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confessedlyfannish · 7 months

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DP x DC Writing Prompt #5

Damian does not glance back at Bruce when he knocks on the door. Instead they both wait in silence.

After a moment, the door opens.

"Hello," Jasmine, Jazz, Fenton greets politely, unsurprised to find the Waynes on her doorstep. Damian's expression grows ever darker at this revelation.

"Hello Ms. Fenton, are your parents home?" Bruce asks, placing a firm hand on Damian's shoulder, to ground as much as to restrain. To his credit he does not shake it off.

"No, they're out of town for a conference," the eighteen year-old says, opening the door wider. "But I think you'd better come in."

Bruce would normally decline, but Ms. Fenton is a legal adult and he has already, even unknowingly, waited 16 years. Damian makes the choice for him, striding past the threshold.

"Please take a seat," Jazz says as she leads them to the living room. She ignores Damian's swinging head as he takes in the home. It is deceptively large, a 90s style house filled with modern furniture. The walls are bright, with purple and green accents that would normally feel garish but somehow work. The stairs leading to the second floor are lined with family photos that Bruce yearns to take a closer look at. "Can I get you anything? Coffee? Water?"

"No, that's alright, thank you," Bruce says, taking a seat on the long plush couch. A men's windbreaker lies haphazardly thrown across one of the arms. A closed container of Oreo cookies sit on the coffee table next to a physics textbook open to chapter 16, half covered in highlighter and filled with sticky notes. There's a child's painting framed next to the tv, a handprint made to look like a thanksgiving turkey in bright blue.

For the home of experimental scientists, it is cozy and well lived-in.

Damian repeatedly glances at the stairs through the doorway.

Bruce clears his throat. "We were hoping to--"

"I've texted--oh, I'm sorry," Jazz says, having spoken at the same time. Bruce gestures for her to go on.

"I've contacted Danny, he should be here soon. He was out with some friends." Jazz explains. As she hadn't pulled out a phone in their presence, Bruce can only deduce they have some sort of camera at their front door. This also explains Ms. Fenton's complete lack of surprise at their appearance.

"So you know who we are." Damian says, the first words he's spoken since they arrived at the house and the longest sentence he's spoken since they arrived in Amity Park.

"I do," Jazz says, calm in the face of Damian's clearly simmering anger. Bruce trusts him not to attack Ms. Fenton, but he still watches him carefully.

"He told you about me," Damian says. It is the same question, but it is also not.

"He did," Jazz says.

Damian swallows. "I see," he grits out.

Jazz's neutrality slips and her face softens in sympathy. "Damian," she starts hesitantly, but before she can say anything else the front door opens.

A moment later Bruce's son walks through the doorway, and Damian is on him.

This is what Bruce hoped to prevent, but despite his numerous checks of Damian's luggage his son has still managed to smuggle a small dagger, which he now produces and swings in a calculated arc at Daniel Fenton's jugular.

Danny dodges cleanly, and dodges every swipe thereafter in a manner that speaks to continued practice long after his time at the League. Damian is a perfect product of his training, but it is up against Danny his flaws come to light. He is just as good as he always was, but Danny is better.

In a matter of seconds Damian grows frustrated and sloppy in his attacks, completely atypical for him. Danny takes Damian out at the knees and pins him down with one arm, pressing his face into the carpet.

"Calm down," he orders. His voice is deeper than Damian's at sixteen to his twelve, the accent that still traces Damian's words completely gone from his speech. Damian growls and thrusts his head back into Danny's face, meeting it with a sharp thunk. He rolls up as Danny recoils, putting distance between them. Danny glares at him from several steps away, hand to his forehead. Damian tosses the dagger into his other hand as he charges, and to Bruce's surprise Danny does nothing more than turn his face to the side, allowing Damian to draw a sharp line down his cheek.

Damian stops dead in his tracks.

"Are you done?" Danny asks, blood beginning to pool at the seam of the cut.

Damian's expression is stricken, eyes stuck on the blood starting to drip down his brother's face.

"I said, are you done, Damian?" Danny asks. His voice is cold.

Damian hears him this time, and he flushes red. "I--you--"

Danny sighs. He looks at Jazz, whose expression is back to carefully controlled.

"Are you alright?" he asks her. She nods.

"You left me," Damian accuses, standing there holding his bloody dagger limply.

Danny turns back to him, raising an eyebrow.

"You left me," Damian repeats louder, rapidly blinking.

"Yes. I did." Danny provides no excuse nor any explanation. His stance is unyielding.

Damian's eyes bounce wildly, shifting to Jazz and Danny slides smoothly in front of her, protectively. He looks at Damian warily, not as if he is his brother, but as if he is a danger. Damian flinches.

Hope is the last to die, Bruce thinks, watching as that last bit of hope Damian had is extinguished, the knowledge working its way through every inch of his body like ice in his veins. His eyes darken. He turns and runs from the room, the front door slamming shut not a moment later.

Jazz stands up, pulling a few tissues from the box on the coffee table. She presses them to Danny's face, cupping his cheek until he holds it himself. "I'm going to go get the first aid kit," she says gently. It is a thinly veiled excuse to leave them alone, and Bruce is grateful for it as she heads for the stairs.

They both wait until her footsteps have faded, taking each other in. Bruce looks at his mother's eyes and the sharp turn of Talia's nose. Damian's everything, four years older.

"You shouldn't have come here," Danny says, throwing himself on the armchair Jazz has just vacated.

"You know who I am," Bruce says carefully.

Danny glares. "I've kept your secret. She nor my parents know."

"I know," Bruce says. "That's not what I meant. You know who I am. And who I pretend to be. So you know I am familiar with masks."

"And?" Danny asks, looking vaguely bored.

"And so I can recognize when someone is wearing one. Damian will too, once he's calmed down."

Danny's expression sharpens. "No, he won't. Because you are going to go to back to whatever bed and breakfast you're staying in, pack up, hop in your private jet and fly him back to Gotham immediately before the League realizes you've gone. If they haven't already," he mutters.

