#4488 words | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

akittenwrites · 2 years ago

Text

Queen of Ice and Prince of Fire [6]

Author: @akittenwrites

Summary: Lady Y/N Stark of Winterfell has declared herself Queen in the North. That means war, against King Viserys, and also against Prince Daemon. But the Rogue Prince doesn't want to fight her.

Type: multichapter series

Chapter: six

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x reader

Word count: 4488

Warnings: swearing, violence.

Part one.

Part two.

Part three.

Part four.

Part five.

Marching to war with an army of useless buffoons hadn't been the most pleasant of experiences. It had taken almost a month to do it on foot. He had proposed they just rode their dragons to avoid precisely that, yet the fact that only three were fully grown and available to fight had forced them to assemble an army of men.

It turned out that hadn't been as easy as expected. Otto Hightower's brother had no choice but to answer the King's call considering the green snake's position in court, but the Stormlands and Westerlands hadn't been as agreeable. Ten thousand men from House Baratheon had cost them a seat in the small council, and fifteen thousand from the Lannisters... that had cost them Rhaenyra's hand, promised to Lord Jason Lannister. His niece had begged her parents not to, hollering that she would ride Syrax to war instead. Daemon would've allowed it —another dragon was worth fifteen thousand Lannister imbeciles— yet Viserys and Aemma refused. The Velaryons' strength was their fleet, which they couldn't unman, but their contribution was more than enough: two dragons.

He had forced the army to march nonstop for hours, only allowing them to rest five hours at night. There were complaints, but neither Rhaenys nor Laenor had dared say anything, so he ignored them. And after the first Lannister that publicly whined about it was devoured by Caraxes, the men became incredibly quiet. They could rest when they were dead.

It was the sudden snow that had forced them to make camp and reorganize themselves. They were expecting winter, just not yet, and not so cold. It gave the men a break for a day and a half.

He flew Caraxes as the first snow fell, letting himself get lost in the cold and the misty skies. As he closed his eyes and let his dragon guide him through the clouds, he imagined Y/N's arms wrapped around his torso, holding on tight. She had never ridden Caraxes with him, despite accompanying him to the dragonpit many times to see him off and welcome him back.

It will be too obvious and I do not wish to be questioned on my virtue, she had said. I will ride with you once we're free from these shackles.

Now the opportunity was gone forever, and the shackles had become even tighter around their wrists. He placed his hand on his armored chest, where he kept her letter, just beneath the steel.

They were supposed to be together, to face adversities side by side, not fight each other. Maybe if she had been a dragon riding Targaryen instead of a wolf they could've run off together. Why did he even harbor feelings for a woman so different from him? There was not a single drop of blood of Old Valyria in her, yet her aura was just as magical. Whenever their fingers touched, and their eyes connected, he felt it deep inside him. A bond similar to the one he had with Caraxes, one that didn't need words for understanding, and was just as deep. Y/N was part of him and his life just as his own dragon was, forever. He dared say she was even more important. If Caraxes was one of his limbs, Y/N was his beating heart.

It had taken them nine more days walking under the storm to reach Winterfell. As he mounted Caraxes, ready to fly towards the castle, he noticed his hands shaking. He cursed under his breath, forcefully grabbed the reins, and disappeared into the sky.

What was wrong with him? He had been tasked to lead the army with Caraxes, and his hands were shaking? What was he, a fucking idiot knight that had never even jousted before? With his jaw clenched, he gained speed as he flew towards Winterfell. Caraxes cried out, feeling his anger, and the castle finally became visible.

He barely had a second to find Y/N's position —a white spot with dark hair on the battlements— when large bolts were fired in his direction. He evaded them effortlessly, knowing they couldn't get too close without becoming an easier target. Y/N had delivered what she had promised.

"Do not fly toward the castle yet!" he warned Rhaenys, flying next to her. "They have bloody scorpions."

She nodded and he flew away, four more bolts meant for Caraxes disappearing into the sky. He looked down, seeing their army finally meeting the one awaiting them at Winterfell, but something was wrong. He descended, focusing his purple eyes on their men, and noticed they were bloody and disordered, and some of them even tried to run away.

The anger brewing inside him grew into sheer fury. Frowning, he flew even lower, inspecting the men under his command as Caraxes dodged the bolts sent his way. This was the King's army? A bunch of cowards and useless boys, clashing against the Stark army on the front lines and being cut down as if they were nothing? Madness took over him as he uttered his command.

"Dracarys."

He didn't even bother to look at the battlements anymore, focusing solely on the front lines. He left a trail of fire as he burned both sides to death, wreaking havoc as the men screamed and tried to move backward, with nowhere to go. No, they would burn. He didn't care for cowards that couldn't even lift their swords properly against their enemy. And he definitely didn't care for Y/N's men, no matter how tough they were.

Dragons would win this battle.

The chaos he caused on the frontlines spread to the rest of the armies, but another rain of bolts forced Caraxes to fly higher and stop his attack. He focused back on the battle, noticing Seasmoke slowly flying away. They had managed to hurt him.

It was only then he realized Rhaenys was flying straight toward the battlements, toward Y/N. It looked like it was happening in slow motion; the Red Queen majestically burning everything in her path and directing her fury to the woman in command. He was unaware he had stopped breathing until his lungs begged him for fresh air. And then everything was happening at the speed of light again. Daemon wasn't thinking anymore, he was acting. He whispered a few words to Caraxes, determined to reach Meleys before it burned Y/N to death. Another round of bolts forced him to dodge and stay away once again.

He placed his hand on his armored chest, feeling the folded letter under it, as he watched what was about to happen.

He wanted to look away, but he couldn't.

A sudden storm with rocks made of ice and cold rain fell upon them. Caraxes screeched in shock and pain, and Daemon placed his hand above his head to avoid getting hit by the stones, cursing himself for not bringing his helmet. He narrowed his eyes as he looked at the battlements, searching for Y/N behind the rain and the storm. A flash of lightning illuminated her crown and he saw her standing there again.

She was alive.

He whispered a few words of comfort to Caraxes as he placed a hand on the scales of his neck, calming him down. He felt calm again as well.

But the battle was not over.

He would burn the rest of her army and force her to surrender.

"Dracarys!"

Letting the storm fall on him and his dragon, knowing he could weather it, he attacked again. This time his eyes searched for Y/N's, though.

And they finally met.

She looked at him briefly before turning around and leaving, and he didn't even know how, but he knew what she meant.

Agreeing, he ordered Caraxes to fly west, and as they left the battlefield the storm suddenly stopped and the skies were just grey. The grass was wet, but it wasn't raining anymore.

He saw her white figure a second before Caraxes landed before her, and he dismounted, walking to meet her again.

She stood before him dressed in a long white fur coat, with her hands holding each other, his ruby ring the only color to disrupt the white and grey vision before him. There was something different about her, Caraxes could feel it and he could too. Something magical. She held herself regally, her grey eyes bright yet emotionless as she watched him approach. His own eyes widened as he saw her crown shined with blue ice. Her direwolf stood next to her, as tall as she was.

She looked otherwordly. The smell of winter roses permeated the air. He stood there, admiring the sight before him. She had always been beautiful, yet she had never looked as divine as she did right then.

She truly looked like a Queen. A Queen of beauty and ice.

A Queen he would've gladly bent the knee to, had the circumstances been different.

"Daemon," she greeted, snapping him out of his trance.

"Y/N," he answered, studying her face. She looked as young as always. "Nice crown. How did you get it? Blood magic?"

She raised an eyebrow.

"I do not meddle with such things. You know it."

"You managed to injure a dragon and survive a deadly attack from another one. I am not sure I know anything about you anymore."

She smiled, lovingly but not without pride.

"I am Queen in the North now. Ice runs through my veins. But there is nothing supernatural about war strategy and a few well-made scorpions. I did warn you."

"What about the storm?" he challenged, raising an eyebrow. "You should call yourself Queen of Ice. It appears that is what you are now."

She remained impassive.

"The Gods have granted me the power to win this battle, that is all," she explained, her hand reaching for her crown and taking it off. The ice melted immediately. "Any more questions?"

"Yes, actually. What is the plan now? Take down Meleys? Try to kill me?" he walked a few steps closer to her, his voice coming out as a whisper. "Because right now you're at a disadvantage, love."

Her stare remained cold as he approached her, not moving an inch.

"Take down Meleys and take you as a hostage to force the crown to back down," she stated. "We will let you go when spring comes."

He laughed in disbelief. Had Y/N forgotten who she was talking to? Her crown made of ice didn't change the fact he was still a dragon, and a proud one.

"I would rather be killed by your cunt lords than be your hostage."

Y/N smiled slightly.

"I figured as much. What is your plan then, Daemon?"

"I'm still undecided," he said simply. "I planned to go back, burn every single person still alive in Winterfell, and come get you."

"And take me where?"

He shrugged.

"Where do you want to go?"

Sadness passed briefly through her eyes before she composed herself again. Why was she trying so hard to play her role in front of him? He knew her as she was.

Yet he understood, partly. He had been sent to kill her. She had her own duties as well.

"You'll have to kill me to get back on that dragon, Daemon," she whispered. "I am not forcing you, I am asking you. Pretend to be our hostage. Live this winter by my side. You'll have chambers next to mine. I'll warm your bed at night."

He shook his head, wondering what had gotten into her. They both knew how this encounter had to end, and they were both trying to take a different path. Yet it seemed they couldn't even agree on that.

"And yet I'd still be a prisoner, away from Caraxes, away from everything I know."

"By my side," she insisted.

He laughed again, but it was far from funny. A Targaryen prince forced to spend months, or even years, inside a dark castle, unable to ride his own dragon, unable to feel the wind on his face as he flew above the clouds. History books would not be kind to him.

"My offer is to run away together, as equals," he said. "Yours is I become your prisoner. I think you know the answer, Y/N."

"Then there is no use in further negotiations."

There was a brief silence between them as they looked at each other.

Her grey eyes were sad but determined. She knew it was her duty as Queen to end the bloodshed.

And it was his as Prince, as the King's appointed commander, to end it as well. Even if he loved her.

His gaze hardened as he ordered his dragon to leave. There was no point in Caraxes being there to watch. Even if he commanded him to burn her to death, he wouldn't. The bond they shared was so strong Caraxes could do what Daemon needed without the need for verbal commands, yet that also meant he wouldn't obey his words if they weren't true to his heart.

"Caraxes, qrīdrughāks," he said. Then he looked at the woman in front of him. "No beasts. Just you and me."

Y/N nodded, looking at her wolf.

"Storm, go away."

Both their companions hesitated for a few seconds, and then Caraxes flew and Storm ran, both getting lost in less than a minute.

Daemon unsheathed Dark Sister as Y/N did the same with Ice, letting her crown fall to the ground. He cut at her immediately and the sound of swords clashing was heard as she met him halfway, their blades forced against each other as their eyes met.

"Are you sure you can fight with that sword?" he questioned. "It seems ridiculously large."

"It is also ridiculously light," she countered, getting out of the way and slashing at him again from his left.

She landed blow after blow at him, and he blocked all of them with ease. He knew how she fought. He sometimes joined her in the courtyard when she trained. She was by no means bad at it, but she wasn't as good as he was. And she was slowly starting to realize it as he made no attempts to attack and merely defended himself, not breaking a sweat.

Y/N halted her attack then, narrowing her eyes at him, and reached for her collar to unfasten her coat. It fell to the ground, leaving her dressed in a simple grey dress and a breastplate. She didn't stop looking at him as she got out of her armor with great difficulty, sticking her sword in the ground to do so. He lifted a brow as he looked at her, admiring her beauty, before deciding to follow her example. His armor was light, Valyrian steel, but if she was going to fight unprotected, so was he.

He made sure her letter was still kept in the inside pocket of his shirt before picking up his sword again.

She did the same, grabbing the skirts of her dress and bunching it up before slashing at it with her sword, letting parts of it fall to the ground. She ruined it, leaving the skirt cut unevenly and barely reaching her knees, allowing her to move more freely and allowing him to admire her boots. He wished she would take those off too, so he could take a look at her legs.

Finally, she let her scabbard fall to the ground with the rest of her clothes.

And then she came at him again, attempting to cut at him, and he stopped her. This time, though, he fought back. They went back and forth for a few minutes, as Y/N's skills improved drastically without the unnecessary baggage, and they were almost matched.

Almost.

After forcing her to walk back a few steps as he used all his force to cut at her, he finally managed to disarm her as her sword flew backward and fell to the ground. He pointed his own sword at the center of her chest and she lifted both hands in a gesture of surrender.

She was defeated.

He only had to end it now.

But then she raised an eyebrow at him with mischief and dipped to the ground, doing a barrel roll in his direction that ended with her clutching his legs with both arms, throwing him off balance.

Even then, he managed not to fall, using his sword as a cane to stay upright as his legs were forced together.

