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the-lonelybarricade · 1 month ago

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The Longest Night

A short glimpse into the lives of Rhysand and the Inner Circle on the Winter Solistice, 30 years into Rhys’s enslavement Under the Mountain.

For @officialfeysandweek Day 5: Fated

Inspired by one of my text posts from 2022

Word count: 1k

Read on AO3

It was the longest night of the year.

And, by any conventional standard, they had assembled the perfect Solstice dinner.

Someone had lovingly donned a woven table runner across the long dining table in the House of Wind. It's golden thread stood out starkly in the dim faelight, cutting across the dark blue fabric like streaks of lightning on a clear night. Cassian recognised the stitchwork. Its seamstress had threaded her needle through his own skin enough times, tenderly patching him up after long, brutal days in the Illyrian training camps.

His heart ached to stare at her handiwork for too long, so he averted his eyes elsewhere—to the pillars of candles, which rose among the countless platters of food, twining cinnamon and cypress with the scent of roasted meat and spices that was not overall unpleasant, just…

Unwelcome.

Not because Cassian minded the candles, or was ever one to turn away a hot meal. Particularly a spread as fine as the one before him, prepared by the best cooks in Velaris, who had dipped into the preserve of spices that were only saved for special occasions such as this.

No one could claim his discontent was the result of meager effort, or that this was a poor rendition of a Solstice Celebration.

He just couldn't summon any cheer as he snagged his fingers around the stem of his wine glass, watching the dark liquid swirl as he twisted it this way and that. It almost felt like mockery to drink wine, of all things.

Not that he would say such a thing to Mor, who was decanting the final drops of her glass into her mouth. They hadn't started dinner yet, but he couldn't blame her. Instead, Cassian wordlessly slid his glass across the table, wedging it between the fingers of Mor's rested hand, where it splayed nostalgically across the table runner.

When Mor offered him a small, grateful nod, he pushed to his feet. He needed something stronger, anyhow.

Who's idea was this, again?

As he began pouring himself a drink from the decanters at the sideboard, Cassian glanced over his shoulder. His friends were all seated at the dining table, staring mutely at their food or at their drinks. None of them were speaking.

It was a nice attempt, he thought, taking a large swallow and grunting at the heat that spread through him. He felt it burn down his chest and settle heavily in his gut—strong stuff, though he hadn't a clue what it was and didn't think anyone was in the mood to tell him.

Rhys would have known.

That thought slid in like a dagger. Lingered, as Cassian's eyes drifted unbidden to the head of the table.

A place had been set there. A knife and fork and freshly polished plate, waiting patiently beside a full glass of red wine.

But the chair was empty. Just as it had remained for the last 30 years. And no one would be coming to claim it.

For a moment, he considered dashing his drink against the prestine fucking floor and diving out the nearest window to escape this facade they were putting on, as if everything were normal. As if there was anything worth celebrating.

The only thing that subdued the impulse was the sight of Mor's trembling lip as she, too, slanted her gaze to the head of the table. And when that tremble split into a soft keening sound, it was Cassian's heart that shattered on the floor, not his drink.

"Sorry," Mor sniffed, darting her eyes to the faelight overhead as she dabbed at tears and smeared khol with the tips of her fingers. "I know we said no crying—"

"We never said that," Cassian said, sliding back into his seat.

Azriel cast an assessing eye over the admittedly generous pour Cassian was bracing in his fist, but Az reserved his commentary.

"I told myself no crying," Mor acquiesced with another sniff. "I thought 30 years would be enough time for it to not feel so… so…"

Raw, Cassian thought. Mor shrugged without concluding the thought and if anyone else mentally filled in the rest, they didn't volunteer it.

At least until they fell back into silence, and Azriel glanced towards the head of the table and rasped, "Empty."

Empty. Like Rhysand's seat, and his throne, and his bedroom.

Like the training ring in the mornings, when there was no buffer between Azriel's bouts of silence and the static in Cassian's head.

Like the bi-monthly meetings with the people of Velaris, where he watched Amren and Mor act as steward to their people's hardships and concerns, which grew more pressing each year.

Like the market squares in the city center, which were once flush with traders and merchants who were now blocked from entering or exiting the city, stranding them all in this crowded, isolated place.

Or like every aching moment over the last 30 years where Cassian glanced over his shoulder after making some smart comment, expecting to see the smug, if not exasperated, smile of his friend. His brother.