"This is about the League then," Bruce says. "Do you not believe I can protect you?"

"I don't need your protection," Danny snaps, and watches Bruce actively extrapolate with a dawning resignation. "So this is the World's Greatest Detective at work," he says, slumping bonelessly into his chair, the first teenager-y thing he's done.

"Damian's in danger from the League," Bruce says. Danny glares from his slump. It's almost cute. "And as long as the League doesn't know about you, he's safe."

"Draw your own conclusions," Danny says, baring his teeth. Damian often makes the same face. "As long as you leave."

"I can protect him. I can protect you both," Bruce says. "Let me help you."

Danny closes his eyes. He centers his breathing in an exercise someone has clearly walked him through in the past. Bruce would bet money on the adoptive sister waiting patiently upstairs.

"Mr. Wayne. You are not my father," he says. "My trust in you extends to the point that I left Damian in your care, but that is where it ends. And that was when it was sanctioned by the League. By coming here you have endangered those sanctions."

Bruce disregards the sting, doubling down on his analysis. Talia had left Damian with Bruce well after Danny had left the League. But Danny speaks as if the decision had been his.

Or perhaps, Bruce realizes, it is not that Danny decided upon it, but that Danny allowed it to continue.

Bruce takes a second to review what Oracle had gone over with him before they left for Amity. Daniel Fenton had by all accounts, since leaving the League, lived a fairly normal life. His adoptive parents were eccentric scientists dabbling in the occult but their findings that bordered pseudoscience circulated a very niche community of like-minded eccentrics. The bulk of their income came from alternative energy, a more viable source of study that they'd veered harder into in the past year or so, a government contract with the EPA currently in the works. This had in part funded a vacation to an all-inclusive resort the family had taken that past summer.

Danny received average grades in school, above average in science and mathematics, declining sharply in his freshman year and sophomore year before evening out around the second semester. He had gotten into fights repeatedly with one student in particular, suspended for two weeks following an incident that resulted in a the student receiving a black eye. Teachers reported him to be highly intelligent but distracted and removed. They had recommended he be evaluated for an attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder. He had no social media. He had missed multiple picture days. The ones he had attended he was sneezing, or a blur of movement, even going so far as to fall off his stool, legs flailing. Bruce had drank up every last one as Barbara had waited patiently.

A normal life. A family vacation to Bermuda. Average grades.

His freshman year, distracted and removed. The same year Damian had arrived at Bruce's home. Masks upon masks.

"You have informants within the League," Bruce says. Danny, to his credit, has no discernible tell. But there is no other explanation. "What will you do, if they find out you are alive?"

"That is none of your concern," Danny says, but he might as well be saying whatever I have to.

He never stopped practicing, after all.

"If they go after Damian, it is my concern."

"And that is why you need to take Damian back to Gotham before they do." Danny says. "I will take care of it."

Damian had barely spoken since he had realized Danyal was alive. But Bruce had seen the reverence in his eyes as he looked at the file.

"الوريث الصحيح" he had murmured. The rightful heir.

"You are proposing going after the entirety of the League with no backup," Bruce says. "Even if you think they won't kill you, you won't win either."

"Maybe they will," Danny says lightly. "Kill me. That would also work."

Bruce inhales sharply. "Danny," he starts.

"Go home, Mr. Wayne," Danny says, pushing himself up with one hand. The other still clutches the wad of tissue to his cheek, partially soaked with blood. "Go take care of your son."

"I'll go," Bruce says, "I'll take him to the Watchtower. And then I'll come back."

"Mr. Wayne-"

"I should've come for you," Bruce interrupts. "Sixteen years ago. I should've come for you."

Danny's brow furrows. "You had no idea I existed."

"But if I had. I would've come. I never would've left you there. And now that I know, I am not leaving you now."

For the first time Bruce watches Danny be completely caught off guard. He openly gapes at Bruce.

"You would've died," Danny lands on, voice thin. "They would've killed you."

"Unlike you, I would've brought backup." Bruce says, mimicking Danny's lightness.

He's lying. Sixteen years ago he would've thrown himself at the League to save his newborn son without a plan, without a thought beyond rescuing his baby.

Danny barks out a laugh. "You would've laid siege to Nanda Parbat with The Big Blue Boy Scout?" he looks wistful. "That would've been rad."

Bruce sees his opening. "Danny," he stands, eye to eye with his son. "Let me help you."

Danny evaluates him. "The Batman," he says softly. "I didn't want you to come, then. I didn't need one more person I had to prove myself to. All I wanted was to live amongst the stars, in the quiet of the cosmos."

"You want to be an astronaut," Bruce says. At Danny's cocked head, he says without shame, "I read your essay on personal heroes. You wrote about Edward White. Ad Astra Per Aspera."

Danny smiles slightly, sadly. "It is a rough road."

"You can be whatever you want to be," Bruce says. "I won't stand in your way."

"Even if I want to be Danny Fenton?" he asks.

"Even then."

Danny sighs. "I don't need your help Bruce," he says. "No," he says as Bruce opens his mouth. He pulls the wad of tissues away from his cheek. Underneath the splotches of dried blood the gash in his face has cleanly knit itself together, a faint white line now all that remains.

"I don't need your help," he says clearly. He holds a palm forward, and a green fire grows from its center, until the flames are licking delicately up his fingers.

"I know The Batman does not kill. But I am not a Robin. I am something else entirely," Danny says, his eyes reflecting the green of the flames. Or not, as he looks up at Bruce, his eyes green all on their own. They are sad. This is why he stayed away, Bruce realizes. Not out of fear. Danny is not afraid. Danny is tired.

But for his brother, Danny will wake up.

"And If the League takes one step towards Damian, I will raze them to the ground."