He hadn't forgotten Y/N's love of hand-to-hand combat, he just didn't expect it. He remembered she had shown him some moves once, explaining that since she, as a lady, almost never carried a sword, had to be a better fighter without blades. He had never taken it seriously. If your enemy has a sword and you have nothing, you are as good as dead, he had told her.

The problem was she was fucking good at it.

"Are you seriously going to fight me like this?" he asked, feeling her grip tightening.

She smirked at him from the ground, her arms refusing to let go of his legs.

"There is no such thing as a fair fight, Daemon," she said. "Scared you'll lose?"

He attempted to point his sword at her again, but the second he lifted it from the ground she moved like a gazelle, rising to elbow him in the gut with her right arm and catch his wrist with her left. As he gasped at the unexpected blow, she forcefully rotated his wrist as far as it would go. They exchanged looks as he refused to let go of his sword and grasped her hair with his left hand, pulling on it to try and bring her down. She clenched her jaw as she looked at him, clutching his wrist even harder and sinking her nails into his skin until she drew blood.

"What the fuck are you doing, Y/N?" he hissed, trying to ignore the pain as blood started running down his arm.

Y/N didn't answer. She used her free arm to punch him square across the jaw and twisted his wrist even more until his hand couldn't hold his sword anymore. Dark Sister fell to the ground. Now both of them were disarmed. He turned to look at her again with fire in his eyes, refusing to let go of his grip on her hair. She might've managed to disarm him, but she couldn't expect to win against his brute force. He could knock her out with a punch if he wanted to.

"Winning," she said, at last. She finally allowed herself to fall, following the pull of her hair, and landed on her knees. He remained standing with her dark locks still held tightly in his hand.

"You're fucking mad," he whispered, watching as she pulled a dagger from inside her boot. He walked a step backward to avoid getting stabbed, pulling on her hair again even harder than before, forcing her to look up at him.

"And you fucking love me for it," she responded, raising the dagger to her head and slashing at her hair, freeing herself with one clean cut.

He looked at her as she stood up and then at his fist that still held strands of her long dark hair. He opened his hand, letting it fall with a soft smile on his face.

She was fucking right. He loved her, his wild wolf. And he loved her even more when she got her hands dirty.

She ran at him with the dagger raised and he stopped it midway through, catching her arm just before the blade could stab his neck. She attempted to punch him with her other hand, but he caught that one too. Their eyes connected once again, grey against purple, both determined to win this fight.

Her hair was now shoulder-length, still wet from the earlier rain, and he could see the sweat running down her forehead. Her chest rose and fell with her labored breathing. And she looked at him with her brows furrowed, completely focused on defeating him. On killing him.

He felt himself getting aroused as they gazed at each other. She was always stunning when she was polished and ladylike, but she was fucking luscious when she was out for blood.

He would have let her kill him if it meant she would fuck him one last time.

It was a game of push and pull, he didn't let her go, and she changed strategies between trying to pull away and trying to hurt him.

"You're right," he admitted, his eyes wandering down her body. "I love you for it."

She seemed taken aback for just a second, which he used to twist her arm just as she had done to him previously, forcing her to let go of the dagger that fell to the ground. His grip was so tight he was sure he would leave bruises, not unlike the ones he had left on her hips and thighs once, after nights of incredible passion.

"You have me," she said, at last. Her arms let up as she leaned forward, her face getting closer to his. She raised a brow, challenging him. "Take me, then."

His eyes moved to her lips, soft and wet, waiting for him. He leaned down, kissing her with the passion of a man that knew this was the last time he would kiss the woman he loved. She kissed him back fervently, and for a moment it felt like nothing else existed in the world but the two of them, loving each other until the end of time.

That illusion was shattered as soon as they parted.

She kicked him in the groin with the full strength of her leg, forcing him to let go of her as she jumped him, wrapping herself around him and using her entire body weight to make him fall backward, falling on top of him.

He groaned, cursing under his breath, and closed his eyes briefly as the pain of the fall slowly faded away. The feeling of a cold blade against his neck made him open them again.

Y/N sat on top of him, with her legs around his torso, as she held the dagger to his throat. Her eyes were filled with sorrow, and he swallowed, waiting for her to do her duty.

Yet she took too long, and that was enough for him to flip them over, making her lose her dagger again as they exchanged positions. He took the blade in his hands and traced a pattern down her neck with it.

"You shouldn't have hesitated," he whispered, looking into her eyes. It pained him he had to take the life out of them. The bright, grey eyes he loved so much. "Never hesitate."

"Then why do you?" she asked, sprawled underneath him, defeated.

He didn't have a chance to answer as the distant sound of horse hooves approaching distracted him. They both looked as three men on horses made their way toward them, dressed in the simple silver armor of the northerners.

"Harm her, and I will run you over with my horse until you're dead!" shouted the old, white-haired man that reached them first.

Daemon lifted his hands in the air, signaling he meant no harm, and let the dagger fall to the ground once again. Y/N moved under him, sitting up.

"Lord Karstark," she greeted. "What is going on?"

"The battle is won, Your Grace," he said, dismounting. He drew his sword at Daemon, who looked around only to find Dark Sister completely out of reach. And he had no idea where Caraxes was.

Y/N punched his leg, mouthing at him to get up. He did, offering her his hand so she could do the same. There was no point in continuing the fight now, he had no way of winning.

He was relieved.

"How many men did we lose?" she asked after Daemon helped her up, making her way toward her men.

He noticed the old man's demeanor turned even more serious then.

"Almost all of them, my Queen," he answered.

He couldn't see Y/N's expression from behind her, but he could guess she was harboring immense guilt. Thousands of her men had died in a useless quest.

"What of Rhaenys?" Daemon asked, stepping forward. "The other dragon. What happened to it?"

The Karstark man and Y/N exchanged a look as she nodded at him almost imperceptibly, and he proceeded to answer.

"An archer managed to wound her and she flew away."

"Wound her?" he questioned. "How badly?"

Silence.

"Will Princess Rhaenys survive, Lord Karstark?" Y/N asked. "Her death means we should expect an attack from both Houses Targaryen and Velaryon."

"It was an arrow to her neck," the old man responded. "She was wounded enough that her dragon carried her away. I can't tell if she will survive or not."

"You can expect an attack from both Houses just for wounding her, anyway," Daemon interjected.

Y/N turned to look at him with empty eyes.

"Then there is no point in keeping you alive, is there?" she asked. She looked at her men then, who had also dismounted their horses. "Shackle him. I shall execute him at sunrise, in Winterfell."

He admired her display of strength and leadership; no wonder they had named her their Queen. Yet he wondered if she was speaking the truth and was finally ready to do her duty, or if she would try to find a way around it again.

He felt the heavy iron of one of the shackles tightening around his right wrist as her two guards surrounded him.

"Tighter," she instructed. "And behind his back. Do not underestimate him."

"I can't ride a horse to Winterfell with my hands behind my back, my Queen," he mocked with a bow of his head.

"That won't be a problem," she said simply. "Winterfell is not far. We will walk."

The walk lasted less than an hour, in complete silence, with Y/N and Karstark leading. The literal shackles were more uncomfortable than the metaphorical ones Y/N kept bringing up.

When they finally arrived, the battlefield was barely visible because of the fog and the smoke. Yet there was something that made Y/N stop in her tracks, and everybody else did as well. Daemon walked until he reached her side, noticing her eyes were fixed on the scene in front of her. What was she looking at?

And then he saw it.

Men, dead men, rising to their feet and walking around. Headless men, men without arms, men burned to a crisp. They walked.

"What is happening?" Y/N whispered, so low he could barely hear it.

"This is..." Karstark started to speak and shut up, not knowing how to continue.

Daemon walked one step forward, his purple eyes unable to look away.

"Y/N..." he said. "What did you do?"

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

Next chapter.

If you like my writing, make sure to check out my masterlist and my page, where you can support me or read updates on what I'm working on and leave your comments.

Have a nice day!

-------

Tagging: @batprincess1013 @lollaa-puff @girl-of-multi-fandoms @mamamooqa @queenmendes @chevelledahuman @thanyatargaryen @zgzgzh @boofy1998 @lovelokiqueen @kmhappybunny240 @dudde-44 @dankfarrikdin @gothicgay14 @ilovemarauders @ilovemydinoboi @asgardiandeadpoetsociety @how2besalty @kaitieskidmore1 @thhriller @omgsuperstarg @missyviolet123 @booksnink13

TAG LIST CLOSED. If you asked to be tagged and you are not here, it's because tumblr wouldn't let me tag you. Sorry. I'll use the tag #queenoficeprinceoffire so you can follow anyway.

#daemon targaryen x reader #daemon x reader #daemon imagine #daemon targaryen imagine #hotd x reader #queenoficeprinceoffire #daemon targaryen x stark!reader

510 notes · View notes

lostfirefly · 8 months ago

Text

Life Must Have It's Mysteries (Ch.10)

Honestly, I thought this chapter would be the last, but in order not to make it too long, I divided it into two parts. Chapter 11 will be the final, I promise :) And when I came up with the idea about the scepter, I didn’t know that there was a legend that would be mentioned in this part. Everything worked out well, hah!

English is not my native language, errors may occur. As always, feel free to share your thoughts :) Masterlist is here.

Description: Buggy saved Catherine. What will happen next? Will they find what they are looking for? Let's find out!

Warnings: Fun, fluff, arguing, adventure, inappropriate jokes, swearing (as always). Shitty shit again:)

Words: 4488

Taglist: @gingernut1314, @operationroots, @hey-august, @rorywritesjunk, @yujo-nishimura (I hope you still like it!)

The title is taken from “Life Must Have It's Mysteries” by Hans Zimmer (OST Inferno).

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

“Cotton candy, you knocked me down.”

Catherine clung to Buggy with her arms wrapped around his neck, lying on him, resting the top of her head under his chin.

“Cathie-pie…” He stroked her back.

“Shut up for a minute. I was just sitting in a cage preparing to die. I thought I'd never hug you again.” Catherine grunted with her eyes closed. “Also, let me come to my senses after the flood of your Buggy-love.” She tickled his neck with a finger.

“What? What are you talking about? It wasn't Buggy-love. It was a dramatic moment. I'm a gentleman. I thought you were about to die, so I thought I'd cheer you up.” Buggy answered nervously, giggling.

“Liar!” She inhaled heavily. “When you're nervous, you smell like nutmeg.”

“Are you seriously comparing me to a fucking nut just now? Why can't you tell me something else? Oh, Buggy, you saved me. You're such a sexy man. I want you right here.” He tried to guffaw to hide his worries.

“You're such a fool. See, you love me so much, even though you'll never admit that you saved me even from the evil gods.” Catherine raised her body and stayed sitting on him. “Okay. We need to fi~. Why are you smiling, clown?”

“You're on top of me." Buggy giggled idiotically and put his hands on her tailbone. "I have to admit, I like the position in which you are sitting now. Perfect!”

“You're disgusting, you know that?” Catherine slapped his hands. “Focus, please. We need to figure out where to go next.”

“I saw a narrow passage there. Behind that game thing.” Buggy nodded his head towards the corner and started stroking her back.

“Really? Okay! Let's check!” Catherine, put his hands away, ruffled Buggy’s hair and sat on the floor, crossing her legs in front of her. She pulled out a map and a notebook and started to review the route. Catherine felt Buggy take her hand, rested his head on her back first, then buried his face in her hair, and then placed his chin on her shoulder.

“What happened, my blue-haired love?” She looked at him out of the corner of her eye.

Buggy shifted his gaze to her. “I just.. I almost lo~... Ah, never mind.”

Catherine ran a hand through his hair. “It's okay. I'm okay thanks to you.” She gently moved her fingertips along his cheek. “See? I'm here.” Catherine turned her head slightly and looked into his sad eyes. “Your makeup is smudging. When we go home, you'll need to touch it up.”

Buggy kept his eyes on her. “Cotton candy,” he cleared his throat, “What if.. If I.. never mind.”

Catherine put her hand on his forehead. “Someone got too nervous, right?” She laughed and ducked into her notebook. Buggy fell silent and watched her run her fingers over the sheets, muttering something to herself and stroking her pencil through the air. “See also. We were supposed to turn with you here - the north house. If I understand correctly.”

“Uh-huh.” He closed his eyes and hugged her with his other arm tighter.

“I don't know what's going through your head right now, clown, but stop thinking about it. I’m sure it's something embarrassing, right?” Catherine blushed. “Anyway, if there's a narrow passage at the north end of this room, we should go out through it, and we'll be in the north house. Shall we? In any case, we need to somehow get out of here.”

“Uh-huh.” Buggy exhaled heavily, opened his eyes and stood up, offering Catherine his hand.

“Thanks!” She arched her back and heard a crunch. “God, I'd kill for a hot bath and a nice glass of wine right now.”

Catherine put everything in her bag and pulled out a flashlight. Buggy pulled her towards the passage. She ran her flashlight around the room where they were, saw the game and the scattered sticks on the floor, and glanced at him. Catherine took a second to imagine what it was like for him to be here alone and squeezed his hand.