And finding nothing. A ghost of a memory, at most.

Yeah, empty was a good word for it.

It was the longest night of the year.

Not that Rhys would know. He spent it inside, between Amarantha's legs. Hardly given a moment to consider the time of year, or how his friends might be celebrating without him.

Amarantha told him, of course. She wanted him to know what she was taking away from him, even as he pretended that he didn't care. What interest did a Dark Lord have in petty little festivities?

Rhys didn't usually invite thoughts of his friends into Amarantha's bedroom—for his own sake, he tried to keep those parts of his life firmly compartmentalized.

But he did take a moment to send a plea to the stars he couldn't see: that his friends were okay, that they could forgive him, that they were happy.

And if the stars could offer leniency to a male who hadn't gazed upon them in years, if they had the capacity to perceive his actions with pity instead of scorn, then he saved a risidual wish for himself:

That this eternal Hell would end before he found a way to end it himself.

It was the longest night of year.

Unbeknownst to all of them, across Prythian, in the Mortal Realm, a human girl was born.

As if the stars had listened.

#if the formatting is fucked I’m sorry 😭#I’m doing all of this from my phone #shout out to Mr. LB for letting my hotspot his mobile data #feysandweek2024 #feysand #feysand fanfic #feysand fic #feysand fanfiction #Feyre x Rhysand #Rhysand x Feyre #Feyre x Rhys #Rhys x Feyre #The Longest Night

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otrtbs · 5 months ago

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BARTYLUS BASEBALL THING

(inspired by this which haunts my thoughts 24/7)

Word Count: 5.2k

Part: 1/?

Summary: every summer begets the baseball tournament of the year. barty drags regulus to the opening game, kickstarting a series of unintended events.

Barty’s whole body hums, the way it always does when he’s around Regulus. Like the old TV his father has that crackles to life in static whirs, or the green boxes in the neighborhood that Barty would sit on until the sun went down. Constant electricity.

“I mean, they’ve been doing this for years now and I have been explicitly forbidden from going,” Regulus returns. Still, he doesn’t seem affected one way or the other. “Mother wouldn’t like it.”

“Oh, mother wouldn’t like it?” Barty snorts, mockingly. “So what? It’ll give us something to do. And it’ll give us an opportunity to see each other since your parents plan on keeping you locked up in the house all summer,” he counters, and Regulus knocks a sharp shoulder into his arm. “It’s good to stick together. Mother doesn’t have to know.”

They’re walking side by side on the pavement. Slow, shuffling feet. Hands in their pockets. It’s the last day of class for the school year. Without school, there’s no way for Barty to see Regulus. Barty went all of last summer without seeing Regulus and it was boring and brutal.

Regulus takes a hand out of his pocket and pushes the hair out of his face. The sun is bright, and it causes him to squint. “Sirius still playing?”

Barty nods. “Yeah. He’s still on the James Potter all-star team. I heard Potter even talked Frank Longbottom out of retirement for one last summer.”

“He’s only two years older than us,” Regulus scoffs.

“Still, he didn’t play last summer.”

Regulus nods slowly.

They walk down the pavement silently, dragging footsteps, trying to delay the inevitable.

“It is good to stick together.” Regulus looks at Barty and traces the bruise on his cheek with his finger lightly. Barty is proud of the way he doesn’t flinch, even if the bruise is still tender and aching. He’s not so proud of the way he leans into the touch, even if it hurts.

This entire time, Barty was worried about leaving Regulus alone for a summer with no one but his parents for company. Now he thinks Regulus was equally worried for him, for the same reasons.

“But, I don’t like baseball,” Regulus muses, pulling his finger away.

“No, but you like me,” Barty grins wickedly. “Besides, we’ll just make fun of the whole thing, and I’ll steal my dad’s liquor and we’ll make it fun.”

Regulus pretends to think about it, but it doesn’t matter. Barty knows him. He knows Regulus is going to give in.

The summer baseball tournament is a local legend among the neighborhood kids, and the kids from surrounding neighborhoods too. The first baseball game began five years ago after they knocked down an old rickety building and reduced it to rubble. It didn’t take long for the land to reclaim the area and grow into tall stalks of grassy growth. That’s when, at age 12, Frank Longbottom got the bright idea to turn it into a makeshift baseball field.

