And that enticed him.

You had always enticed him. So simple yet cunning, an outsider amongst the other ladies in your class. You were not a whore, you were not a mother, and yet he wanted to know what it felt like to be a feign of your touch.

How would your hands feel on his body? Your delicate fingers wrapped around him?

“Ah,” you ticked at him, pushing off the stone pillar and moving in his direction. “You see, My Prince, when you allow a dragon’s head to be paraded for the city to see, people are going to notice.”

“Power is power. We needn’t parade it unless it was necessary to remind them who they should bend the knee to.”

“At the ill will of a sacred creature?”

Meleys was once a beautiful dragon. It was such a shame that the second time you were able to witness her beauty it was in the butchered attempt of showing off. The grandstanding sickened the soil.

“It does not take a Targaryen to understand that.”

“What would you know of Targaryen customs?” He spoke back. His voice was thin and dry. “You will never know.”

“I apologize… for my lowly status is not on par with such a great house. I am sure my Lord Father would appreciate the sentiment.”

You have a coy, playful smile that he could feel in his bones. The kind that would chide him, never take him too seriously, and one that rarely doubted him.

It was an uneasy feeling. One he would never quite get used to.

“His ambitions are not unknown. How people without power seek it.”

“Is that not why there are whispers of what you have done?” You questioned and his hands turned to fists quickly. “Small folk talk, Aemond. Power is power but when you misuse it, the omen may come true.”

The omen hovered like the storm above. The God’s were battling in the realm in the sky; giants of proportions unfathomable in their richness of blood. They scorched and rattled in the sky as cracks of thunder rumbled throughout the Keep.

“Yet I speak nothing of it,” he eyed you solemnly. “You talk of rumors and fallacies as if they hold truth. Perhaps it is I who should ask where your loyalties preside? Does war scare you?”

Aemond approached you with long strides. His hands lingered at his sides but never held onto his hilt, threatening you with violence or harm for your disagreements.

He could see you did not fear war. Your father would have called on your return if the prospect of war scared a house with the name of your own. A prominent family in the Vale—to the Greens you were a key.

And he could play you a fiddle if you let him.

“No,” you replied, keeping your head tall. “I live in a gilded tower.”

“That has been infiltrated before. It has seen death before.”

“They do not seek me,” your eyes ran along his face as the sky illuminated his sharp features. “But you know that.”

Aemond hummed and in a moment of faulted want, his right hand reached to brush your own. The electricity of shock pulsing through your veins as though it was as important as blood itself.

You swallowed the nervousness that built in your throat at his actions. He was so sure of himself, so different from the man you had known before.

He took his sins and bathed in them. Aemond let the water dry in confidence of himself as Prince Regent. If he was going to rule in his brother’s stead, he needed the reverie of power to seep inside of him.

“Men will seek anything if they are given the chance.”

You traced the direction of his eyes to your hand, how he ghostly itched to touch you again.

“And what is it that you seek?” You questioned quietly. “Is being a ruler not enough?”

In the lull, your ears filled themselves with the sound of your heartbeat. Pumping and beating to the thrills of anticipation you sought in the sordid walls of an ugly Keep. To please a King, well… It was a dangerous thing.

Aemond’s hand touched yours loosely again. His fingers gently grazed yours with a profound intent that was something he sought.

“No,” he admitted. “It is not.”

His hand bypassed yours and rested lowly on your hip. The touch stilled you. In the darkness of the hall, the world stopped moving and your vision tunneled. His hand moved higher to rest upon the crux of your hip and stomach, thumb caressing the fabric of your dress. He stepped closer.

Without thinking, you took a step back out of the chills that erupted on your skin, not out of want. He took the space you created and closed it again but followed you as you moved backwards and backwards until your back hit one of the marble columns you had hid behind not twenty minutes earlier.

One of your hands caught yourself on the column and the other wove itself around a post. The wings of the throne room were elevated for spectators that were nonexistent now.

Aemond’s other hand mirrored the other and he held you there.

“If someone came looking for you,” he huffed, tilting his head to the side which allowed his eye to narrow. “What would you let them do to you?”

You furrowed your brows yet the feel of his hands burning through your dress allowed your mouth to run dry.