“Over there!” Buggy pointed with his hand. “When I was playing this damn game, I saw some kind of light, maybe we should go there?”

“Judging by the map and notes, yes. See! You did great!” Catherine stroked his head. She shined a flashlight into the passage. “It’s quite narrow, but we have to get through. You’re luckier, you can split into parts and safely fly to the other side.” She laughed.

“No way, cotton candy. I won’t leave you, otherwise you will remember this to me forever.” Buggy groaned and rolled his eyes.

Catherine exhaled heavily and climbed into the passage. She carefully examined the walls, looking for additional clues, periodically looking back at Buggy, checking if everything was okay.

“Oh, look, look!” She stopped abruptly, sharply swinging her hand back, and heard a honk. “What was it?” She looked down at her feet.

“Fuck, Catherine! Are you out of your mind?!” She heard Buggy grumbling behind her.

“What's happened?” Catherine turned to him.

“Fuck! You elbowed me in the nose! Who does this?”

“Oh my god! Are you okay?” She started examining his face. “I heard a honk. Where did the sound come from?” Catherine looked at the walls and floor. And she froze and slowly turned the flashlight on Buggy. “Is it you? Is it your nose made that sound?” She looked at him in amazement.

"Wow, that's funny, right? Haha, his nose honks. You can laught at me." Buggy made a face.

“What? What are you talking about? I never make fun of you in that way. Why didn't you tell me this?” She saw him blush with embarrassment. “Oh, my silly clown. I think it's cute. Don’t worry, okay?”

Catherine took a couple steps forward and felt a vibration under her feet. “What's that sound? Is that you too?”

“What? No! I don’t know. It’s like something is…” Buggy looked around.

“...shaking.” Catherine looked behind him and saw a crumbling wall. “You must be kidding me! The wall, Buggy! The fucking wall! What are we gonna do?”

“Damn! The main lesson I can give you is to run. Believe me, this advice works every time.” He started pushing her in the back, watching as the passage gradually became covered with sand. “Run! Run!”

Catherine threw her bag over her shoulder and ran forward, looking back at the crumbling wall and Buggy. They turned down the paths several times until they finally ran out into a poorly lit room.

“What was that?” Buggy, bent over with his hands on his knees, tried to catch his breath.

“I don't know.” Catherine pulled out a flashlight and shined it on the passageway. “Fuck, it's been fucked up!”

“Fuck it!” He raised his head to her.

“Are you o~?” Catherine took two steps toward it and felt the floor vibrate lightly again. “What was that?”

“I have no idea.” Buggy straightened up.

Sand began to fall from the walls.

“What the fuck is that?” Catherine yelled in panic. “Are we walking into some kind of Egyptian trap?”

“Are you asking me?” Buggy tried to shout over the noise of the sand, which began to fall off the walls and cover the floor at an increasing rate. “What are we gonna do? Is there some kind of riddle or phrase to stop all this fucking shit?”

“Am I a wizard to you? Sorry, I don't have any phrases “please, don’t kill us fucking sand” for stopping this shit. Fuck! The sand is almost ankle-deep. The room is filling up too quickly. A little more and the sand would be up to our knees.” Catherine shined her flashlight on everything, trying to find a way out. “We have to g~... Oh god, what else is it?”

A cracking sound began to erupt beneath Catherine's feet. The floor started vibrating and splitting, failing beneath the sand piece by piece. They tried to cling to the pieces of the floor that had not fallen, but their hands slipped and they both flew down. As soon as the sand has settled a little, Catherine opened her eyes, lying belly down on pieces of the floor with a dash of sand.

“Thank God, the fucking sand seems to have cushioned the fall. Fuck! My ears popped.” She coughed, squinting, brushing dust off her face and hair. “Are you alive?” She waved her head in different directions and slapped her ears a couple of times.

There was silence in response.

“Buggy?” Catherine sat up on her knees and looked around. “Buggy?!” She shook her head again and looked ahead. “Water? Where in the pyramid did the water come from?”

She looked up from where the floor had fallen and then looked down. The trail of the collapsed floor led to a body of water. Fear gripped her heart.

“Fuck!” Catherine threw off her bag and sneakers and ran forward. She looked closely into the water and saw a drowning Buggy.

“Fucking devil fruit!” She jumped into the water and started swimming with all her might towards Buggy, who was going deeper and deeper to the bottom. Catherine felt short of breath and had to dive back out. “Fuck! Focus, Catherine!” She took in more air and dove into the water again. She squinted in the water, trying to find him. The air began to run out again. She had to surface.

“Where is he?” Catherine turned her head around and put her hand under the water. “The current. The current is weak, but it goes to the... To the right.”

Catherine held her breath once more and dived and swam a little to the right. She saw Buggy and with all her might she buried herself up to his body. The air started to run out, but Catherine made two more wide paddles and managed to grab him by the collar of his sweatshirt and pull him to her. She paddled with one hand and helped herself with her legs with the last of her strength, and finally managed to pull herself out of the water. Catherine took a deep breath, lay on her back, put Buggy on her chest and swam to shore. She pulled him to shore, rolled him over onto his side, and he coughed immediately.

“You're alive! Thank God!” She jabbed at his shoulder.

“Was it cool?” Buggy asked in a hoarse voice, clearing his throat and rolling over onto his back.

“What?” Catherine looked up at him with wet eyes, not realizing whether it was tears or water dripping from her hair.

“Did I sink cool?” He tried to laugh and coughed once more.

“Idiot!!” Catherine flopped onto her back next to Buggy, bending her legs, and took his hand. “Are you okay?”

“Yes. Thank you. You saved me, my Cathie-pie. You?” Buggy glanced at her.

“I'm okay. 1:1, huh?” She smiled and squeezed his hand. “I thought this adventure would be easier. Sometimes it feels like we're in some stupid author's book. Oh, let's tear down the walls and let it all fall apart. Oh, let's let the floor fall under them. Couldn't come up with any more clichés, huh?” Catherine shouted loudly and coughed.

“Where are we?” He looked at the ceiling, then at her.

“I don't know.” Catherine sat down on her knees and looked around. “I think it's some kind of... Why are you smiling, clown?”

“Sorry, but you're just all wet and your clothes… your body...” Buggy giggled idiotically.

“Oh my god! You're disgusting!” She rolled her eyes. “Where do you get the strength to think like that? You were practically dead!”

“But I'm not dead!” Buggy sat down on his buttocks and wrung his ponytail from the water.

Catherine looked up at him, sitting there with wet clothes and water running down his face. She exhaled and narrowed her eyes. “I hate you!”

“Geeez! What did I do?!” He looked at her with a blank look.

“Oh, you know yourself.” She muttered. “Where does the water come from here? There are opinions that rivers used to run near the pyramids, but a lot of time has passed since then. We're in some unknown part, apparently.” Catherine got to her feet and looked around. “I have no idea where we are. We're definitely not where the map was pointing. W-Wait! What's in there?” She narrowed her eyes, jumped up from her seat and ran forward.

“Fuck, Catherine!” Buggy yelled, standing up abruptly and sent his hand after her that tried to grab her by the scruff of the neck.

A hand yanked her and Catherine fell to the ground. “What the fuck, Buggy! Don't do that again!”

Buggy came closer to her, reattaching his hand. “First of all, Catherine Mitchell, I've told you repeatedly not to run headlong into the middle of nowhere. Why did you do this again? Second, you forgot something.” He held out her bag and sneakers.

“Go to hell! See? There's a passageway over there!” She pointed her finger at the wall, putting on her shoes. “I'm not sure, but I think we should follow that way. There's not much of an option, either.”

“Well, let's go check it out.” He said dryly, giving her a hand and helping her up.

“Thanks!” Catherine stood on her tiptoes and took a quick look at his face, head, and shoulders.

“What?” He replied gruffly, glancing at her with a look of incomprehension.

“Nothing. Just wanted to see if you were okay. Why are you so mad?” She slowly removed her hands from his shoulders.

“I'm not mad.” Buggy took the flashlight from her bag and mumbled. “It's good that the spare one didn't break.”

“Yes, you are mad. You call me by my last name on two occasions. When we in our bed-- You know. And you're too-- You know. When you're really-- You know.” Catherine blushed. “And when you're really, really mad at me. And since the first option is out, you're angry.” Catherine crossed her arms.

“You did.. You.. Fuck it. I should have left you in that damn cage.” Buggy yelled and walked towards the narrow.

“What? Fucking clown, wait! What's wrong again?” Catherine barked, ran after him and grabbed his hand.

“Hey, don't yell at me!”

“You're the one who's yelling. Are you mad that I forgot my fucking sneakers? Lord, I would buy new ones later. I’m sorry, okay?” She lightly pushed him on the chest with her palms.

Buggy looked at Catherine’s round eyes and suddenly laughed. He put his arm around her shoulders and held her close to him for a second. “Sneakers. Forget it. Just be careful, okay?”

“I didn’t understand the reason for your anger, but okay.” Catherine mumbled into his chest. “By the way, you're so hot when you're angry.” She watched as he broke into a satisfied smile. “Oh, god. I knew you'd be attracted to this, pervert!” She narrowed her eyes. “Well, let's go?”

“Let's go, my little shit.”

They reached the passage and turned on their flashlights. Catherine shined the light down the passage and looked around the walls. “Granite blocks? Granite and limestone. I've never seen anything like that. But it looks solid, I hope nothing collapses. I wouldn't want to end up buried here.”

They walked slowly along the narrow passage, Catherine carefully examined the walls with drawings. They went out into a large room, which was poorly illuminated by rays of light. Various birds and hieroglyphs were painted on the walls, the ceiling was decorated with stars. In the center of the hall stood a huge black granite sarcophagus, near which stood two statues of two jackals with large ears.

“Fuck me! Cotton candy, tell me we found something interesting.” Buggy examined the walls and shined his flashlight on Catherine. She stood there with her eyes wide open and her jaw dropped, barely holding back a smile. “Judging by the look on your face, I'm right. So where are we?”

“I have no idea, but this is super cool!” She squealed quietly, clenched her hands into fists, and rushed towards the sarcophagus. Catherine shone on every inch of the walls.

“Cathie-pie, there’s something painted on the walls here. Again, hieroglyphs and your favorite men with fucking bird heads.” Buggy stood against the wall and squinted at the drawings.

“Where? Where?” Catherine jumped up, ran to the wall and, pushing Buggy aside, began to look at the drawings. “How strange! These drawings contain year by year records of the height of the annual flood, details of festivals held that year, and other important annual events such as wars and constructions.”

“Hey! And here are some other people drawn, and some kind of flat fish with a spear.” Buggy squatted and pointed at the drawing with a flashlight.

“Where? Where?” Catherine happily ran up to Buggy and climbed onto his back, poking her head over his shoulder. “It's not a flatfish with a spear, idiot. It's a catfish with a spear.”

“Sorry, I somehow skipped fish science class.” He chuckled.

“Quiet!” She covered his mouth with her hand and began to mumble something, periodically kicking her legs. “Can't be!” She jumped off his back and ran to the sarcophagus. “You must be joking! Quickly, come here. Shine a light on this sarcophagus!”

Buggy approached Catherine and began to shine a flashlight on the sarcophagus while she was running around.

“Oh my God! Come here!” She called him with her hand. She stood bent over the sarcophagus and moved her hand over the drawing. He walked up to her and stared at the drawing. “Look! Do you see this drawing? A man in a crown.”

“Yeah.” Buggy shrugged. "Is this some famous dead dude again?"

“My blue-haired love, this is Narmer.” Catherine looked at him, breaking into a smile.

“I have no idea who is that, but you're smiling so much that it's clearly someone cool, right?” He pointed the flashlight at the sarcophagus, and at her satisfied face.

“He is considered the first pharaoh of Egypt, but his body was never found. Oh my God! Oh my God!” She grabbed her head. “Do you see these drawings? This's his palette. It was partially found and is now kept in one of the museums. But the second half was never found. This palette depicts the unification of Upper and Lower Egypt into the “Kingdom of the Two Lands” under the divine king. This is thing was used in the ritual of mixing and applying the King's eye makeup. Like yours. And it was arranged in three easily read registers on the back and four on the front. See? Two images of Hathor, benevolently looking down on the scene, showing the status of Narmer as an equal, his central placement in this image, his size relative to other figures in this image, his mace, his crown, the servant behind him holding his sandals, Horus, the hawk god, presenting Narmer with a representation of Lower Egypt.”

Buggy looked at her, blinking. “Cotton candy, you say a lot of strange words. What does this even mean?”

“I think we're where we need to be. Wait!” She stared at the ceiling, squinting and took out the scepter. “Look! Do you see? The outline of the scepter matches the pattern on the ceiling.”

“How do you do this, woman? You know, you definitely should have gotten out of your library more often.”