The first year, Frank could barely get enough people together to make two teams, and it was so hot in the daylight that they never finished a full game before the kids scattered back into their air-conditioned homes. By year two, Frank had taken the entire school year to recruit people from surrounding neighborhoods and moved the games to the evening to beat the blazing heat.

This would be the fifth consecutive year that the tournament would run. Some kids still used the lot to play baseball in the winter or the spring, but this? This was official. After five years, the summer games became a thing of wonder for all of the young people in town. Anyone aged 12-17 could be on a team, you had to have nine to a team to enter, and each team wishing to compete in the tournament would have to have an official group name, a poster, and a roster. You had to submit and finalize your team two months before the school year ended.

That’s when the fun began. Students would make fliers and posters advertising their teams. Slips of copy paper folded up into tiny squares and passed down the aisles of desks to avoid the sharp eyes of teachers and administrators. The official list is always posted on the first Saturday of May. One expertly crayola, stickered, and markered sheet listing the teams, players, and field positions was nailed to the hollow oak tree stump in the woods by the creek. All the children knew where it was, and all of the adults would never stumble across it. Once the list was posted, the betting could begin.

Mundungus Fletcher and his group of friends ran the baseball betting ring. They would sit out by the old tree stump every Saturday with their journals taking meticulous notes of everyone placing bets and what they brought in. Nothing was off limits, Mundungus Fletcher accepted everything from stickers to lighters. Packs of bubble gum, nail polish, the two or three cigarettes you could manage to steal from your father, anything. Of course, not everything was of equal value. A lighter was worth two full-size candy bars (and it couldn’t be one of the bad ones like Almond Joy or 3 Musketeers they had to Reece's or Twix) and two small stickers. A nail polish was worth a rubber band ball and a blow pop. Mundungus Fletcher and his team took their jobs seriously, monitoring the conversion rates and doling out prizes. Every Saturday the children of the neighborhood would scramble, bringing in whatever they thought would be best for the pot. A few stray dollar bills, their coins, candy, lip gloss, sunglasses, bouncy balls, yo-yos, marbles, stamps, pokemon cards, queued-up mp3 players, necklaces, baseball caps, and even beloved childhood stuffed animals weren’t safe when it was time for baseball bets.

Mundungus kept all of the bets in one of his mother’s large kitchen mixing bowls, then two of his mother’s large mixing bowls, then in empty shoe boxes as things began to overfill. He said he hid all the betting goods in a secret, secure location, but Barty was pretty sure he was just keeping it all under his bed. Regardless, Mundungus would bring out the spoils every Saturday so that all of the kids in the neighborhood could see their potential spoils, provided they picked the right team. It was a great incentive to get people to partake.

As for the baseball teams, there were eight this year, the most they’d ever had. They would be competing to be number one. The winning team of the summer baseball tournament became town celebrities for the year. They always got first dibs at the carnival that came to town (they could skip the ride lines and take two turns in a row on the Ferris wheel), they got to use the tire swing into the creek whenever they wanted (they never had to wait to use it or take turns), and, because some of the older kids had jobs already, if you were on the winning baseball team you would often get free movie tickets and popcorn, or free ice cream if one of the other kids was working. There was an unspoken rule, a reverence, that the winning team had with the other kids in town, they were Gods among mortals, they would want for nothing, ask for anything, and receive it. The winning team also gets crowned with Coca-Cola canned bottle crowns that Barty thinks look stupid, but everyone else seems way too into them.

This all happens without the supervision of any adults. It was the most sacred vow that everyone tried not to break. No adults allowed. Adults always had the propensity to ruin things. They would think too hard about things, create problems that didn’t exist, and they would shut the baseball tournament down. This year, like last year, the games don’t start until one in the morning, while almost every adult is asleep soundly in their beds, getting ready for work the next morning. Of course, more than a few adults know about this tournament, and most don’t care. Regulus’ mother, like Barty’s father, is allergic to fun, so they’re both banned from going. Some kids have meltdowns over being banned from the games. Two years ago, a game couldn’t be played because two players were grounded and the team had to forfeit.

The stakes and the pressure were always high.

The stakes were high for Barty this year too, even if he wasn’t playing. He looks at Regulus as they come to the end of the street, shuffling feet. Regulus' house looms behind him, and Barty can see Walburga watching from the window on the second floor, peering purse-lipped through the curtains.

Barty’s hands stay in his pockets. “I guess I’ll see you then.”