Nothing. You would let them do nothing to you. You would fight to the death to defend yourself but if it were Aemond, you would let him devour you.

“What about me, hm?” There was a faint smile on his lips. “What would you let me, your Prince Regent, do to you while the Gods watched over us?”

His hands slithered up your torso, drawing a staggered breath from you as he cupped your breasts over your dress and groped hard to feel the flesh. Aemond saw your chest stutter under his touch.

“Tell me,” he whispered, pulling his head in close to yours. His lips became a mere centimeter from yours; breath lingering in the space between you heavy and taught.

“I-I-I,” your nerves got the better of you. Stumbling over your words like a dolt, his hands moved back down and began to gather your dress in his hands. 

“Poised to stick pins where the plans now lie but a stuttering fool now.” 

“I am not a fool,” you huffed as the cool night air began to make itself known against your ankles, then your shins. “I know what I want.” 

Aemond leaned in, knocking his nose gently with yours. 

“Tell me,” he repeated. 

“I want you to touch me,” you instructed him. “I want to feel the mouth of a King on my lips and under the Gods I do sin, but I wish to feel his lips elsewhere.” 

“Oh?” Aemond hummed as his hands continued their path. “I may not hold the title of King-” 

“You are a King, Aemond,” you said assertively and his hands stopped. 

“You rule in the place of Aegon’s incapacity and by all law and rules, you are the one to carry the heavy sword. You speak the actions and see them true.” 

His Adam’s apple bobbed at the reality. 

Aemond’s power lingered. It lingered in this great hall but it was a shell. The Aemond he felt in his bones was still as scared as the one who killed Lucerys. 

“I wish to feel your lips elsewhere,” you whispered, breath fanning his face. He tilted his head upwards and for a split second, his lips touched yours. 

Intoxicating; you would have fallen to your knees had you not already wished to see him on his. 

“I want to see a King on his knees.”

Aemond could only smirk. He planted a quick, brief kiss on your lips before bunching up the skirt of your dress as he knelt down to the floor. A beckoning, ethereal call from above led him to his knees to worship. With his hands collecting the material of your dress, Aemond’s hands met yours and opened them the best he could for you to grab onto it. He used the leverage of your assistance to bring down your stockings, clear the way of his alter as the thunder roared from above.

You let your head fall back against the pillar as his hands roamed your thighs, inching higher and higher but still skimming past the now unguarded temple.

You could not help but look at the exits in view as though someone would walk through them at this hour.

This late hour when all of the good, pious Lord and Ladies, Prince and Princesses, laid in their beds asleep—sans the King he would never fault himself for burning.

“Aemond,” you spoke with a voice that shook. “What if someone were to see us?”

He stopped his hands, gazing up at you from the ground on which he knelt.

“Let them see then,” he kissed the front of your thighs. “If they see, then I will marry you.”

Fuck. It made your heart leap in your chest. A frog in your throat, the honesty in his eye was enough for your anxieties to settle but your excitement to grow.

He would marry you. What a world you wished you lived in.

If all were true, it would have happened the first time he touched you. 

“Drop your dress,” he ordered.

Without hesitation, you dropped the skirt of your dress and he vanished before your eyes.

But you could feel him.

You could feel the breath of his body releasing itself just beyond where you ached for him the most. His grip on your thighs was bruising. Aemond used his position to prop one of your legs on his shoulder, sending you off balance and into the bannister behind you.

But then his hot breath met where you wanted him and the feeling melted you from the inside. Aemond peppered kisses on your mound, waiting until the perfect moment to lick a stripe through your folds and with it, you folded yourself. 

Daydreams of his hands on yours was not enough. The feel of your hand in the solitude of night where the sins of pleasure were trapped behind heavy doors could not compare. Aemond attached himself to your flesh and sucked, hard, before lapping again in a more gentle fashion. He repeated it again and again until the wetness began to gather more audibly. 

There was no stopping the breathless pants escaping your lips. 

You gripped hard on the marbled post. If you were the strongest woman in the Seven Kingdoms, you could have crushed it beneath your fingertips. Aemond’s tongue laded the wetness and gathered it in a lewd slurping noise to your clit only to run his tongue over it in brisk movements. 

“Aemond-” you swallowed your moan. Knees threatening to buckle, you wanted to grip onto him. Your hands sought his shoulders, his head or hair, and a soft bed. 