#Danny I AM RETIRED FROM MURDER Fenton #the informants are ghosts #the thing about deductive reasoning is sometimes you deduct incorrectly #particularly when you don't know about the ghosts #danyal al ghul #damian wayne #danny phantom #batman #dp x dc au #dp x dc crossover #dp x dc #dp x dc prompt #bruce wayne #this is an au where damian doesn't get blown up and lose most of his vital organs #like bruce still isn't a super responsible parent but no nine year olds blow up so that's something #danny: he only blew up once so he can stay with you #batman: he did get speared straight through but we fixed it #danny: he wHAT #i wrote this instead of eating dinner #because drafts are for the mentally healthy #tbh i don't think his name would be danyal al ghul in this one #he's trying really hard to stay under the radar I don't think he would choose essentially a homonym

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poorly-drawn-mdzs · 5 months

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Gaslight, Gatekeep, Girl found dead in a hidden room.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

#poorly drawn mdzs #mdzs #lan xichen #jin guangyao #jiang cheng #wei wuxian #qin su #EDIT: Tumblr published an earlier draft with only half the notes I wrote so: late entry on my JGY thoughts.#Unlike the mystic powers of the stockmarket (what the OG meme is referring to) I think this situation calls for more active investigation.#qin su is such a deeply tragic character to me and I really wish we got a bit more from her.#Love everyone who sent me messages about her after the last time she appeared.#I think she needs a spin off of her being a transmigrator SO badly.#MDZS has so many interesting characters - but it sometimes fails to give them the proper room to really develop past a role in the plot.#That's just the consequence of writing a story like MDZS. Not every character in a book *needs* to have a rich inner life and backstory!#To do so would bog down the story and obliterate any notion of pacing. It's just not possible.#Jin Guangyao (nee Meng Yao) is unfortunately not free from this leeway rule. He is the culprit of this murder mystery plot #and thus NEEDS to encapsulate the themes of the book. And personally he's a 7 out of 10 at best on this front (in the AD).#MDZS is about rumours twisting reality and working towards truth. And about how people & situations are rarely ever black & white #JGY has his motivations. He's well written in regards to his actions making sense for his character.#What started as good traits (drive to succeed & improve his image) became twisted over time (do anything to maintain his image)#and it's a good parallel to WWX! He has the same arc (with different traits)! Bonus points for IGY in that regard.#but man....by the time we confront this guy for murder there's not a lot of grey morality. He's just...deep in the hole *he* dug.#There's a beautiful tragedy to it! More on JGY in later comics - this is getting pretty long already!

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da-birb-writes-sometimes · 6 months

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How You Turn My World; Chapter 3

As the reality of your situation sets in, you try your best to survive in the Underground... and find a way out. Little do you know though, someone else is trying to find you.

Character; Lilia Vanrouge

Content; Gender-neutral reader, more shenanigans, getting more into the meat and bones of this fic

Content Warnings; Swearing

Word Count; 3.2 K

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 |

Do not put my work into AI - I will push you into the Bog of Eternal Stench

Your night for the most part was uneventful. The horrid screaming had thankfully went in the opposite direction, away from your tree-top abode. Although throughout the night, little crowds of glowing eyes had amassed at the bottom of the tree, but they made no attempts to reach you. Even though they couldn’t reach you, you couldn’t help but feel unnerved, since all you could see was their eyeshine, and hear them chittering to each other.

Great, they’re probably pointing and laughing at the new fool in town. ‘Oh, look, Jim, a new plaything! Don’t they look stupid hanging in a tree like that? Fufufu.’ But you kept quiet, and just watched them, as much as they did you, making sure they didn’t try any funny business.

They didn’t stay for long though, either leaving due to their curiosity being quenched, or from how boring you were trying to be; silent, and watching, not moving. If worse came to worse, you would have started chucking rowan berries at them; if fae don’t like the tree, they probably wouldn’t like the berries either.

Eventually, the dark night dissolved into the dim glow of dawn, and once you could actually make out your surroundings and it wasn’t just one large mass of darkness, you started making your way down the tree. You were a bit proud of yourself, seeing that you had 1) survived the night, and 2) not fallen out of the tr—

Snap! … you celebrated too soon, since the branch you were using as a foothold gave way, and you tumbled your way to the ground. At least the fall wasn’t too high up, but it still stung like a bitch, and you’d definitely have a bruise; both to your body and your ego.

At least there was no one around to see you eat dirt.

Sighing, you rubbed your eyes, and smacked your cheeks; fighting off sleepiness. Focus; you need to get home. Read the damn book Mr. Sparkles gave you… damn prick is probably gonna call in a favour later…

With a still sore butt, you found a mossy rock that looked somewhat comfortable and sat down, opening up your ‘How Not to Die in Fairyland; For Dummies!’ book (not really the name of it, but it was damn close).

“Chapter nine; how to leave the Underground,” you muttered, flipping to the page. Weird, it’s only one page?

“While leaving the Underground is possible, it is a task that not many have accomplished.

Of the possible ways include;

Finding a portal; typically an enchanted faerie ring, or royal portal.

Finding a fae and tricking them into owing you a favour

One should leave the Underground before their thirteenth day. Should you stay beyond thirteen days you will not be able to leave the Underground, and will be a permanent resident.”

You shut the book, taking in a deep breath. What has it been, ten hours? It was hard to tell, the blurring of time. But at least you had a rough time of twelve days to find a portal — or have a fae owe you a favour — and get the hell back home. If worse came to worse, you were not above some benign trickery so you could see your idiots again.

…

Lilia had arrived home safe and sound, slept in his warm bed, and had some of his … delightful home cooking before he was due back at the castle. And while he was eating the somehow overcooked yet still raw eggs, he couldn’t help but wonder how the little Beastie was doing; how you were doing.

He didn’t technically owe you any favours, since he had given you that handy dandy book — if anything, you owed him, since you did say ‘thanks’ and everything — but curiosity is a fickle thing, and you seemed interesting. Humans typically reacted more when they ended up here, and made no proper moves to ensure that they made it back. But you, the little Beastie? Lilia saw a fire in your eyes, of both ire and determination. You wouldn’t give up easily, and while it was entertaining, he also knew that trouble could, and most likely would, follow wherever you go.