“Fuck you! I just loved hanging out in the library a lot while you were having fun in the bars.” She stroked his back. “We need to look for the same features on the sarcophagus. Come on, help me! I can't cope without you!”

They began to study the sarcophagus from both sides, examining every millimeter. Buggy leaned over the lid and squinted.

“Cathie-pie, there's something here.” He looked at the ceiling and the lid of the sarcophagus. “Is this what we're looking for?”

“Where? Where?” Catherine ran up to him, looked at the ceiling carefully, and then again at the lid. “Yes! Do you see? You’re smart!! I always knew it.” She smiled, noticing how he blushed. She ran the flashlight over the lid. “Look! Here is a path of stars drawn somewhere towards the wall of the sarcophagus.”

They both ran their lanterns along the path and sat down on their knees.

“See?! There are stars in the form of the Ursa Major and small holes.” Catherine leaned the scepter against the drawings. “The thickness doesn't fit.” She held the scepter in her hands.

“Let me see.” Buggy took the scepter in his hands and began to turn it in different directions, examining it carefully. He turned it part of the scepter, heard a click and a blue tip protruded from the end of it. “What kind of crap is this?” He asked loudly, his eyes widened.

“What did you do?!” Catherine looked at him with round eyes.

“How do I know? I turned something, and it clicked, and this fucking blue thing came out.” Buggy shrugged.

Catherine whispered. “The scepter belonged to the one who could cut mountains... Oh, God! Oh, God!” She grabbed her heart and fell on her buttocks. “Can’t be!”

“Catherine! What's wrong?” Buggy grabbed her hand and looked into her eyes with worry. “Are you okay?”

She silently looked at him and blinked her eyes.

“My little pie, say something!” He shook her shoulder.

“It's not just a fucking scepter. It's a spear. The Spear of Amset.” Catherine carefully took the scepter from his hands. “Don’t take me for crazy, okay? Amset was considered one of the most forgotten gods. The Spear of Heaven was one of the items of the first pharaohs, given by the lord of the stars Amset. It was believed that the spear could only be given out by the council of priests in the temple, but no one knew where this temple was located. And Narmer made a deal with Amset to hide his untold wealth underground.”

“Apparently, something went wrong in their deal and this god Am.. whatever his name is.. killed this.. Nar.. whatever his name is.”

Catherine laughed. “No, actually, Narmer was just trampled by hippos.” She looked at the tip of the spear. “Look! Its thickness fits these holes. Remember what you did last time? Folded the constellations. Try to do the same now, only poking into these holes in the order in which the stars appear.”

Buggy took the spear from her hands. “But I warn you, it’s quite possible that I won’t be able to handle it.”

Catherine knelt down next to him and placed her hand on his back, slowly beginning to stroke him. Buggy reddened again and began poking the tip of his spear into the holes in the right order. They heard a loud bang and looked around.

“This is the lid of the sarcophagus! Open it! Open it!” Сatherine happily jumped on the spot.

Buggy began to push the lid back with force. “Damn. Heavy!” He paused for a few seconds to catch his breath. Sweat and water dripped from his bandana, face, and hands. “Ok. I’m ready.” He pushed the lid again. “A little more. A little more. There!”

He pulled back the lid of the sarcophagus and Catherine quickly looked into it. “There is no body! How is this possible? There are some fucking rags here!” She lay down on the edge, her body hanging inside the sarcophagus, while her legs dangled above. “Look! There's some kind of wooden box there! Or something like that. Get it, please!”

Buggy separated his hand, sent it for the box and brought it back. “Do you think this is what we are looking for?” He looked at her and smiled slightly.

“Oh, my blue-haired love, I’m more than sure! And if we find it, I promise you a hot night tonight!” She happily jumped around him, rubbing her hands. “Open up! Open up!”

“Alright! Make us rich, fucking pharaoh!” Buggy opened the lid and his smile immediately disappeared from his face. “It's empty here!”

“What?” Catherine stopped abruptly. “How? Why?”

“Empty.” He turned the box towards her. “See? Apparently, someone got ahead of us.”

“Can't be!” Catherine jumped into the sarcophagus and began rummaging around.

“Cathie-pie! What are you doing? Get out!”

“No! But how? Why? No! I was sure…” She threw rags in different directions.

“Maybe we’re not in the right place? Don't forget, we fell from another level.” Buggy leaned his elbows on the sarcophagus.

“If we weren't in the right place, the spear wouldn't have worked. I need to look at this fucking scepter. Wh.. Where is it?” She fell over the wall of the sarcophagus. “Are you kidding me? It’s gone! Did you take it? Did it crumble or what?”

“Fuck it!” Buggy waved his hand and helped Catherine out.

“Nothing! That's all I found. It's some stupid thing with letters.” Catherine twirled a small box in her hands.

“Forget it, little pie.” He walked to the wall and sat down on the floor.

“But it shouldn’t be like this!” She stomped her foot. “We couldn’t find anything the first time. So what? Nothing again?”

“Welcome to my world, cotton candy!” Buggy showed two thumbs up. “Just accept the fact that you're in a relationship with the biggest pathetic loser in the world and apparently my bad luck karma has rubbed off on you. Sorry.” He laughed. “Fuck! To come this way so far and for what? For the sake of some fucking empty box and rags in the sargophagus!” He leaned his head on the wall and closed his eyes.

Catherine looked at the sadly sitting Buggy, who was clearly counting on a different outcome, walked up to him and plopped down on his lap. She wrapped one arm around his neck and stroked his head with the other. “You're not a loser. Stop saying such terrible things about yourself.”

Buggy laid his head on her shoulder and wrapped his hand around her waist. Catherine immediately kissed him on the top of his head.

“Well, we had fun, didn't we? I liked our adventure more than the first. Just you and me. I wouldn't change anything about our trip.” She was twirling a small metal container with rings in her hands and started stroking his head. “Okay, let’s think about how we can get out of here. And I wonder, can this thing b~” She looked closely at the wall behind Buggy, then looked at the box. “Behind your back…” She gently patted him on the head. “Behind your back, Buggy!”

“What?” He opened his eyes and glanced at the wall.

“Pictures on the slabs behind you! These are riddles!” She pointed at the wall and then looked at the box in her hands. "Fuck! It's not a box. It's a cryptex.”

21 notes · View notes

sburator · 10 days ago

Text

The third is silent. Mostly. (4488 words) by sburator Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Interview with the Vampire (TV 2022) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Armand/Daniel Molloy Characters: Armand (Vampire Chronicles), Daniel Molloy, Lestat de Lioncourt Additional Tags: implied Lestat de Lioncourt/Daniel Molloy, Telepathy, Kink Exploration, Orgasm Control, thigh fucking, Frottage, if you will, that old man is sure getting his cardio in, and also snacking Summary:

“If you come on any of his stuff,” says Daniel, “he wants you to lick it up.”

“What?” Comes Armand’s voice at the same time that Lestat beams through an irritated, That’s not what I said.

“Daniel,” comes Armand’s voice, a panted whisper. His whole body strains, but his hand doesn’t stop moving. “What are you doing?”

“I was just having a little chat with our host.”

#devil's minion #Armandaniel #daniel molloy #iwtv Armand #fanfic #iwtv

17 notes · View notes

aylacavebear · 5 months ago

Text

The Traveler - Chapter 16 - Wonderland Pt. 3

You're from a specific dimension, Solaris Eclipse. It was a dimension of magic. When your kind, the Eldrathiren, turned fifteen, your unique power would awaken within you. Most times, it was something small, levitation, teleportation, creation, elemental manipulation, and things like that. Once in a while, a fifteen-year-old would just disappear, and those were called Travelers. None of them had ever returned. Your parents had told you stories about them, and you hoped that wouldn't happen to you.

Please don't take my work. I'll post warnings for each chapter. Will probably be 18+ I haven't decided yet!

Word Count: 4488

Pairing Eventually Dean Winchester x OC Reader/You & Sam Winchester x OC Reader/You

Warnings: Angst - pretty sure that's it - just some tense situations. A/N: Don't think there's anything else in this one. It's fairly relaxed.

A/N: This dimension was suggested by @snowayumi, and I absolutely LOVED how it came out. I hope you all love it as well.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 16 - Wonderland Pt. 3

The Hatter helped you return to your normal size with the mushroom pieces from Absolem. It was a little trickier than with the cake, which you had eaten first. With what was left, you only got to half your normal height. The only downside to the mushroom piece was that it made you sleepy, or perhaps it had been the tea. You weren’t entirely sure.

Although you yawned several times, trying to force yourself to stay awake, the Dormouse took pity on you, showing you inside their quaint little home. It looked just as weird as you’d figured it would, given how Wonderland seemed to be. Plus, it fit the style of the Hatter, with different hats adorning the place in the strangest of ways.

If it weren’t for being as sleepy as you were, you would have taken far longer to admire the madness within the home. Hats of every imaginable shape and size hung from the ceiling, nestled in corners, and balanced precariously on top of bookshelves. A tea set was in perpetual motion, floating from one side of the room to the other. You had barely laid down on the bed before the dreamworld of Wonderland pulled you from the waning night. Your dreams were filled with visions of the brothers that night, feeling an almost ache in your soul.

Over the next couple of days, the three of them shared so much with you about Wonderland. You learned of the Queen and her rather ruthless ruling of the world. Then there was a woman named Alice, and you noticed how they all seemed very fond of her. The Hatter told you fantastical tales of elusive creatures. Like tiny fuzzy mushrooms called Mome Raths, that only came out at night in the forest, illuminating the path and another creature that would come behind them, dusting the path away as if it were never there at all.

The Dormouse, perched on a stack of teacups, told you about a bird with a cage for its body, where it kept its young until they were old enough to be on their own. It was quite the protective creature, hiding in the treetops of the forest near the clearing. The Hare became quite animated when he told you of the creature that had shovels for faces, digging holes in search of shiny objects all throughout the forest.

You laughed so much, enjoying their stories of Wonderland and the oddities it held. The Chesire Cat had even joined The Hatter and others for tea a few times. Watching a cat drink tea was quite the site, as he seemed to levitate the cup occasionally versus using his paws. “A touch of magic and madness in every sip,” he’d say, his grin never fading.

The longer you stayed in this world, the more you thought you saw, just beyond what was there. Shadows would flicker at the corner of your vision, and whispers seemed to carry on the wind, always out of earshot. Then, they would be gone just as quickly as they appeared whenever you attempted to focus on them.

Near the end of almost a week, you felt a pull to press further into the madness that was Wonderland. The three of them made sure to give you lots of treats from the large variety that adorned the table. Then, The Hatter hugged you, his hat slightly askey as he did. “Remember, you’re always welcome here, dear Traveler,” he said, his voice softer than usual. He then handed you one of his scarves, the color of which matched your eyes, “For the road ahead,” he added with a wink.

You thanked him, then bid the three of them farewell, instead of going the way the Knave had gone, headed beyond the Hatter’s home. There were those odd signs that, of course, made no sense, but it was where you felt pulled to venture. Numerous times, you thought you saw things, but when you attempted to focus on them, they disappeared completely.

Curiouser and curiouser.

With it being daytime, you were able to see the forest in the light, what came through the canopy anyway. The trees were vibrant in color, with scattered flowers blooming along the forest floor. Ferns and short tufts of grasses dotted the sides of the path, along with mushrooms. The thorny vines had beautiful yellow blooms larger than your hand which was a stark contrast to the color of the tree it had wound itself around.

The air was filled with the scent of wildflowers and a hint of something sweet and unidentifiable. There were what you wanted to call a bird, but it had no wings. It was by far the oddest thing you’d seen, or at least, that’s what you told yourself. The odd creature had a pair of large, round eyeglasses as its body, with two small bird legs protruding from the bottom. The glasses had a nose bridge that resembled a bird’s beak, which made you look at it curiously.

There were several of them perched on branches, watching you from above, seeming just as curious about you as you were them. However, they didn’t get closer, so neither did you. This time, as you walked further into the forest, you didn’t have a destination in mind. You knew you didn’t want to go toward the Queen’s castle, so you avoided any path with that direction.

As the day wore on, illusionary things drifted in and out of view between the trunks of different trees. You remembered how you were warned to stay on the path, but your curiosity was beginning to get the better of you. The shadows also almost seemed to move on their own in the distance.

I really should stay on the path.

It was something you kept trying to remind yourself of. Your ears twitched with the sound of whispers that you couldn’t quite make out. You attempted to focus on how no two trees were ever the same shade in color, as the forest had been vast and almost neverending. It only lasted so long, though, seeing a door standing on its own, nearly fifty feet into the forest.

You would look over at it, trying to make out the details from a distance, but would eventually give up and continue along the path, turning down different directions when it would fork. In true Wonderland fashion, the door would appear again, the same distance away, almost as if it were following you. You were watching your surroundings less and less, and the door more and more. Finally, when your curiosity finally won out, you stopped walking forward and toward the very edge of the path, staring at the door.