Regulus nods. His face doesn’t waver but his eyes sparkle with secrecy. “Yeah, later.”

—

Throwing rocks at people’s windows is the worst.

Barty isn’t enthused.

First, he had to collect a bunch of rocks to stuff his pockets with on the way over, second, it was dark and there weren’t any street lights on Regulus’ street so everything looked exactly the same, and third, he was rapidly running out of rocks.

He skims them lightly at first. Tap. Tap. Tap.

They bounce off the glass of Regulus’ window in soft thuds.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Jesus Christ, how long did it take for Regulus to sneak out and come down?

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Barty’s annoyed now. Maybe he wasn’t throwing them hard enough?

He throws the next few with more force.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

He keeps throwing them until he’s out of rocks.

Now what?

He stands on the side of Regulus’ house, trying to squint up into the dark window. He’s not sure if Regulus would turn a light on in the house and risk it, but it looks like nothing is going on in there. Regulus had promised him that he wasn’t a deep sleeper.

Outside the crickets chirp in song and the blades of grass tickle Barty’s ankles as the night breeze causes them to sway.

Fuck it.

Barty picks up a much larger rock that’s at his feet, and forgetting himself for a moment, he throws it with all the strength of the last throw and then some. The glass breaks and shatters with a delicious noise, but Barty can't admire it, because he’s already turning on his heel and running.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Past the first house and then the second and then–

Oh.

His feet all but screech to a halt on the pavement as he looks up at Regulus’ house. Regulus’ real house. This time he’s sure of it.

It’s not his fault everything looks the same in the dark.

Barty shrugs, trying to calm his racing heart and catch his breath as he leans down to pick up some smaller rocks from the ground.

As quietly as he can, he stalks over to the side of the house Regulus’ bedroom window is on, and starts the process over.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

He uses a much lighter touch.

Thankfully, Regulus comes out after nine stones, no lights ever turned on inside the Black family residence.

“I’m surprised you don’t play,” Barty says as they walk side-by-side to the baseball field.

“Why’s that?” Regulus looks at him like he’s sprouted another head.

Barty shrugs, looking up at the waxing moon. “Your whole family does. Sirius and Andromeda are on a team. And Narcissa’s a pitcher. Bellatrix is on Tom’s team. Also a pitcher. You mean to tell me you haven’t thought about it?”

“Narcissa plays?” Regulus furrows his brows. “I didn’t know that.”

There was a lot about summer baseball that Regulus didn’t know. Barty takes it upon himself to explain on the walk over.

“There are really only three teams to beat in this tournament. Tom’s team, they’re the Death Eaters, that’s their team name. Nobody likes them and everyone is afraid of them because they play dirty. Last year, Bellatrix beamed Remus in the nose so hard that she broke it. Tom ordered it. Then you’ve got the Serpents, they’re my favorites. That’s the one Narcissa plays on. They haven’t won a tournament ever, but this is their year. Trust me. And then there’s,” Barty rolls his eyes for dramatic effect. “The Lions or whatever the fuck.”

“Horrible team name,” Regulus’ mouth twists up into a smile.

“Truly,” Barty nods. “James Potter is the captain, right-hand man is your brother, and they of course have recruited the legendary Frank Longbottom to come back and steal the baseball title from Tom’s Death Eaters. It was a huge upset when Tom’s team won two years ago, so much so that Frank quit the following year, and Tom won again, and now,” Barty shrugs. “I guess he’s back.”

“So the Lions are like the founding team?” Regulus asks, and Barty nods. He’s surprised Regulus doesn’t know this from his brother.

“Yeah, the original team. Doesn’t mean they’re gonna win though, even with Frank. Tom might actually kill somebody before he lets that happen.”

“But the Lions, they’re the favorites?”

Barty fake gags. “Depends on who you ask. Not my favorites.”

“Mine neither,” Regulus says decisively.

Barty wonders if he’s thinking about all of the lion posters and memorabilia that Sirius used to keep in his bedroom. Regulus would always complain about the bright red and gold team colors and the obnoxious designs, but he doesn’t complain about anything anymore now that Sirius’ room is empty.

Barty looked out for him then. When Sirius packed up everything and ran away to James’ house. It was odd, Regulus seemed to be the only one who knew what it was then. Walburga and Orion seemed to be in denial. Sirius would come home, it was an extended sleepover– which they were never allowed to have, Sirius would realize how good he had it and he’d come back. Only Regulus seemed to understand that they’d never live under the same roof again.