Last time a human like you ended up in the Underground… it didn’t end well (said human nearly burnt the Queen’s labyrinth down to the ground). Hopefully though, you didn’t prove to be as foolish, or as obsessed with fire as the last human. Who knows, maybe you would even escape! If you didn’t though, the court could use a new fool, and you seemed amusing enough to please their majesties whilst not incenting their ire.

“Hmm, wonder if their majesties have felt the intrusion,” Lilia hummed to himself, cleaning up his dishes. He could easily just magic it away, but the trip to the mortal realm had taken a lot out of him, so he was stuck doing some good old fashioned manual labour, not that he really minded. Doing the dishes was better than being digested by some mangy, overweight, cat.

A crack of lightning sounded outside, disrupting the otherwise beautiful and peaceful day. “That answers that question!” Lilia sounded too cheerful for what many fae considered to be a bad omen, as lightning rarely meant a good thing when it concerned the royal family.

A raven came to rest on the windowsill, eyes glowing green; a messenger.

Lilia tapped its beak, letting the message play.

“General Vanrouge, I require you to apprehend the trespasser on our land, lest they taint the soil,” the raven recited Queen Maleficia’s message. “Shall you deem it necessary to use drastic measures, so be it… To call this number back, place a coin into the raven’s mouth. To save this call—”

Lilia groaned, but coughed up a bronze coin so that the Queen didn’t send more ravens to his house on his day off. “Our guest shall be dealt with swiftly, I assure you of that.” Lilia ended his call, the raven blinked, coughed out the coin, and flew off in a ruckus of cawing.

He sighed, and cracked his back. “Hopefully our guest can understand… and not hit me with a broom this time.” With a snap of his fingers, Lilia poofed into his trademark green sparkles, and he was a bat again. Instead of being lost in the mortal realm though, he was off to find you, who was most likely lost in the Underground… hopefully you didn’t get eaten or fell into the bog again, since he doubted the Queen would want a dead(?) or putrid smelling guest.

“Beastie, Beastie, Beastie, wherever could you be?”

…

“Where the hell am I,” you wheezed. You had been walking for a good bit, since hey, the bog really smelled bad, plus you didn’t want to stick around long enough where the creature that was screaming last night decided to come back and make an appetizer out of you. So, you were walking. Where to? You had no idea, all you knew was that you needed to find a portal somehow, of the mushroom variety, or royally produced.

Currently, you were fighting gravity and making your way up a steep hill, but you knew you would be able to see over the dense forest canopy once you reached the top, and maybe, just maybe, you would be able to make sense of your bearings. Would you know where you were once you reached the top? Pfttt, no, but at least you would know what exactly was around. A sulfuric rotten egg-smelling swamp was one thing, but you wouldn’t be all too surprised if you found out there was a man-eating daisy patch or some other nonsense here.

Finally, you made it to the top of the hill, and you caught your breath before looking out towards the horizon. To the north, the sea of trees continued for what seemed forever. East, the trees made their way into a grassy plateau where there seemed to be a village of some sort in the distance; quaint. South, uh, the swamp, definitely not going back that direction, you’ve had enough of that swamp. And west, a castle, surrounded by a maze.

“An enchanted faerie ring or royal portal,” you muttered, weighing your options.

You had about twelve days left to get out of this place. You could spend those twelve days trying to find a so-called ‘faerie ring’ in the forest since those things were mushroom circles, but the chances of finding an enchanted one seemed to be slim to none. On the other hand, castles usually equaled royalty, which would equal portal. Knowing royals though, they were probably batshit insane. Also, if they felt like you were lying or trying to dupe them? Hey, they could apparently turn you into a slug or some other easily squishable being if they wanted to. And you really didn’t want to be turned into a slug… now at the moment at least.

“Forest,” you looked at the forest, “or castle?” You could also go east, but the grassland didn’t exactly scream portal potential or had any rowan trees (or any trees for that matter). “That is the question. Look for weird mushrooms and maybe get eaten by some critter, or potentially piss off some royal and end up as said critter. Hmmm.”

You groaned, and flopped down to the ground; both options weren’t all that appealing, or even guaranteed that you would find a portal. Rolling over to your stomach, you opened up the book again, seeing if it had anything that could help you make up your mind on the options in front of you.

Scanning over the table of contents, there was nothing about where to find a portal in the woods. There was, however, a handy dandy chapter on fae etiquette, including government specifications…

You looked up towards the castle again, eyeing the maze. And started coughing out into laughter at your situation. “Pfttt, didn’t I wish that the Goblin King would whisk me away from my life,” you wheezed. “And here I am! In the fucking Underground with a labyrinth?!” Your laughing subsided into a tired sigh, and you set your eyes back towards the castle. “The irony is astounding really.”

At least you didn’t have to worry about some baby being turned into a goblin… right?

No, no, you only wished for yourself to be taken away, no one else. But would that mean you would end up as a goblin? Fae? Or as some weird pet or servant to a fae? Hopefully not… and at least you had the somewhat credible book that Mr. Sparkles gave you.

Shit, I owe him a favour though… CURSE YOU SARCASM!!!!

Well, maybe Mr. Sparkles will cut you some slack, since ya know, you did save him from Grim… but you also did hit him with a broom… and insulted him… I am so fucked, aren’t I?

…

You eventually got to the entrance of the maze (the labyrinth?), and sat down on a bench outside of it, huffing and puffing. “Does everything want to–” you stopped that sentence, knowing your luck, if you said it out loud, it was bound to happen. “Never mind that…”

“Never mind what?” A voice said to your right.

You shot up and whipped your head around, coming face to face with a door(?) with a face. “I-”

“You never mind!” A second voice said, and on your left was another door, sending its counterpart a dirty look. “You know better than to meddle in such affairs!”