Momentarily, you remembered back to the warning your parents had given you, so long ago. Don’t leave the village, especially on the day your powers were to awaken. Then there had been the warning from the creatures of this world you’d already spoken to. The one that kept your curiosity on the door was what Absolem had said: The path will reveal itself to you, as it always does in Wonderland.

The door seemed to be following you, and your resolve to stay on the path was quickly waning. It looked completely out of place, nestled amid the myriad of colored trees and tufts of grass, yet it also seemed as if it belonged there. Your eyes drifted down to the edge of the path, which your shoes were only an inch from, then back up at the door.

Damnit.

You took a deep breath and stepped off the path. The grass below your shoes felt soft the further you walked. You turned around halfway to the door and let your head hang low when you saw how the forest had completely changed. The path was gone, replaced by dense trees and undergrowth.

Looks like I’m either going to get myself into a lot of trouble or perhaps find a way out of this.

Turning back to face the door, you pressed on. The closer you got, the more details you could make out. It was an elegant, ornate structure, its base nestled into the earth below it as if it truly did belong there. The door itself was made of dark, polished wood, its surface intricately carved with patterns of roses and vines. The doorframe was equally elaborate, wrought from iron and twisted into shapes that mirrored the carvings on the door. Thorny vines wrapped around the frame, blooming with vivid white roses that seemed almost too vibrant to be real. The handle was an antique brass knob shaped like a rosebud, cool to the touch and slightly tarnished with age.

You walked all the way around it, but both sides looked exactly the same. The white roses reminded you of the one who had helped you in the garden when your journey here had begun. A smile tugged at your lips while your ears twitched with the sounds of the forest. Whatever was on the other side of this door, it felt as though it was calling to you.

You took a deep breath and let it out with a new determination as you reached out, gripping the doorknob. Your heart pounded a little harder, knowing nothing was what it seemed in Wonderland. Upon turning the knob, it silently slid open, revealing an entirely different landscape on the other side. Hedges of vibrant green adorned both sides of a cobblestone path. The sky above was a soft blue, clear, and without clouds. There was also a sweet, beckoning scent of roses that wafted through the open door. Lamp posts dotted either side of the cobblestone path with lanterns that seemed as though they were floating just below where they’d be clipped in place.

Cautiously, you stepped through the door, only taking a few steps before looking behind you. With a sigh, you saw the door was gone, leaving a dead end in its place with another hedge.

Looks like I’m committed to this now.

Turning back to face the path ahead, you moved forward, taking in the scents, and realizing there were no sounds. Not even of bugs. So far, you hadn’t seen the flowers that were giving off that sweet scent of roses, but the further you walked, the stronger it got. You took several turns before you came to a fork, leading in three different directions. The hedges were far too tall to see over, and due to the thorns that adorned them, there was no way to climb them either. That was when you finally noticed a contrasting color against the green of one of the hedges. A red rose?

Gingerly reaching out, you gently touched the petals, finding them velvety soft against the skin of your fingers. You were almost hypnotized by the rose's beauty, the depth of its color, and the gentle scent that drifted from it. You pulled back and shook your head, looking down the three paths and choosing the one to your far left.

Where am I?

You were clearly still in Wonderland, you just weren’t entirely sure where at the moment. This was a place that hadn’t been described to you. You did, however, remember the words of the doorknob: Stay away from the red roses. If it was only the hypnotic scent, you could understand why, but the Hatter had also warned you of the Queen. The further along you went, the more roses you saw, identical to the first. Their scent was getting stronger, seeming to pull you along the path. When it finally got too strong, you slipped your bag off your shoulder, rummaged through it for a piece of cloth, and then used your claws to cut off two pieces, which you used to plug your nose with. It mostly worked, but some of the scent got through even that.

The path twisted and turned through the hedges adorned with red roses. The silence was almost palpable, broken only by your footsteps along the cobblestone path. At least you could walk softly, having learned how to properly balance your weight on your feet with each step, quieting the sound. You also began feeling as though you were being watched but couldn’t seem to locate where someone might be able to watch you from.

Taking yet another turn, you began hearing footsteps, although they sounded far away. They reminded you of how the card soldier boots sounded when they approached the tea party that first night. Only now, they were loud against the cobblestone path.

I have to get out of here.

You were well aware that if they found you, it wasn’t going to end well. There was a chance you could fight them if you needed to, but without your spear, you would have to get close, and you weren’t sure how many of them there were. Then you wondered how a playing card could be damaged.

Do they bleed like other creatures? Are they just playing cards that were animated and a spell would have to take them down? Could I knock one out if I hit it hard enough?

Those and so many more questions went through your mind as you continued along the path. It was a maze of hedges and roses, or a labyrinth of them. You came across several dead ends, having to double back and choose a different fork, or a different way entirely when the place seemed to have rearranged itself. One large downside to being stuck in this labyrinth of rose hedges was that the scent you had been following wouldn’t have been strong enough to pierce through the roses' scent. Then there was the cotton you had stuffed in your nostrils, dulling the smell as much as possible. This place seemed to be one to leave someone confused or end up lost. Perhaps even frozen in place, hypnotized by the scent of the roses.

You were in no mood to get stuck here, so you continued on. The sounds of the card soldier boots could still be heard, and your ears twitched with each echo. You tried to take paths that led you away from the sound, and for a while, it seemed to work. However, the sounds got increasingly closer after only a minute or so.

Then, out of the blue, there was silence again. You stopped and looked in all directions, your ears twitching in an attempt to find some semblance of sound, but none came. Swallowing hard, you turned another corner, only to see half a dozen red card soldiers standing there, blocking your way. You turned, wanting to run in the other direction, but what was behind you now made that impossible.

Another half a dozen card soldiers stood where there had been an empty path. You wondered if they were here to possibly kill you, but you quickly shook that off. You had no intentions of getting killed, determined to find a way back to Earth, to the brothers, to those that were your new family.

“I was wondering how long it would take before I found you,” a deep voice from behind you spoke, and you recognized it instantly: the Knave. “Aren’t you an odd thing?”

Your tail flicked in agitation as you turned to face him. “I just want to leave,” you began, but three of the card soldiers grabbed you faster than you could react, and the Knave just smiled—a wicked, evil smile.

“The Queen will want to see this one,” he instructed the soldiers before turning from you and waving his arm at the hedge that was now in front of him.

As it moved out of his way, your eyes widened. It had revealed a straight path toward a castle, and you instantly knew where you were. You were on the Queen’s grounds, and all you could guess was that this was some sort of contraption to capture intruders. You also wondered how none of them seemed to be affected by the scent of the roses but weren’t about to ask.

The card soldiers held you firmly, their grip unyielding as they marched you out of the labyrinth. The Knave led the way, his figure tall and imposing against the contrasting greenery of the hedges. The walk out of the labyrinth wasn’t long, and things seemed to instantly change on the other side. The sky had grown almost dark, like twilight, in a blend of purples and blues, hinting at the waning daylight. There were more of the lamp posts with the floating lanterns, which were now lit, giving off an eerie glow on the cobblestone. Here, shadows seemed to flicker and dance just out of sight, giving the illusion of movement. Manicured rose bushes lined the strange, winding cobblestone path that was elaborate as it snaked its way toward a castle.

The castle loomed ahead, a gothic structure that combined the whimsical elements of Wonderland, with its white and red stones adorning every surface, with an almost gothic darkness that felt as though it loomed over the castle itself. The spires reached toward the sky, their silhouettes jagged and twisted. Yet, atop each one was a topper in the shape of a heart. If nothing else, it was definitely grand.

The Knave led the guards through a huge heart-shaped entrance made from the same bricks as the rest of the castle, with a guard tower on either side. If circumstances were different, you probably would have explored the place, being fascinated with its design. The atmosphere grew heavier, the air thick with anticipation and the faint, metallic scent of impending danger. Your ears twitched at the unfamiliar sounds of the place while your tail flicked with your growing concern.

The courtyard itself was well-kept. More rose bushes and floating lanterns adorned the area. You were in no position to get away or fight off this many soldiers, let alone the Knave. So, you focused on paying attention to your surroundings, planning a possible escape when the opportunity presented itself.

The soldiers tightened their grip as they ushered you forward, their expressions blank and unwavering. The Knave glanced back at you with a smug smile, his eye glinting with malice and amusement. The doors of the castle loomed large before you, intricately carved with scenes of the Queen’s reign, a reminder of her power and authority. Inside the castle was a contrast to the outside. Instead of being white and red, the stones were shades of gray, from light to almost black in places.

The grandeur of the castle's interior was overshadowed by its oppressive atmosphere. Tall, dark columns lined the hallways. In a checkered pattern, some were adorned with menacing gargoyles that seemed to watch your every move—the others were draped with red curtains that seemed to brighten the dark space.

Red velvet curtains and banners added a splash of color, but even they couldn’t dispel the gloom that pervaded the place. The chandeliers, dripping with crystals, cast a cold, harsh light. The path down the center of the columns lay a red rug with intricate patterns and designs, bordered with vining roses, a darker red than the rest of the rug.

As you were marched through the corridors, you couldn’t help but notice the portraits of the Queen in various regal poses, her stern gaze following you. Finally, you were brought to the throne room, a vast space with a black and white checkered floor and a high, vaulted ceiling. The throne itself was an elaborate creation of gold and red, sitting atop a raised dais.

Along either side of the column, adorning the walls were high, stain-glassed windows with identical designs of hears on vines, allowing the waning light of the evening to shine through. Between each window, a tall mirror bordered with a golden frame befitting her royal chamber. Behind the Queen’s throne were heavy red curtains, pulled back with golden ropes, revealing more stained glassed windows that stretched from almost the floor to just below the ceiling—each one with thin red curtains.

The Red Queen sat on her throne, her presence commanding the entire room. Her dress was a mix of crimson and black, adorned with hearts and lace, giving her an imposing and regal appearance. Her face, with its stark white makeup and exaggerated features, was a mask of both beauty and cruelty. You noticed she wasn’t wearing a crown atop her red curls, which you found odd, but so far, everything in Wonderland was odd in one way or another.

“Your Majesty,” the Knave began with a bow, his voice smooth and dripping with feigned respect, “we found this peculiar creature wandering through your labyrinth.” He explained, approaching her side before kissing the back of her hand that she’d outstretched for him.

The Queen’s eyes narrowed as she examined you, her gaze intense and unyielding, “What is it?” she demanded, her tone imperious and filled with curiosity.

“It, Your Majesty, is the intruder you sent me to find,” the Knave answered, turning his gaze to you as the Queen continued to study you.

All you had to go off of were things you’d watched on Earth when it came to royalty, as you’d never encountered it in any other dimension. Well, not to this extent, anyway. You wondered if perhaps you could outsmart her and find a way to escape.

“That doesn’t tell me what it is,” The Queen snapped, her gaze still on you, but she was clearly annoyed at the Knave for his lack of explanation.

“I am a Traveler, Your Majesty, and I would bow, but the soldiers are holding onto me very tightly,” you explained in quite a respectful tone.

The Queen raised an eyebrow, “Let her go,” she stated plainly, but there was still authority in her words, and the soldiers released you. The Knave could only watch in annoyance.

You kept the smirk of triumph from making it to your lips as you bowed before the Queen, keeping your gaze from meeting hers until you stood straight again. “Thank you, Your Majesty,” you replied with gratitude.

“Now, what exactly is a Traveler, and why do you have cat features but also look human,” she inquired quite curiously.

This just might work to my advantage.

“I come from another world, Your Majesty. All of my kind have these features, but I am a little special. Not all of my kind can travel to different worlds. Only special ones can. When I came upon your world, I was only seeking the doorway to move to the next world,” you explained to her, keeping that respectful tone and posture.

It was easy to see that the Queen was quite intrigued by you, but the Knave was getting quickly frustrated at the Queen’s lack of command to either remove your head or lock you in a dungeon. He stayed quiet, though, as he knew his place, and it was never to question the Queen, or she’d have his head removed. At the moment, you were just thankful you had the Queen’s curiosity and not her wrath.

The Queen’s gaze remained fixed on you, her curiosity piqued. “A Traveler, you say?” she mused, leaning forward slightly on her throne. “And what makes you think you can just wander into my realm and disrupt my order?”

You maintained your respectful stance, careful not to let any sign of defiance show. “I apologize for any disruption, Your Majesty. It was not my intention to intrude. I merely seek to find my way to the next world, as my journey requires it.” She really didn’t need to know the details, and it didn’t seem as though she’d understand them anyway.

Her expression softened slightly, though her eyes remained sharp. “A fascinating tale. And yet, you have found yourself in my labyrinth, a place meant to trap trespassers. Tell me, Traveler, what makes you so special that you can traverse worlds?”