Barty was there. He was there while Regulus ranted and raved and paced and shook his fists at the sky. He was there when Regulus crumpled up like a sheet of paper and collapsed in on himself, shoulders shaking in silent cries. He was there when Sirius spent every second trying to convince Regulus to come to James’ house with him, begged Regulus to talk to him, tried to pass him letters in the street that Regulus would let fall to the pavement. And he was there when Regulus picked himself up and pretended as if the entire affair was beneath him.

They were there for each other. Alway had been. Barty would never leave like Sirius did. He wouldn’t dream of it. He’d stick around as long as Regulus would let him, as pathetic as that sounded. He’d like to think that Regulus would stick around too. Regulus with his dark eyes and all-too-serious look of someone always deep in thought. Sharp, gray eyes that narrowed in displeasure at everything. It took a lot of effort to get Regulus to smile, even more effort to make him laugh. Barty had never done something so rewarding. The surge he felt in his chest whenever Regulus would grin or laugh at something Barty had said was addicting. It made him lightheaded and delirious.

“Look what I brought,” Barty grins, pulling out the flask from his back pocket. The silver can glints in the moonlight.

Regulus’ hand reaches to grab at the flask as they walk in time. Barty likes the way their feet sound on the pavement when they’re in step. He hates that he’s been having thoughts like these more and more frequently. He can’t fucking help himself.

Regulus takes a swig and does his best not to shudder as the warm liquor lights a fire down his throat. Barty finds it slightly endearing as he raises his eyebrows at Regulus, waiting for him to cough and sputter. It never comes.

Barty watches as Regulus licks his lips and hands the flask back to Barty, cheeks pink. Barty is overcome with the desire to kiss him, to taste the honeyed bourbon still on his lips and feel the lightning bolts race through his veins, but he contains himself. Another annoying and incessant thought.

In an attempt to recover, he swings hard at Regulus’ shoulder, harder than he should, as he tuts, “Don’t drink it all, save some for the game.”

Regulus turns to him once more, face indignant as he rubs his arm where Barty has just punched. “Fuck you, I barely even drank any.”

“It looked like a big swallow to me.”

Now it was Regulus’ turn to punch Barty, but there was no heat behind it. “Fucking hell, I told you to stop swinging on me like that. I’ll break your nose next time, I swear to God.”

Barty grins. “Is that a promise?”

“Freak,” Regulus shakes his head, but he’s back to being amused.

“You love it.”

They make it to the field early, but there are already people streaming in with bright battery-operated lights for the game, talking excitedly to themselves. A team is warming up the field, practicing their swings and stretching, Barty listens to the clatter of the bleachers that someone had brought to the lot two years ago. He’s not sure how they did it.

He watches Regulus watch the scene in wonder.

“They have concession stands?” He asks, looking at the girl and boy selling things on the pavement in front of the lot. They both sit at a little plastic table with plastic chairs, their sign advertises what they're selling, crackerjack, peanuts, sodas, trail mix, lemonade.

“Uh, I guess,” Barty shrugs. “That’s new. Seems a bit much.”

Still, he buys two bags of boiled peanuts and two cokes for them anyway.

Mundungus Fletcher and his friends are there, calling out to everyone to join in the bets. Tonight is the last night to enter.

Regulus stops by and drops off a few things, about ten dollars, 4 packs of gum, sunglasses with flames up the side that used to belong to Sirius, and 5 spinning tops.

“Regulus Black,” Mundungus fills out his name in the notebook in inky black pen, carefully recording the list of everything he’s brought. “Let me guess, you’re betting it all on the Lions?”

His voice is loud and booming, with the confidence of a sports announcer but the underlying hint of deception like a used car salesman.

“No,” Regulus scowls at him.

“Oh, I just assumed because of your brother that–”

“I want to bet it all on the Serpents. I hear their pitcher is really good.”

Barty smiles as Mundungus nods. “And you Crouch? Any last-minute bets?”

Barty shakes his head. “I’ve already got over $50 in the game. I have to draw the line somewhere.”

Regulus signs on the dotted line confirming his entry and they make their way to the bleachers. Even though it’s dark out, it’s still uncomfortably warm outside. Some kids have brought battery-operated handheld fans with styrofoam propellers to keep them cool. Others have ice packs.