The right door, which was a weathered red, rolled its eyes at its neighbour. “Bah! Curiosity killed the cat-”

“But satisfaction brought it back. I know!” The left door, a brilliant blue, huffed. “Ignore them, they do this to everyone.” They sneered (if doors could sneer) to their neighbour. “Don’t you have anything better to do than trick people?”

Did I just get in between these two during something?

The red door got offended, turning even redder by some means. “Like you should be one to talk! ‘Oh my dear traveller, one of us two doors is a liar and does nothing but lie! Do not let my neighbour fool you!’ It’s the same every single time with you!”

It’s giving bitter divorced couple who for some reason still live with each other—

“I would do no such thing!”

“LIAR!”

“NO YOU ARE THE LIAR!”

You groaned, their bickering was starting to give you an all too familiar migraine. “Will both of you shut up?!”

Both of the doors tch-ed at your remark but stopped their nonsensical arguing, and you rubbed at your temple, easing away the building tension. But they turned their attention to you, looking at you with a mix of curiosity and something else… doors couldn’t be fae… right? The book didn’t say anything about talking doors… could they be portals? It couldn’t be that easy, nothing was ever that easy.

“Did anyone ever teach you any manners, mortal?” The red door huffed, turning its nose up at you.

The blue door looked at you with a similar expression, “Yes yes, awfully rude you know! Lucky it's just us though, and not the mistress. Oh ho ho! She would turn you into a newt for that!”

I wasn’t too wrong about them turning me into a slug I guess… would a newt be an upgrade in this case? Since they have bones—

“And you’re a door,” you deadpanned, “you both haven’t been polite either, ya know?” You had better things to do than kissass to two sentient doors, so no, you weren’t going to be polite. “So the sooner you tell me which way to go, the sooner I’m out of your… splinters?”

The doors grumbled but didn’t raise any objections.

“As you may have overheard, one of us is a liar,” they both said at once. “One of us will lead into the labyrinth, whereas the other will lead you back to where you started your journey.” They both chuckled, looking at you with amusement. “It is up to you to decide which is which.”

You looked between the two doors, weighing your options. “And what if I just walk into the labyrinth? What happens then?”

The blue door hummed, “Well, it would eat you!” … why did it sound all too cheerful about that?!

“So I don’t really have any other option then, do I?”

“Nope!~” They both gave you cheerful smiles, and you were half tempted to go off into the woods and find that magic portal by your lonesome. At least then you wouldn’t have to deal with a pair of divorced doors, and a human-eating labyrinth that belonged to some mistress that would turn you into a newt if she felt like you were being snippy with her.

You sighed. Of both the doors, the blue one seemed more sympathetic, whereas the red door was more harsh… “Okay, red, open sesame!”

The red door looked shocked that you picked it over its counterpart, but it opened nonetheless. The blue door grumbled that you had chosen its neighbour over it, but stayed quiet.

When the door opened, all you could see was black.

“Do you actually lead anywhere?” You threw a rock in, but no sound came out.

The red door was silent though; apparently, when it was open, it couldn’t talk. And while you didn’t miss the bickering, you really wanted answers, and the blue door wasn’t saying anything either.

Sighing, you walked forward, hoping that you had chosen the right door. Once both of your feet were over the threshold, light started to filter in. Did I choose right?! But before you got too ahead of yourself, you felt the ground give way under you, and you were falling; falling towards an all too familiar sulfuric-smelling bog.

“SHI-”

…

You were back in the bog of eternal stench, and spitting the rotten egg-tasting water out of your mouth again. And this time, Mr. Sparkles wasn’t here to make you magically smell better either. Nope, you were stuck smelling horrible until you could find a change of clothes.

Crawling out of the water, you grumbled and hissed curses towards that red door. Of course, you would end up here again! Why not! Laugh it up, Underground! Laugh it up!

“I hate it here,” you seethed, wringing out as much water as you could from your clothes.

Shit, the book! But the book was still dry… Fuck you, book. Fuck. You. Of course, the book would stay free of wet and stench, whereas you were now shivering, since the water was frigid, plus you were angry and embarrassed that you had been deceived.

It was no use though just sticking around here lamenting and fuming. So you hoisted yourself up and marched back to the labyrinth; and even though the trip was a good three hours, your anger and pettiness drove you forward.

“YOU-” you hissed, pointing a finger at the red door.

The red door looked at you, looked to its blue neighbour, and then back at you before it started laughing. “I see someone took a little dip-”

You got up in its face, “Fuck you, asshole.” You turned around and marched up to the blue door. “Open up,” you cracked your knuckles, not breaking eye contact. And either your intimidation worked, or your smell was so offensive that the door just wanted you gone; weaponizing the stench works wonders against prissy doors.

“Th-” You remembered your first blunder; do not thank the fae. “You are too kind.” And you stepped through the blue door, which was as dark as the red one, but once the door closed, you didn’t find yourself back in the damned bog. You were now in the labyrinth, and perhaps a step closer to finding a way home.

…

Lilia found himself in the bog, looking around for the Beastie (you). But they were nowhere to be found, save for a wet spot on the grass and some torn-up moss.

“Ah,” he suppressed a laugh, “they fell in again, I see. Poor Beastie.” At least they’ll be easier to find.

He summoned a glass orb, a looking glass of sorts, and looked inside of it. “Show me the human,” he whispered, sprinkling it with some green magic. “And show me their location.”

The glass orb multiplied into three. The first orb showed a close-up of your face, an annoyed yet determined look on your face. The second orb showed that you were surrounded by hedges. And the third and final orb showed that the hedges were actually the Queen of the Underground’s personal labyrinth.

“… at least they can’t really run off anywhere.” But this wasn’t a great turn of events. Many people, both human and fae alike, had tried their best to navigate the labyrinth. But it was a fickle thing; you had thirteen hours to reach the castle, and if you didn’t within those thirteen hours? You would be stuck within it, as one of the beings that tried to stop trespassers from reaching the castle.