The Iron Throne was taunting you in the background. Power so divine, so close yet a million miles away. 

Aemond wouldn’t marry you, but in the moment, you would live sinfully until the Gods caught you in truth. 

He let out a low hum that made your senses tingle. He too was enjoying the pleasure he could bring, growing his own in his trousers that begged for its own mercy. Aemond could feel you palm at his head from the fabric that fell over his head—a delicacy; the rapture of someone he could love one day if he let himself. 

Your helpless want forced you to roll your hips against his face as though his tongue was not enough. Aemond gripped your hips tightly to guide you against his mouth. 

“Shit.” The words fell from your lips freely. 

“Aemond, I don’t think I will fare much longer,” you admitted to him and felt yourself burn from the inside. His accommodations to your wants, the fluidity of his tongue against you in need was sending you barreling toward the edge. 

Your mewls became whines that rivaled the thunder. 

In an instant, he removed his mouth from yours and appeared from under your skirts. Your clit throbbed as the blood began to rush downwards and a sickening wetness that was not your finish began to trickle down your leg. 

“Wha-” 

You could not speak before his lips met yours aggressively. You could taste yourself on his lips and for a second, you wanted to recoil at the thought but his hands cupped the back of your head softly and everything melted into you. 

You wished he would marry you. 

“I am not done,” he broke the kiss and admitted. “But I could not hold that in any longer.” 

His sentiment took you aback. Your eyes searched for a lie; begging for a fallacy to come true and reveal itself in the ugly colors of night but there was nothing. There was nothing but truth and in it, it broke your heart in the slightest. 

Aemond wanted to kiss you. He wanted to please you, pleasure you, hold you tightly as a husband would do but he wouldn’t marry you. 

He couldn’t marry you. 

But he would love you in the depths of darkness as his power soared for a brief moment in time and the hands of a fair lady, opposed by his mother, warmed his bed in the evening. May the throne be his witness, Aemond Targaryen was a sinner. 

He kissed you again before falling to his knees once more. 

As promised, he worked in quick licks to ignite the spark. It lit up the room brighter than the sky as the Gods boomed in discontent but they worked to drown out the sounds of your elation the closer you became. Aemond let you gather the dress back in your hands so you could see him as his tongue circled your clit and he pierced your cunt with two fingers sliding in the wetness easily. Your legs trembled. His other hand ran soft strokes along the muscle to sooth you but it was fruitless. 

His fingers curved inside of you, massaging your walls as they clenched around him and swore to the heavens for a release. 

“Fuck, Aemond.” 

He enjoyed hearing the words no Queen would dare mutter. It dared him to move faster, to move more heavy against your walls, against your lips as he continued to lap the juices that made the ghosts in the halls look away in a blush. 

It was building to a precipice inside of you. As though a volcano was erupting, you let out sounds he had never heard. You were not trying to be quiet. You were letting the castle hear your pleasure that would send you to a horrible fate. 

And you begged him to bring you to the end. His name lost its true meaning as it became lost in the night, falling from your lips breathlessly and your eyes shut tightly as the chills in your spin sent you spiraling. 

He was no God, but Aemond Targaryen gave what he had as a God should. 

“Darling,” he murmured from below. “Let them all see what a King can do.” 

And you did. 

A/N: thanks for reading! As always comments, reblog, and likes are always appreciated. I love hearing from all of you and thanks for letting me write this little self indulgent fic.

[osirisdefencesquad]

more oc posting but I'm not sorry. Vela as Crow's mentor.

[obsessivevoidkitten]

In The Minotaur's Maze

Male Minotaur Yandere x Gender Neutral Reader (CW: Violently painful noncon, mild bleeding from sex, size difference, belly bulge from massively huge dick, mild mention of musk, stalking, kidnapping, general yandere behavior) Word Count: 980 (Tried to make a drabble, failed again with a mini-fic instead. Oops. This is one of my very few works, so far, that is technically fanfiction as Asterion is the canon name of the Minotaur in Greek mythology.)

You were a talented explorer seeking ancient relics for fame and fortune.

You used a combination of minor magic to speak to the dead and serious investigation to discern the location of the fabled Minotaur labyrinth.