Of course, she’d ask you something like that, and you’d now have to come up with some sort of explanation she’d understand. So, for a moment, you pondered all sorts of explanations before finally giving her an answer. “It has to do with something we’re born with that no one can see. It’s deep inside and can never be removed or taken away, as it is more of a yearning than anything else.”

The Knave, still standing beside the Queen, couldn’t hold back any longer. “Your Majesty, surely this… creature cannot be trusted. We should lock her up until we know more about her intentions.” The Queen shot him a withering glare, silencing him instantly. “I will decide what to do with our guest, Knave,” she said coldly. Turning her attention back to you, she asked, “And what proof do you have of this ability? Can you demonstrate it?”

You took a deep breath, knowing that showing any sign of weakness could be dangerous. “I cannot demonstrate it here, Your Majesty. Traveling between worlds requires specific conditions and a certain amount of preparation. However, I am willing to help you in any way I can to prove my intentions are sincere.”

Her eyes narrowed, considering your words. “Help me, you say? And what exactly can you offer to the Queen of Hearts, who already has everything she desires?”

That one made you think. What could you offer her, as you had nothing you felt like parting with? It wasn’t like your senses would help her. The scent of her roses had been overpowering in the labyrinth, even if that wasn’t the case now. Then, you got an idea.

“It is true, Your Majesty, I don’t have anything to offer, not in the way of riches or items. I could offer my services, as my senses are better than your Knaves or the soldiers that guard you. I can hear things they cannot,” you explained to her, hoping she wouldn’t take it as a threat of any kind. She leaned back, a smile playing on her lips, “Intriguing indeed. Very well, Traveler. I will grant you the opportunity to prove your worth. But, be warned, any attempt to deceive me will be met with the severest of punishments.”

You bowed deeply, relief washing over you, “Thank you, Your Majesty. I will not disappoint you.”

The Queen nodded, satisfied for the moment, “Good. Now, Knave, see to it that our gues is given quarters. I will decide her fate after I have seen what she can offer.”

The Knave’s expression was a mixture of frustration and resignation, but he bowed and gestured for you to follow him. As you were led away, you couldn’t help but feel a small spark of hope. You had bought yourself some time, and now, you needed to figure out how to use it to your advantage.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 17 - Wonderland pt. 4

Link to the series Masterlist.

A/N: If you'd like to get in on the Dimensional Traveling, go to this link and leave me with a comment, or several, with as much or as little detail about the dimension you'd like the Traveler to end up in. If you'd like to have something specific happen, share that too. I'll make sure that you get credit for the idea you shared in the chapter in which your dimension is featured. I'd love to have as many readers involved as possible. I think this could be a lot of fun.

As always, if you'd like to be tagged, let me know and I'll add you to the tag list. If I missed anyone, please let me know.

Tag List: @littlemadamred @mxltifxnd0m @foxyjwls007 @supernaturalfreakout @roseblue373

11 notes · View notes

crowbarsolo · 1 year ago

Note

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love ❤

So kind of you to ask, lovely stranger! I hope I don’t give you reason to regret it, since most of my fics are a bit fucky (my favourites certainly are). Not for minors and people sensitive to horror imagery, dark humour, gore and British spelling.

Field Trip

Doflamingo takes his family on a field trip to teach them the difference between mass murder and genocide. This is basically my “Doflamingo manifesto.” Dark comedy with a strong undercurrent of angst as Doflamingo gleefully traumatizes and corrupts his adoptive children out of misguided benevolence. Gen, T rating, 3500 words.

Every Girl’s Dream

Robin tells Crocodile about her childhood dream of swimming with the mermaids, which is no longer possible since she ate her devil fruit. Crocodile tries to find a workaround. Superficially a dark comedy, though ultimately about Robin’s and Crocodile’s depression and failed attempts to understand each other. I was trying to channel James Bond and Wooster & Jeeves for the humour in this one, and I’m happy with how it turned out. F/M, M rating (for gore), 4488 words.

The Conversation Piece

After a fight, Crocodile asks Doflamingo to leave him with a string clone that he can use for target practice. Shortly afterwards, Doflamingo is captured and executed. In Crocodile’s dining room, the puppet’s limbs grow longer.

This is a ghost story about a loveless person learning how to mourn. It’s more sad than scary, I think, though your mileage may vary. It got me out of a creative rut, so I think of it fondly. M/M, Not Rated (probably T or M for mild sexual content, horror and violence), 4265 words.

Regicidal Tendencies

Shortly after Doflamingo’s ascension to the throne of Dressrosa, Crocodile blackmails him into entering his service for one night. Dark smut with non-consensual BDSM elements and a victim who has more control over the situation than initially appears. It encapsulates my thoughts about how I think a romantic or sexual relationship between them would go (badly, but in an interesting manner) and I like it for that reason. M/M, E rating, dead dove-adjacent (for violence, gore and consent issues). A bit sad, too, like everything I write. 4962 words.

The Pilgrimage

After an accident, the Polar Tang is stranded in the abyss. Penguin sees strange lights flickering in the distance. His crewmates begin to act strangely, and he becomes convinced they are hiding something from him. Cosmic horror channeling claustrophobia and the unknown nature of the abyss; I am happy with the horror creation in this one for being both original and on-brand for One Piece. Gen, Not Rated but probably T (for cannibalism and horror imagery), 7252 words.

#one piece fanfiction #sir crocodile #nico robin #donquixote doflamingo #penguin (one piece)#baroque works #donquixote pirates #heart pirates #horror #dark comedy

21 notes · View notes

ao3feed-erasermic · 2 months ago

Text

catch me now

Use the related link post to read catch me now on AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/59689474 by lonelydoctors Shouta glares at Hizashi, anger blazing in his dark eyes. “I wish—I wish it’d been you that day.” Hizashi tries to swallow around the lump in his throat. Forces himself not to panic when he feels like choking. Suddenly, there’s not enough air in the room. He’s too loud. Annoying. Exhausting. Too much. The bullying only stopped because Oboro became his friend. Or: Shouta reaches a point of mental break and Hizashi is there to watch him crash and pick up the pieces Words: 4488, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia (Anime & Manga) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: M/M Characters: Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead, Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic Relationships: Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead/Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic Additional Tags: Angst, Heavy Angst, Whump, Pre-Canon, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Hurt/Comfort, Self-Worth Issues, Past Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead/Shirakumo Oboro, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Survivor Guilt, Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead Has PTSD, Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead Being An Asshole, Protective Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic, basically this is a fic about shouta having issues, horikoshi give him space to struggle!!! give him space to be human!!!, shouta is going through it in this fic, and who else would be there for him if not hizashi?, hizashi loves shouta more than he loves himself, (he has issues too) Use the related link post to read it on AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/59689474

#ao3feed #erasermic #eraserhead #present mic #aizawa #yamada #mha #bnha #catch me now

3 notes · View notes

autumnleopard · 11 months ago

Text

I actually ended up writing a sequel to Broken, and there will be another (already working on it).

Words: 4488

"What happened after Alfie left to follow Tommy? How do the Shelby siblings react to Polly's confession?"

*there is no Tommy or Alfie in this, it basically just fills in a blank from the previous one

#oh the dread I feel after posting #once again this got way too long #and I'm not completely happy with it #but I don't hate it so...#peaky blinders #peaky blinder fanfic #polly gray #ada shelby #arthur shelby #michael gray

8 notes · View notes

ao3feed-piltovers-finest · 27 days ago

Text

the price of freedom (how much am i willing to pay?)

by bluedahliaa

Caitlyn is the most wanted person in the planet. Vi is the most notorious bounty hunter. What happens when these two women cross paths, creating an unexpected alliance?

Caitlyn is fighting for her life and Vi needs money.

Words: 4488, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Arcane: League of Legends (Cartoon 2021), League of Legends

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: F/F

Characters: Caitlyn (League of Legends), Vi (League of Legends), Viktor (League of Legends), Sevika (Arcane: League of Legends), Jayce (League of Legends)

Relationships: Caitlyn/Vi (League of Legends)

Additional Tags: enemies to lovers (if you squint), Angst with a Happy Ending, Sharing a Bed, Pining, Mutual Pining, jayce is actually a decent guy, Smut, Eventual Smut, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Slow Burn, Alternate Universe - Bounty Hunters, Bounty Hunter Vi, assassin caitlyn

Read on A03. from AO3 works tagged ‘Caitlyn/Vi (League of Legends)’

#ao3feed-piltovers-finest #a03feed-piltovers-finest #caitvi #arcane (league of legends) fanfiction

1 note · View note

ao3feed-sladedick · 7 months ago

Text

Relenting

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/7iRAwG8 by EmbersOfUprising After a drug-induced rut from a patrol gone sideways, Nightwing seeks out Deathstroke and asks to be bitched. Dick knew Slade had a thing for him, but he may have underestimated the situation. Words: 4488, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: M/M Characters: Dick Grayson, Slade Wilson Relationships: Dick Grayson/Slade Wilson Additional Tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha Slade Wilson, Alpha to Omega Dick Grayson, Alpha Bitching, Anal Sex, Violent Sex, Dubious Consent, Not exactly dubious so much as very undernegotiated, Held Down, Biting, Dysphoria, Knotting, Slade Wilson Being an Asshole read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/7iRAwG8

#IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic #sladick #sladedick #sladin #dickstroke

3 notes · View notes

lamuradex · 10 months ago

Text

Short Story: To Not Be Alone in the Middle of Nowhere

Genre: Horror

Wordcount: 4488

Description: The wanderer must always walk alone. He must walk alone. Noah walks alone.

To Not Be Alone in the Middle of Nowhere

The wanderer walks alone. His name is Noah.

He awakens in the morning, prepares his food, uses his materials to form paints, and redecorates his arms with symbols. Runes and marks of his homeland. Words with little meaning to anyone else.

He checks the dirt for footprints as he dismantles his tent. The pale earth is smooth and featureless, as always. He checks it again.

Noah packs away his tent, bundling his supplies together onto a sled. He wraps the straps for the sled around his middle, and he walks on, dragging it behind him. He marches on through the dirt.

For hours, he marches. Finally, he stops. He gathers his canteen from his things, satiates his thirst, and then he walks on. A few hours later he does the same for food, and then again to relieve himself. He walks on.

As the sun lowers, he finally stops. He looks about in all directions. He is alone. He is always alone. He sets up his camp and sits by the fire. Then, once the sun has set, he enters his tent and closes the entrance. He tries to sleep, but his ears strain to hear. He clutches the icon hung around his neck. But what can he hear? Intruders? Marauders?

Something worse?

But he hears nothing. For hours he lies there and hears nothing. Finally, he falls asleep, and still hears nothing.

The next morning he awakes. He rises, prepares his supplies, and redecorates his arms. He steps out from his tent.

Something is wrong. His fire has been dashed aside, perhaps by a strong wind. His spear, left outside the tent, has fallen over. His sled has been flipped onto its top.

Noah inspects the earth as he packs away his things. No footprints. No marks. Perfect flawless earth. He is alone. He is always alone.

Noah packs up his things and walks on. He watches the horizons on the desolate plains. Deserts, salt flats, whatever you want to call them, they look endless. But he is calmed by the endlessness of it. The sight of the horizon on all sides. Nowhere for anyone to hide.

As the day draws on, he stops to drink. He is alone. He stops to relieve himself. He is alone. He stops to eat.

There is a shadow. Something small on the eastern horizon. Perhaps he is not alone after all.

He continues to walk, watching the shadow, a lone shape low to the ground. As he finally stops to rest, it grows closer. He prepares an evening meal and gleaming eyes watch him from the dark.

They simply watch.

He finally goes to bed and hears something sniffing at his tent. Claws scratching at the flap. Something gnawing at the entrance. And then it stops.

He grips the icon around his neck, but hears nothing else.

Noah awakes the next day and prepares his paints. He repaints his arms, the motions second nature to him now. Every day since he left home.

He emerges from his tent and finds something odd. The earth is disturbed and his things have been rummaged through. He is not alone out here.

He packs away his things and sets off. He sees the shadow again, waiting on the horizon. It gets closer each time he stops, to drink, to relieve himself, and especially when he stops to eat.

That night, gleaming eyes watch him again. Something waiting in the dark. Noah looks out, trying not to look directly at it. He takes some of his food and lays it away from the camp. He eats some himself, watching from the corner of his eye.

Slowly, cautiously, a coyote emerges from the night. It sniffs the food then eats it. Then it runs off with its prize.

The next day this repeats. The camp is packed away and the coyote’s prints are in the dirt. It follows him throughout the day, closer and closer than before. He can feel it following and knows he is not alone.

He hopes that is what he can feel following.

That night, he lays out food again. He leaves a trail, leading up to where he sits. He sits and eats as quietly as he can. The coyote emerges from the night and licks at the ground, sniffing and snuffling closer. Finally, it stops beside him, sniffing for more food. Noah puts out a hand and pets its head. It snarls, and so he stops. But it does not flee. He leaves it an extra bit of food, and the coyote falls asleep by the fire.