Lilia pinched the bridge of his nose, “Beastie, what have you gotten yourself into?” And he turned into a bat, flying off to try and find you. While the Queen did want you apprehended, Lilia would rather it be with his own hands, and not be held liable for any further actions or decisions you made.

...

Tags; @afunkyfreshblog, @cheezy-moon, @eynnwwyjth, @ithseem, @lucid-stories, @ryker-writes, @twistwonderlanddevotee, @xxoomiii

~~~~~~~

Author's Note; After a little break from writing this fic, I'm back! I hoped you enjoyed this chapter, even if it was only for the pay-phone/raven and the divorced bickering doors!

If you liked this, do check out my masterlist for more content!

#twst #twst x reader #twst x gn reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland x gn reader #lilia vanrouge #lilia vanrouge x reader #lilia vanrouge x gn reader #now we can get into building the relationship between these two fufufuffufufu #mr sparkles = lilia | beastie = reader #i wrote 1K of this back in September and the rest in the past two days #too be fair i was feeling a bit burnt out so i did need to step back a bit #but i've been feeling inspired again!!! yippee!!!!#raven; mmmmmm MONEY!!! 'to continue your call-'#*sad trombone noises* reader ended up in the bog again; will they ever smell good again?!#a break from the horrors i'm writing for the twst murder mystery au; back to the labyrinth au!!!#twst labyrinth au #and my fun tags have returned too!!!!

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un-pearable · 1 year

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espio’s poetry compilation

you can’t say he’s not…. creative…….

#agshdjd my favorite bit. definitely missed smthn but. cmon what a great gimmick #i love how much they all bought into their characters they’re so into the murder mystery for amy agshdjdjd #even you knuckles. we appreciate the accent <3 #the murder of sonic the hedgehog #text✨#espio the chameleon #third one is like. two inches away from vaguing SA2 if i wrote fic i’d use it as an ironic title/summary for shadows death

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zu-is-here · 1 year

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<– • ->

#zu art #comic #rock band #mute!cross #cross!sans #nightmare!sans #passive!nightmare #killer!sans #horror!sans #murder!sans #undertale #undertale au #utmv #♪ achievement unlocked: the band broke up! (๑ᴖ◡ᴖ๑)♪#the end *badum tss* /jk #(now that we broke it we can start our journey >:)#UPD today I had a dream that I wrote their lines with a BUNCH of mistakes but no one said anything and I was like ''They Got It... <33'' :'D

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luck-of-the-drawings · 7 months

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IMAGINE. working at ur stupid uhhh job or whatever. pulling into your drive way and ready to work on some crazy project in your garage. opening the door to the most unfamiliar silence. did your wife and kid leave for something? could you imagine knocking on your kids door, hardly getting an answer, and opening it to find the splattered remains of your wife across his room your child is scared! hes hardly consolable, in a state of shock and terror. you are too, but youre the adult here. you need to take charge. you need to protect him. you need to do something. you need to do something.

#cw gore #jrwi fanart #jrwi show #jrwi prime defenders #jrwi pd spoilers #ashe winters #LOOOORRRD HELP ME THIS IS A YEAR OLD AND I HAAAATE LOOKIN AT IIITTTT ALL I CAN SEE ARE MY MISTAAAKESSS RRAAGHHHGGG ITS FINE THOUGH #ITS FIIIINE ITS ALL FIIIIIIINE!! IM HARSHER ON MY ART THAN ANYONE ELSE ITS FIIIIIINE IIITTSFFIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINEEEE #ANWYAY SO I THINK ALOT ABOUT THE FACT HE KILLED HIS MOM. FUUUUCKED UP. POOR GUY.. i wish i could learn more about what that day was like #the lil scenario wrote is my own silly little headcanon. but what really happened on that day? was mark there? or did he come home to it?#how violent was it really? was ashe awake the whole time? does he remember exactly how he killed her? does he remember?#who was mrs winters? what was she like? i like to think she was the one that gave ashe the book. taught him what she could before. yknow.#did ashe or mark try to destroy it afterwards? i could imagine mark throwing it into a fire. only for it to reappear with ashe #maybe ashe couldnt destroy it but i could imagine him hiding it. hiding away from it. and yet when we find him he holds it so close #its the only thing he can do! no super powers or anything. this was it. why would he ever throw away the only thing hes good at?#AND GOOD GOD MARK... TURNING TO MERCENARY WORK OVER IT ALL... SELLING HIS SOUL TO A LAbortory that changed him in immense ways #when did it get bad enough for him to start covering his face? what was ashe thinking? he knew his dad was up to something but what?#maRK HAS SUUUCH A CRAZY KILL COUNT TOO. I THINK THE HIGHEST IN THE SERIES IF WE'RE NOT LOOKIN AT THE GODS OR WATEV #MASS MURDER. MAN HAS COMMITTED MASS MURDER AND BROKE OUT OF SUPER VILLAIN PRISON WITH A PEN. MAN BUILDS IRON MAN SUITS IN HIS BASEMENT #OKay okay enough of my ramblin okayokay i just REALLY LOVE THIS SSHHOOOOWWW DUUUDEE EEUUGHTHTHHRHGHGH I LOVE THE WINTERS FAMILY...

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running-on-a-broken-record · 8 months

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MadPat with Reader getting yelled at in the Pizzeria

Totally not based off my experiences with working at a pizzeria

Mad loves having you work with him. Even if it’s only part-time, every time you're at the pizzeria, he's in a noticeably better mood, and the other employees are grateful.

He sometimes just lingers around the area where you're stationed so he can watch you work.

He's in the kitchens, observing one of the new employees to make sure they're not messing up. It's his absolute least favorite part of owning the pizzeria, and he's definitely not pleased. All he wants is to go home and just spend time with you.

It's actually kind of surprising that he hears the commotion coming from the dining part of the pizzeria, because the kitchen is loud, but he does, and his attention is drawn to it.

He's mostly expecting it to be some child being scolded by its mother- god he hates those creatures- or some employee that dropped a pizza by accident.

But... he finds you, basically surrounded by three teenage boys.

They're yelling, and you're clearly not sure what to do, because your eyes dart between them and you're definitely scared.

"How hard is it to make a fucking pizza?" One of the kids, the one with the bad hair, yells directly at you.

He pulls you away from them quickly, now enraged that they would dare speak to you like that. It hurts him how you panic a little more at the feeling of being pulled away, but he hides you behind him, out of sight. You cling to him desperately.