It was deep within an enchanted cave system that in many ways served as an extension of the maze hidden away within.

You carefully navigated the treacherous caves until you came upon the secret entrance. You placed your hand in the middle of a smooth wall and uttered the magic incantation.

The wall dissolved in a flash of light, and you stepped through the entrance as the stone reformed behind you. This was it. You were in the maze proper. What secrets lie ahead?

Of course, you knew the legends of Asterion the Minotaur, but he had been slain in them. And nothing could live so long anyway, especially without food.

You navigated the stone corridors easily. Despite their age, they still looked brand new. As you continued on, you occasionally heard what sounded like hooves plodding along behind you.

You pushed it from your mind. Your imagination was playing tricks.

As you stepped around a corner, you came to a wooden door and opened it. When you stepped through, gone were the twisting stone paths filled with the scent of earth.

Instead, there was an ancient style dwelling overlooking some farmland growing a variety of trees, bushes, and vines.

The door you had come through was still behind you, you closed it and from this side it looked like a door to a shed. So the labyrinth had pocket dimensions… You had heard about them in passing. You wondered how large it was. The realm may look like an idyllic farm on earth, but if you went far enough away, you'd surely hit an invisible wall.

Perhaps the door to the house would lead further into the dungeon.

As you got closer, you realized how large it was. When you pushed the big door open, it actually was a house. Albeit with furniture that was made for someone very large.

Suddenly, you felt a hot breath at your neck. You turned to find the very large, naked Minotaur staring down at you. He was a hairy wall of muscle. One with the head of a bull, complete with metal tipped horns. His legs were covered in dark fur and ended in large hooves, and his full nutsack dangled beneath a frighteningly large prick.

Before you could react, the Minotaur grabbed you and pulled off all your clothing.

You had no idea how Asterion could have survived all this time. He had been killed!

But apparently, he hadn't gotten the memo.

In the past, he had consumed most humans that wandered into his labyrinthine prison, but you were bravely entering his home, his nest.

You weren't cowering like the old sacrifices. Well, you weren't before he grabbed you anyway.

That, combined with him being in rut and driven insane by thousands of years of isolation, made him not consider you as a meal for even a moment. You were firmly in the mate category in his brain.

So small and cute.

You writhed and fought to get out of his grasp but he ignored your greatest efforts as if they were nothing.

Asterion licked at your face as you pleaded with him to let you go.

He couldn't understand your language but he could guess at their meaning.

But he had no intention of ever letting this new mate of his go.

He tossed you down on the bed and you now saw what he intended to do.

His hard cock now at full arousal, as large and thick as a man's arm.

"No no no! Pleasepleasenono!!!" Your words blended together in a garbled panic as his musk hit your nose, sharp and dominating.

The only preparation your entrance received was a few gobs of slimy Minotaur saliva before he slammed inside you.

You shrieked.

It felt as though your entrance was on fire. As if it was being ripped apart.

With every thrust you shuddered in pain and sobbed. Nearly incoherent cries for mercy dribbled from your lips and fell on deaf ears.

You felt so warm and tight around him. This was just what he needed. Surely you had been sent to Asterion in his time of need by the gods. They finally, after eons, granted him mercy in the form of your insides.

So pliant to his girthy cock. Every time he dove back into you the outline could be seen in your stomach.

Tears streamed down your face as you silently wept, no longer able to scream or even babble your silly little pleas for it to stop.

Asterion wished he could tell you how well you were doing. That you were such a good cow for him. That you fit his cock so perfectly.

But he couldn't, so instead settled for licking and nibbling at your neck before wiping your tears away with his broad tongue.

With a final thrust he filled your belly visibly cum.

When he pulled out a torrent of his seed rushed down your thighs, it had noticeable streaks of pink from bleeding. You were such a fragile little thing compared to him.

He hadn't been able to hold back since that was the first time he had ever sought release inside of someone before, but he made note to be more careful.

Even though the breeding had stopped you were helpless. Broken. At least for the moment. You still cried silently, feeling utterly invaded and defiled.

Asterion took the time to lick you completely clean before laying down beside you and holding you close, spooning you with his mighty arm as you shook beneath it.

You came here to explore the deepest reaches of the maze... but had your deepest reaches explored instead...