Noah falls asleep in his tent, his ears straining yet again.

But he hears nothing.

The next morning he wakes. He repaints the symbols on his arms and leaves his tent.

His heart drops.

His spear is not where he left it, beside his tent. The coyote is dead, the spear jammed through its neck. Noah can see how this happened. The spear fell over, and panicked at the noise, the coyote ran and impaled itself.

That is except for the mark in the coyote’s fur. The one identical to the icon around Noah’s neck.

But the earth is undisturbed, and there was no sound the previous night.

Noah is alone. He is always alone.

Noah packs his things and moves on. He is nearing the end of the plains, the land ahead green with trees. It reminds him of home.

Even as he marches on, the day he left plays in his mind. He doesn’t want it to, and he has trained himself not to, but a little sweet nostalgia allures him to the memory, forgetting the bitterness of such thoughts on his tongue.

He was warned not to go in there. He was warned not to touch the stone. But a teenager will rebel against his elders, and the others dared him to. He remembers the thrill of climbing down into that cave, the chill of the water as he submerged, finding his prize, and their cries of triumph as he emerged clasping the smooth stone.

And then people were angry. His parents. The grand elder. He can recall his confusion at their rage. He couldn’t understand why they were so upset.

It was just a superstition, right?

There are no coyotes as he sits by the fire. Not now. Instead, he sits and watches the trees before him, their branches rustling in the wind. Beyond the forest is the orchard. And beyond the orchard is the mountain. And the mountain is the place where no one can follow him.

Where he can finally, truly, be by himself.

The next day he rises, repaints his marks, and sets off amongst the trees. He clings to the icon around his neck, watching the branches as if they’d reach out and grab it from him. As he walks he finds a stream, so refills his canteen. He finds berries, and so refills his rations. But this place is not quiet. There is noise everywhere, chirping, skittering, yipping. But he pulls his sled on, through trees and roots and mud.

That night he stops. There is only uneven ground, so it is difficult to set up his tent. He chooses to keep all his things inside the tent, to avoid mischievous monkeys or birds stealing anything. He sits tightly amongst his things, listening to the ceaseless noise outside.

Then it goes quiet. Just for a few minutes. Everything is silent.

And during that time Noah strains his ears again.

Until noise returns and he drifts to sleep.

The next day he rises and repaints his markings. They’re slightly scratched by branches, but it doesn’t take long to remedy. When he opens his tent, he finds a pile of bugs, all laid out like a sigil on the floor. A familiar marking, the same one which hangs around his neck.

But he can see how this happened. He’d been absentmindedly scrawling in the dirt with his spear, the same spear he’d used to retrieve the fruit. Spreading fruit juice like that, bugs were bound to follow.

He cannot tell why they died though. Perhaps the fruit was poisonous to them. Perhaps it’s poisonous to him but he doesn’t know it yet.

Either way, the earth around is undisturbed, as always.

He is alone out in these woods.

He is soon packed and on his way again. The weather is more temperate than it was on the plains. The trees and leaves trap heat, wrapping it in moisture, and making it heavy. But Noah walks on. Around trees, through bushes, across wide little streams.

He sees animals throughout the day. Spiders crawling up trunks. Snakes slithering over roots. Most ignore him if he ignores them. A few flies buzz around him, but they soon find other prey. A mosquito takes fascination with him for a while, but he swats it. Up in the trees above, a little shape swings. A monkey. It leaps from branch to branch, following his path.

That night, he settles and sets up his camp again. He glances up and sees the little monkey, still leaping about. Its bright eyes leer down. Noah eats some fruit as it draws closer. He sees it weighing its jump, ready to steal something. But he can’t sleep another night with his supplies crammed in his tent. The smell of the fruit is too strong, and positioning his spear is a challenge. And still the monkey creeps closer.

Noah takes a stick from the undergrowth and wraps a spare bit of cloth around it. He lights it from his campfire and swings it wildly up at the monkey.

The monkey screeches and yelps. It retreats, hurrying up a tree trunk. Noah waves his torch until the beast disappears. He hopes it won’t come back.

As he readies for bed, he takes some large leaves and covers the fruit. With one last thought, he takes his spear into the tent, propping it up awkwardly inside the entrance.

That night his ears strain against the noisy silence. So much noise it becomes the base for all other sound. Then he hears it. Scampering feet. Little eeks and ooks. The rustle of leaves.

Then the forest is silent again. Truly silent. All that remains is the monkey, rummaging amongst the fruit.

With a snap and a sharp shriek, even that falls silent.

The noise finally returns and Noah falls fitfully to sleep.

The next morning he reapplies his paints and opens his tent. The monkey is dead, its body left strewn across the far tree, battered and broken. Its blood spells a familiar symbol in its fur.

It must have just been a predator, Noah tells himself. Just a predator.

Noah marches on, sled behind him. The trees are already parting, leaving greater room to walk. By nightfall he will almost be at the orchard. Then the mountain.

Then he’ll be alone.

As he settles for nightfall, the trees are already quite wide apart. Wide enough that he can set up his tent without trouble. Wide enough that no animals come close.

As he sets up his tent, a chill joins the air. Something colder than cold.

The air is silent. Not even the noise of the jungle.

CRACK!

Noah looks up, but dives into his tent, hurriedly tying the entrance. Too late, in fact.

A branch the size of a log hits the tent’s roof.

The tent crumples, and the log lands atop Noah. His spear is in his hand, but the rest of him is pinned to the floor. He releases his spear and reaches up to the icon around his throat. Golden metal meets his fingers, and he relaxes. The chill to the air vanishes. The sounds of the woods return.

Using his spear, he levers the log off of him. He slips out, his side bleeding from where a branch cut him. It isn’t deep, so he patches it with mud and some torn cloth from his tent.

He moves the log and rebuilds his tent as best he can. He rechecks the various runes painted on its fabric. Luckily, they’re undamaged. He looks up to where the tree branch fell from.

Something is sat on the branch. A shadowy shape. First a monkey, then a coyote. Then it is a young man, before vanishing completely.

Noah heads into his tent and struggles to sleep.

The next day comes, and Noah almost forgets to repaint his arms. The cut in his side aches. It hurts, but there is nothing he can do.

He packs up his things and marches on.

Within hours, he has passed the edge of the jungle and steps out into lush green fields. The occasional tree is spread around, many littered with fruit. He tries to pluck some, but finds it too high, and his side is too sore to climb. He walks on.

That night he sets up camp in a field. No trees to fall on him, no animals to bother him. His side still aches, and he barely eats before surrendering and going to bed. He doesn’t hear anything that night, not that he is listening.

His hand doesn’t leave the icon around his neck all night.

The next day he awakes, but something is wrong. He is shivering, though the air is still warm. He sweats though he feels cold. The wound in his side burns and looks swollen. Even so, he rises, packs his things, and moves on.

The walk is more challenging today. His bones are tired and his thoughts drift in and out. They drift so far that the tang of nostalgia lures him in again.

The memories play out like a performance around him.

He is at home again, wandering back into the village. The elders are furious. His parents look scared. He is forced to carry the stone by himself, the elders refusing to touch it. There is shouting and ranting. Words like “Banishment” are used. Words like “Death”.

He knows that he has done wrong, but not why.

Finally, the words “The wanderer must walk alone” are uttered.

The chief’s guards arrive, and he is forced to leave.

All alone.

In the orchard, the night is rolling in. But Noah’s mind is too clouded. He walks on into the evening. He walks on into the night. He finally collapses, and in a moment of blurred clarity, he wraps the remains of his tent around himself like a blanket.

The inside is sweltering, his body boiling. His side still aches.

The night is silent.

The next morning he is awoken. Not by the dawn, but footsteps and people. They find him lying on the ground, wrapped in his tent. He is drenched in sweat and his side burns like fire. He looks at it, as do they, and they wince. It is yellowing, in parts even green.

One of them carries him on their shoulder. They are large people, all wearing rough and strong clothes. One of them carries a trident, but with four prongs.

Noah falls asleep as they carry him.

He awakens again in a bed. He is in his tent, but he can tell he did not set it up. The knots are wrong and the flaps are unsealed. But he cannot move. His side is on fire, his body drenched with sweat. He looks around and the runes on his skin are gone.

He looks down. His side is exposed, the mud cleaned off, now wrapped in clean bandages. He remembers being briefly awakened to take medicines.

He hopes they were medicines.

He tries to sit up, but cries out in pain and falls back. The sound attracts someone. A young woman enters his tent, sitting down beside him. She has hair like flax and freckles from cheek to cheek. She smiles with missing teeth, but in a way that is quite charming. She also speaks in a tongue Noah does not know. It is lilting and bright, but not one word is familiar.

She spies his lack of recognition. She tries to mime, pointing at his side, and then showing drinking something. She then mimes for him to stay still.

He nods and falls back to sleep.

Evening approaches, and he wakes to see the young woman. She is offering food, which he gladly accepts. Already he feels better and tries to stand, but she stops him. He is still weak. She produces a bit of paper and a quill. She writes something, but he does not know the letters. But she passes him the quill.

He writes something. He writes that he is thirsty, and would like some wine. He knows she will not understand.

That night, once she is gone, his ears strain at the dark. But this is not a quiet place. He hears horses, and people working late, and drinking in a nearby tavern.

And then, for a moment, it is silent. Silent aside from the sound of something being dragged.

Then all is normal again, and Noah falls unwillingly to sleep.

The next morning he awakens, but is still too weak to stand. He searches for his paints, but cannot find them. They must be on his sled.

Around mid-morning, the young woman arrives to give him food and water. And some wine. He looks at her curiously.

She mimes and writes a few words. One is “traveller” and the next “uncle”. The next is a list of places, one of which Noah recognises. He nods and writes “Hello”. She writes “Hello” in her tongue. They both smile.

The joy is cut short however. There are shouts, screams, yells of anguish. The young woman heads out and returns minutes later looking quite pale. She has brought a book with her. She reads it hurriedly, and Noah spies some of his language in the pages.

She scrawls down two words on the paper. “Missing” and “boy”.

Mere minutes later, the tent flap is thrown open, and a man in very stern clothes looks down at him. A finger is pointed in an accusatory way, loud words are said, and the young woman stands out of the way.

Noah however is too weak to stand. He tries to, but fails, and so the accusations are soon dropped. The man leaves, as does the young woman.

Later that evening, she returns. Noah has had all day to think. He desperately asks for the quill. He tries to warn her. He must have his things. He must have his paints. He grips and shows the icon around his neck as if she will understand.

She does her best to translate. She tells him to stay put. She thinks he is just afraid of the kidnapper, and he doesn’t want to be their next victim.

In a way, she isn’t wrong.

She is then called away by a dinner bell, or so Noah guesses.

And he is left alone.

That night his ears strain at the silence. The town is more sombre, no celebrating with such a tragedy in their midst. But amidst the mournful sobs, there is a moment of silence.

And in the silence, two noises. The sound of two things being dragged.

Noah does not sleep that night.

Noah stirs from his dreadful thoughts as the tent flap is opened and the stern man looks in. He says something, but it is not understood. Noah tries to answer anyway. The man shakes his head and leaves.

Around noon, the young woman appears, but she is dishevelled. Her hair is a mess and her eyes are bloodshot.

She writes on the paper three words. “My sisters. Missing.”

Noah stares at her for a long time. She forces the pen and paper into his hands. There is something new written on it.

“What took them?”

She looks at him, her eyes knowing more than her age would suggest. Insistent for answers.

He writes back. He asks that she help him leave. He begs for his paints and his things. He pleads that he be allowed to get away from here.

He does not answer her question.

She looks at his words, and she looks disgusted. She writes back. He is a coward, trying to escape. She helped him, and he will not help her.

He writes one last time to help him leave, and then all will be well. For her, all will be well. He then writes a single word.

Wanderer.

But it is unclear if she understands. He doesn’t know if the word can be translated or if she does just believe him a coward.

She leaves and does not return. Someone else brings his food that evening.

And he sits and eats alone, before tiredness finally takes him.

A noise in the night awakes Noah. A dragging noise. A lumbering noise. Something large, dragging its feet.

He has been in the same place too long.

He hears it moving, long toes dragging in the dirt. He sees a shadow against the moonlight, a form as tall as his tent. Long fingers hang past its knees. A maw of teeth shifts as it breathes.

And then another noise. A confused cry. A shout of anger and fear. The light of a burning torch.

A young girl screams.

The shadow vanishes and a man cries out in agony. A torch flies and ignites a nearby building. Like a shadow play, parts and fractions play out on the tent. A man impaled on long fingers. A jaw distending from a cavernous mouth. An eyeless head turning its gaze on him.

Suddenly, a hand pokes under the tent flap. A young woman’s hand. Noah struggles to his feet and grabs her fingers, but something else is pulling from the other side. She pleads and cries, but Noah is too weak. She slips from his hands, and her screams fall silent.

With all the strength he has, Noah holds the tent flaps shut.