"Is there a problem?" Mad says through gritted teeth, fighting each and every one of his demons to not murder the kids right there and then.

"We ordered a pizza ten minutes ago, where is it? It can't be that hard to make!"

"Did my employee warn you there would be a wait?"

"No!"

His eyes narrow. He's seen you work. You always let customers know about the wait for their food. So not only are these idiotic kids yelling at his best employee- his lover- but they've been ignoring you too. It's starting to look exponentially worse for them.

He wants to kick them out. The way you squeeze him a little tighter after the boy yells again only fuels that.

"Are we going to get our pizza or not?" Another one of the three teenagers says, frustrated for no reason at all, really.

He thinks for a second. "No. Get out."

"What?!" The teenagers all shout.

"You're banned from my pizzeria. Get. Out."

The boy with the bad hair scoffs. "Fine. Come on, guys."

The three boys and a fourth teen, a girl, leave. The girl, without the boys noticing, mouths an I'm sorry, and he nods slightly, turning to you to make sure you saw it too.

"Are you okay?" He asks as soon as they're gone, holding your shoulders.

You shaking from the encounter makes him furious, and once again he debates adding to the list of missing children in the pizzeria.

He doesn't even care when your shift ends, he's the owner of the place and he can do what he wants. He tells you to grab your stuff and clocks you out and takes you home.

He's literally so soft for the rest of the day, because seeing you being yelled at made him so angry and protective that he just wants to make sure you're okay :)

If you want to go back to work later that day, he'll probably let you, but he will keep a closer eye on you.

#I have never gone this feral for a post goddamn #I actually headcanon that Mad doesn't visit his pizzeria unless he absolutely has to #and that he prefers to stick to the paperwork side of things #but visiting is inevitable #anyway for the sake of this fanfiction we will pretend he works there frequently #i wrote this instead of sleeping #tw swearing #tw yelling #I feel bad putting a whole other story in the tags but I feel the need to mention all of my thoughts #“the kid with the bad hair” genuinely had the worst/weirdest hair I've ever seen in my life #tw mentions of murder #I want me a man who would murder annoying teenagers for me :(#madpat #game theory #fnaf the musical #matpat #matpat x reader

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q-starhalo · 6 months

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I hope this event gives red viewers a better understanding of q!Bad's morals and character. I feel that I understand him a lot more as someone who mains other povs. (I think he goes too far sometimes but he cares about the eggs). He didn't defend his egg properly because he didn't think others would attack it.

Not just red viewers but everyone. q!Bad during purgatory is seen to others that he's not a good guy. No one is. But mainly Bad. That Bad is a villain. But take a look at the event and oh? Who didn't attack the eggs? Bad. Bad may not have the best of morals but when it comes to the eggs, even if it's a representation of them? He'll never hurt them. Call him a bad guy, call him evil, call him whatever but know that at least he'll never kill the eggs. Not even if it's said to them that they're not them, he won't take that risk unless seeing it for his own eyes. (Unless it's code Dapper, he'll protect it no matter what)

#and of course I'm not saying everyone else doesn't care that'll be ridiculous #I'm only saying it because while yeah the risk most likely wouldn't happen (especially meta wise) there's still the risk in the story #to q!Bad everyone that killed and everyone who cheered and everyone who didn't keep the promise no longer cares about the eggs to him #(at least that's what can be expected we don't truly know)#(also I wrote a whole thing about how like murders and what humans would deem as bad when talking about when red (?) killed Rivers -#and then talking about how a murder is still a murder no matter what. but then I remembered the ask.#I'll get into that and murders some other day #qsmp #badboyhalo #qsmp badboyhalo #(I don't even think this makes sense but um. :D)#ask

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tricksterlatte · 3 months

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There's something absolutely ironic and even compelling to me about the domino effect regarding Akechi and Sae's interactions. Akechi had to deceive everyone, including his coworkers. Sae in particular was closely tied to the investigations of the crimes he was committing, so of course appearing as non-threatening or even annoying as possible to her was in his best interests.

However, his petty but arguably feeble masquerade is what led to his cognitive self in Sae's brain presumably being easy for the Phantom Thieves to tie up? He was too good at deception and it led to Sae's perception of him being sopping wet cat, which was easy for the Thieves to subdue, so the threatening, real Akechi wouldn't stumble upon Sae's cognition of him as he went to murder Joker.

I know people usually discuss Shido's cognitive Akechi and the implications regarding Akechi's presentation of himself and his layers of deception, but Sae's is the direct contrast to Shido's, and it's very interesting to look at how being a petty little asshole to your stressed out hot lady coworker about her skincare routine can also contribute to her thinking of you a a nuisance at best (until it was almost too late for everyone involved, but hey, it worked out for the best? I think).

I love the layers of Akechi's deception because he was cunning to a fault. Sometimes I wish we could have seen how the Thieves interacted with Sae's cognition of him, because both Sae and Shido had a very biased perception of him, and it makes me wonder who really knew Akechi at all. I'm rambling here, but it's been on my mind for ages. I would love to see if her cognitive Akechi changed after 11/20, considering he went from annoying junior detective to a dangerous murderer in just one day for her, and she doesn't remember any of third semester or even 12/24 when he was there.

#parker says things #I love Sae I love everything she represents and her impact on the story so much #She's probably my favorite non Thief character other than MAYBE Sojiro and it shows #This was on my mind as I wrote her and Akechi interacting post canon because wow they barely did and we didn't see any of it on 12/24?#hardly any #I wanna know how she'd react to his actual demeanor especially after 11/20's hellscape #she walked out of that room suspecting him due to Joker and then came back to a murder scene even if that was the metaverse #actually so fascinating to think about how she had no choice but to adapt #and her palace was still there? Atlus give me more please #p5 spoilers #goro akechi the man that you are god I love you and your masks and deception and true self #and how those masks deceive even the player. sometimes even long after completing the game #on all sides. god it's so good #I love any characters who make me think I love morally gray characters who are actually morally gray #ahhhhhhhhhhh

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ear-motif · 10 months

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would anyone read a fic where will is transmasc and a killer and the kills are psychologically related to his gender or is that too cringe

#u can be honest i only thought of it 30 mind ago #it feels like i would be doing the equivalent of kinning bakugo if i wrote that #does that make any sense #and yes associaying transness with murder is bad #but i mean. we root for killers here thats what we do #hanniblogging

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enquiringangel · 5 months

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Pyrrhic

Cw for canon character death. Vaguely implied Michael/David.

-x-

“It’s over,” Star gasps, elated with her newfound freedom. “It’s finally over.”

Michael doesn’t have the heart to tell her that it isn’t.

When she throws her arms around him he hears her pulse in stereo, rapid thumps that gradually slow without fear to act as a piston. Beneath the burned flesh reek of Max’s demise—Dwayne’s too—he can smell coppery, garlicky water and the acid wash of human sweat. Even in the darkness of their unlit home Michael can see the gleam of perspiration cutting through the soot on her face, on Sam’s.

He sees David clear as day, lying prone on the horns where Michael had thrown him, lifeless features cherubic and curiously smooth, as if someone had shaved his face in preparation for burial. No longer does he feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, or the curious magnetic draw of David’s presence.

What he does feel, as his mother and Sam pepper Grandpa with questions, is hunger. That terrible hunger like someone’s scraped his insides out with a melon baller, the monstrous desire that throbs in the roots of his fangs.

David had laughed when Michael proclaimed himself not to be a killer. Had watched with grim satisfaction as Michael’s face twisted to reflect the nature of the beast within, had twisted to become just like him.

How smug David would be, if only he were alive (unalive?) to be right.

There’s a cold, hollow sensation in Michael’s chest as he drifts across the breezy living room past the ash-blind eyes of the stuffed mountain lion to study the body more closely.

“Michael?”

He ignores the questioning call of his name in favour of tracing the line of David’s cheek with the pads of his fingers. Sadness settles on him, but it’s a strange kind of sadness, distant like he’s experiencing it third-hand. The anger that burns in his chest is bright and purifying in comparison.

“You lying son of a bitch,” he mutters. His newfound friends are all deader than dead, and for what? None of them had needed to die: not Marko, not Paul, not Dwayne. And definitely not David, who was never the head vampire to begin with. Monsters, murderers they were, but Michael would never have wished harm on them if he thought there was any other way.

If he only knew the truth, would the outcome be the same? Perhaps it would – perhaps they would’ve come to avenge Max as they came to avenge Marko. Or perhaps they would’ve treated Max’s death with the same casual disregard he showed for theirs.

“Stop fighting me, Michael! I don’t wanna kill you. Join us.”

Michael can never know; there’s no one left to ask. A bitter smile curls his lips. “I didn’t want to either,” he says, like David can hear him.

“Mike?” Sam moves towards him, sneakers scuffing through the dust. “You okay, bud?” His eyes are wide and white against his grubby face like the eyes of a startled animal.

“Don’t,” Michael warns, turning away from him. He can’t tell what his own eyes look like at the moment. Better not to look. “Stay away from me.”

“Michael, what’s wrong?” his mother asks, tired voice growing sharper with concern. She too, comes closer, heels clicking over the floorboards.

“I said stay back,” he snaps. God, it’s like they want him to eat them. Michael sees no point in dancing around the subject; better to do it quick, like tearing off a Band-Aid. “You’re not safe near me; I’m still one of them.” A pause. “And I’m...really hungry.”

Star now, adding her voice to the chorus. “What but that’s - me and Laddie are normal again, so why aren’t you?” She sounds so sad for him, like he’s the one who died or something.

“Because I—” Michael trails off, his throat suddenly too small to let the words out. Do monsters cry? It seems so.

“It’s because he made a kill,” Grandpa finishes for him.

“No,” Sam exclaims, as if his horror over the matter can make it simply untrue. “That guy’s not even human!”

Grandpa scratches his cheek. “I don’t know that humanity’s a requirement. Not exactly a lot of precedent – most vampires don’t exactly wait to start feeding.”

“B-but, the comic book said—"

“I told you before, this isn’t one of your comics.” Michael’s done talking now. The longer he stays, the harder this will be. There’s no way back. And what he is now is still him enough that it doesn’t want to eat any of the people here. Except Rambo #1 and Rambo #2; if he’s honest, he doesn’t feel a thing at the idea of eating them. But Sam will be sad, and this is going to mess him up enough without Michael chowing down on his friends right in front of him before he hits the road.

Michael turns back to David’s corpse. It seems wrong to leave him here like this, to be buried in the back forty or left out on the lawn to meet the rising sun. There’s not much left of the others, but he can take David home. He gets one arm under David’s shoulders and one under his thighs and lifts him off the horns, which slip free from his chest with an unpleasant squelch, dark blood running down the horns and dripping onto the floor as David lies limp in his arms like the inverse image of a bride.

He allows himself one backwards glance over his shoulder, his eye gleaming blue-yellow-blue as he drinks in the stricken realisation on his mother’s face, the confusion on Sam’s, the grim lines of acceptance across Grandpa’s features. “Don’t try and follow me,” he declares. “It won’t end well for you.” He doesn’t look at Star at all.

Michael strides out into the balmy night air with his burden and rises into the sky.

#sometimes we murder our darlings literally #the lost boys #michael tlb #the lost boys 1987 #i wrote this in like 20 minutes in the bath #my writing stuff

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