Something stops outside the tent. His spear is on his sled. He can hear the thing breathing, rasping, hacking breaths. Something so old, so terrible. Noah watches as its long fingers press at the canvas, threatening to rip through. It strides around his tent, its long shadow cast over him by the flames.

Noah falls back and clutches the icon around his neck. He sits there until morning.

Then he is finally alone again.

Noah does not sleep. He rises and in desperation draws the symbols back on his arms with dirt and spit. He leaves his tent and he looks upon the village. He falls to his knees and vomits.

The town is in ruins. Almost a dozen buildings, all burnt or strewn with blood. Bodies lie in the streets, some whole, others ripped in half or more. One has his chest ripped open, chunks of gore dripping into the chasm.

And there, in the centre of town, impaled on Noah’s own spear, is the young woman. Her eyes are lifeless. Her hair is bloodstained. Her body is limp.

He is alone again.

Noah does not stay. He packs his things and marches on. He marches on faster than ever. He leaves his spear where it is, but gathers his sled and his supplies. The mountain is just beyond the village. He is almost there.

But his mind will not rest.

No more sweet nostalgia, a bitter taste floods his mind. He has tasted this pain before.

He recalls as he was driven from the village. Without food, without supplies, without explanation. On the call that “The Wanderer must travel alone”. The only one to stop him was his mother, who handed him an icon to wear about his neck.

She said it would keep him safe. He thinks it has.

He left the village, walking out into the woods. He stopped a mere hour away, weeping and mourning, not knowing what to do.

But then there had been a noise. Something in the trees. He had wanted a weapon, something to defend himself.

But it hadn’t been needed. His friends, those that had dared him to go in that cave, had followed him. They wished to go with him.

He had been so happy that night. And they celebrated. One had snuck a jug of wine. Another had brought a book of foreign places to go. Where they could all go. The book told stories of distant lands, and paradise havens, and a mystical mountain where no one could follow.

And his friends also told stories of The Wanderer. They recited all that the village had told them. Of a creature. Of a stone that had held such a thing in place.

But they had laughed. Laughed into the evening. Laughed until they slept under the stars.

The next morning, Noah had awoken to a cold wetness. As he stirred lying in a pool. A crimson pool. His friends were dead, gutted, their blood mixing around him.

He had screamed so loud. But that was when he had seen it.

Waiting just beyond. Waiting in the trees.

The Wanderer.

And he hasn’t stopped since.

The mountain is cold, and colder as he climbs. Snow crunches underfoot and frost bites at his skin. The sled catches in trenches of ice and patches of slush slip from under him like landslides.

But Noah presses on. He marches up the snowy slope, not able to see the top. For a day, he marches, and as the sun sets he presses on. But he hears nothing. No new noise, but no silence either. Just the flurry of snow.

For another day, he walks without stopping. Finally the peak comes into view. He crests the top and looks down, the world splaying out before him. He can see the village and the orchards beyond. He can see the jungle, and the mists amongst the trees. He can even see the plains, and how they bend over the horizon.

And somewhere beyond that must be home.

Noah sits upon the peak, cold seeping into his very bones. And for once, ever since this began, he feels truly alone.

With shaking hands, he reaches up and he removes the icon from around his neck. He places it in the snow before him and breathes in the cold air.

Suddenly, the air grows silent. Silent apart from the crunch of footsteps.

Noah doesn’t dare look round. He knows it will be there. He just hears those dragging steps as they move up the mountain behind him. Fear colder than the snow clutches his heart, but he doesn’t move. He can’t.

He feels long, sharp fingers wrap around his throat. He’s terrified, but it’s already too late.

And as the fingers wrench, and there’s a snap that could only be his neck, Noah can only think one thing.

He was never alone.

#writeblr #writing #writing community #writers on tumblr #horror #lamura dex writes!#short story #short stories #You voted for it #I posted it #Now please read it #Please?

5 notes · View notes

ao3feed-bakusquad · 1 year ago

Text

Winter Warmth

Winter Warmth by 8babs8

just kirishima and bakugou with a snowball fight, hearty soup and warm cuddles.

Words: 4488, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia (Anime & Manga)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Bakugou Katsuki, Kirishima Eijirou

Relationships: Bakugou Katsuki/Kirishima Eijirou

Additional Tags: Established Relationship, Characters Are Pro Heroes, Sickfic, Snowball Fight, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Soft Bakugou Katsuki, Kirishima Eijirou is a Ray of Sunshine

Read Here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48559606

#AO3 Feed #FanFiction #AO3 Kiribaku #♥#Kiribaku #💥#💎#⚣#R:T #A:8babs8 #Sick Fic #Fluff

7 notes · View notes

ao3feed-ladynoir · 2 years ago

Text

A Cat After My Own Heart

A Cat After My Own Heart by Tanzle

After facing Gang of Secrets, Marinette soon realizes that she cannot juggle her life as Ladybug without making sacrifices. She has no one else to turn to, except her loyal partner.

Basically what would happen if Marinette told Chat Noir/Adrien instead of Ayla.

Words: 4488, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Miraculous Ladybug

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: F/M

Characters: Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir, Alya Césaire, Nino Lahiffe, Tikki, Plagg, Kwami(s)

Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug

Additional Tags: Post-Episode: s04 Le Gang des Secrets | Gang of Secrets, Identity Reveal, Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir Knows Marinette Dupain-Cheng Is Ladybug, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Depression, Hurt Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Marichat | Adrien Agreste as Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Not Beta Read, Friends to Lovers, Friendship

Read Here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/44848429

#AO3 Feed #FanFiction #AO3 Marichat #💚#🐱#💖#Marichat #Miraculous Ladybug #♥#R:T #A:Tanzle #Reveal Fic #Mental Illness

11 notes · View notes

tonystarkbingo · 1 year ago

Text

TSB Round 7 Roundup - Week 7!

It's double sevens (week 7 of round 7), and we have some excellent fills below for you all to check out!

Collaborator: deehellcat Card Number: 7014 Square Filled: R3 - anthropomor-fic Title: A World Where People Like Me Don't Have To Hide Link: Tumblr Pairings: na Word Count: na (moodboard) Rating: Gen Major Tags/Triggers: Shifter Verse, Prejudice, Cat!Tony Summary: In a timeline where shifters are an oppressed minority, Tony Stark struggles to balance his roles as part of a team that defends against their backlash, and a shifter himself.

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

Collaborator: illogicalkat Card Number: 7009 Square Filled: K5 - IronDad Title: Movie Night Link: AO3 Pairings: Bucky Barnes/Darcy Lewis/Brock Rumlow Word Count: 1041 Rating: Gen Major Tags/Triggers: Meet the parents Summary: It's movie night, and Tony is meeting his daughter's partners.

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

Collaborator: trekkingaroundasgard Card Number: 1003 Square Filled: S5 - bed sharing Title: A Bed Big Enough for Two Link: Tumblr Pairings: Tony Stark x GN!Reader Word Count: 1000 Rating: Mature Major Tags/Triggers: Avenger!reader, mentioned unhealthy coping mechanisms (drinking, medication and substance abuse), established friendship, unspoken feelings, what timeline?, hurt/comfort Summary: After a bad mission, Tony checks in with a bottle of something that effectively knocks you out. He puts you to bed and you ask him to stay the night.

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

Collaborator: Sivan325 Card Number: 7020 Square Filled: S4 - Heat Fic Title: Tony Stark Manual Guide of Intimacy Link: AO3 Pairings: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark Word Count: 1737 Rating: Explicit Major Tags/Triggers: Alternate Universe, Omega Verse, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Tony Stark, Omega Steve Rogers, Pet Names, Top Tony Stark, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Accidental Bonding, Scent Marking, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mating Bites, Deepthroating, Knotting Summary: Tony walked toward the half-naked omega, watching Steve as he dressed, wishing he could remain naked for him.

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

Collaborator: endlesstwanted Card Number: 7010 Square Filled: T3 - Karaoke Battle Title: Tony Stark Bingo Mark VII - July Round Robin Link: AO3 Pairings: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark Word Count: 348 Rating: Gen Major Tags/Triggers: Avengers Family, Miscommunication, Round Robin Summary: After missing an Assemble call, Tony thinks the team has gotten tired of his burning the candle at both ends. Turns out that's not what made things a little tense after all.

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

Collaborator: scottxlogan Card Number: 7017 Square Filled: R1 - Sidekick Title: The Quest Link: AO3 Pairings: Tony Stark/Steve Rogers Word Count: 4488 Rating: Teen Major Tags/Triggers: lternate Universe, Treasure Hunting, Archaeologist Steve, Swearing, Action/Adventure, Adventure & Romance, Implied/Referenced Sex Summary: Archaeologist Steve Rogers finds himself in the thick of danger and adventure after teaming up with his former mentor's son and current sidekick Tony Stark to chase down a rare treasure set to unlock all of humanity's mysteries along the way.

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

Collaborator: scottxlogan Card Number: 7017 Square Filled: S4 - Dad Tony Title: A Day at the Beach Link: AO3 Pairings: Bucky Barnes/Tony Stark Word Count: 6140 Rating: Teen Major Tags/Triggers: Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Single Parent Tony Stark, Minor Bruce Banner/Natasha Romanov, Meet-Cute, First Meetings, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Flirting, Kissing, Innuendo, Past Bucky Barnes/Natasha Romanov, Past Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Natasha Romanov & Tony Stark Friendship, Science Bros | Bruce Banner & Tony Stark Friendship, Fluff, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Head Injury Summary: Tony and Morgan's daddy/daughter day at the beach takes an unexpected turn as the sexy lifeguard Tony has been eyeing rides to Tony's rescue.

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

Collaborator: ABrighterDarkness Card Number: 7027 Square Filled: R1 - Body Swap Title: Nowhere Near as Fun as it Sounds Link: AO3 Pairings: Tony & Steve, Tony/Steve Word Count: 3381 Rating: Teen Major Tags/Triggers: Body Swap, Oversensitivity, Enhanced Senses, Minor Character Injury Summary: “You’ve never said anything. At all. To anyone,” Tony blurted, the words and realizations that smacked him straight in the face in the most bizarre way possible. Mid-mission, at that. Terrible timing. But…he felt like this was one of those things he should have somehow already known. Something he’d have somehow already addressed and fixed. And not just because he was the one that was now suffering from the lack of knowledge. “Neither have you,” Steve said, quiet and solemn.

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

Collaborator: Faustess Card Number: 7022 Square Filled: A5 - Miscommunication Title: Tony Stark Bingo Mark VII - July Round Robin Link: AO3 Pairings: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark Word Count: 348 (mine), 1287 total Rating: Gen Major Tags/Triggers: No Archive Warnings Apply; Avengers Tower, Avengers Family, Miscommunication, Karaoke, Love Confessions Summary: After missing an Assemble call, Tony thinks the team has gotten tired of his burning the candle at both ends. Turns out that's not what made things a little tense after all.

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

Collaborator: Faustess Card Number: 7022 Square Filled: A3 - Free Space! Title: Crossed the Sky for Love Link: AO3 Pairings: Tony Stark/Thor Word Count: 1145 Rating: Gen Major Tags/Triggers: No Archive Warnings Apply; Stranded, Flashbacks, Rescue, Gentleness, Protective Thor (Marvel), Tony Stark Needs a Hug Summary: Stranded in the middle of nowhere after a mission goes sideways, Tony gives himself a minute to despair before standing back up to fight for survival. This time he's not fighting alone, though.

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

Collaborator: Faustess Card Number: 7022 Square Filled: A1 - Picture of Tony talking to Stephen Strange Title: Tony Stark Bingo Mark VII - June Round Robin Link: AO3 Pairings: Tony Stark & Stephen Strange, James "Bucky" Barnes & Tony Stark, Bruce Banner & Tony Stark Word Count: 300 (my part); 1330 total Rating: Gen Major Tags/Triggers: No Archive Warnings Apply; Team as Family, Avengers Family, Games, scavenger hunt, Vacation, Round Robin Summary: When Doctor Strange offers the Sanctum Sanctorum up as a getaway location for the Avengers, Tony protests. However, he is swayed when Bucky suggests the idea of a scavenger hunt.

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

Collaborator: SomeSortofItalianRoast Card Number: 7012 Square Filled: K4 - Innocent Until Proven Guilty Title: Steve Rogers. Mastermind. Forger. Link: AO3 Pairings: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark Word Count: 1237 Rating: Explicit Major Tags/Triggers: Bottom Steve Rogers, Alternate Universe - Leverage Fusion, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Hook-Up, Artist Steve Rogers Summary: Steve Rogers is a genius forger who stepped into Nate Ford’s shoes when the man finally retired for the fourth and final time. Tony Stark is the INTERPOL agent tasked with bringing him in, not fucking him in a coat closet.

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

#tony stark bingo round 7 #tsb 7 #tsb weekly roundup #tsb week 7

5 notes · View notes