Barty figures that he can just sit behind someone with a fan and benefit from the airflow. The bleachers begin to fill up as the game draws closer. Kids bring signs elaborately decorated with all of their best art supplies. Glitter glue, puff paint, rhinestones, and neon markers. Some have even painted their faces.

Barty and Regulus spot Remus Lupin at the same time. He’s walking towards a group of kids scrambling to set up a radio and microphone at the announcer's table.

“One. Two. One. Two,” Remus says into the microphone and it resounds throughout the lot, as a hush falls in the bleachers.

“He’s not playing?” Regulus leans in to ask Barty, his shoulder brushing against him.

Barty shakes his head. “Not since the Bellatrix incident, no. He’s no good anymore. Flinches when the ball comes towards him, forgets to swing the bat.”

“Remus Lupin?” Regulus’ eyebrows shoot up like he doesn’t believe it. But he doesn’t have to believe it, he can see Remus take his place at the announcer's table.

Remus runs the scoreboard, calls the players up, and explains the plays for the kids who don’t really know what’s going on. Mary MacDonald helps him with the music and the score when she’s not playing, otherwise, Rita Skeeter helps out, much to the annoyance of everyone.

“Oh, what the fuck,” Regulus snorts. “What’s next, they bring out someone to sing the national anthem?”

“Don’t give them any ideas.”

The mood shifts in the stadium as they get ready to begin. Remus clears his throat in the microphone and it emits an ear-splitting feedback. Still, some kids were trickling in, sitting in the grass now that the bleachers were full.

On the other side of the field, sat the other teams that weren’t playing that night, just behind the makeshift dugouts.

“They like to sit and scope out the competition. They keep to themselves,” Barty explains when Regulus asks. “Can’t mingle with the common folk.”

Regulus scoffs, but Barty doesn’t miss the way his eyes search for Sirius across the field. When Regulus finds him, Sirius sits up straighter, already looking back. He goes to raise a hand to wave at him but Regulus turns his head away sharply, making a show of it.

Barty watches as Sirius moves to stand up like he’s going to run over to them and talk to Regulus, but a blonde girl, Marlene McKinnon, grabs his arm and pulls him down as the first players run out onto the field.

Remus introduces the two teams, the Death Eaters versus the Badgers. All around them, kids shake their yellow signs exuberantly, while some sport all black signs with skulls on them.

The Badgers are going to get destroyed. Anyone with half a brain would know it the minute they heard the match-up. While you had to be 12-17 to play, most of the kids on the Badgers’ team were closer to 12, whereas the Death Eaters were all 17. Barty was actually certain that a few of the kids were 18 or 19 and only getting by because they’d been held back a year or two in school.

He starts listening in to what Remus is saying as he passes Regulus his bag of boiled peanuts.

“With starting pitcher Bellatrix Black, and your team captain, Tom Riddle.”

The stands go wild, everyone stomping their feet on the metal bleachers causing a thunderous metal rumble and Regulus’ eyes widen at the commotion.

“Let’s play ball,” Remus called, rather monotone and complacent about the ordeal.

Regulus snorts. “This is beneath him.”

Barty nods in agreement.

Since there were eight teams in the tournament, there would be seven rounds total. Each round was a best-of-three battle to move on, for a maximum of 21 games, 21 nights, of baseball madness. They were guaranteed at least 14. Two full weeks of baseball. The event of the summer.

They watch as Bellatrix takes the pitcher's mound, licking up little clouds of dirt with her feet. He knocks his knee against Regulus’ at his cousin taking in both the crowd’s cheers and boos. Barty pours some of the bourbon into his Coke can and does the same for Regulus.

Bellatrix’s wild hair was long and curly, falling down her back. It was only kept out of her face by a black baseball cap, and she smiles sharply at the stands.

A soft tune plays as a short kid with spiky brown hair walks up to home plate, giving his bat a few test swings in preparation.

“I heard she puts some kind of resin or wax on her baseball cap to make the ball sticky,” Barty whispers like it’s some kind of secret.

“I believe it,” Regulus says, also leaning in. Barty tries to ignore the lightning bolts. The static frequency once again turned up a notch. “She used to cheat in every game we played growing up.”

They share a look as Bellatrix puts her fingers to the brim of her baseball hat and nods, baseball glove at the ready. The atmosphere has gone quiet like everyone is holding their breaths. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.

The kid at home plate assumes position and Bellatrix winds up. The ball moves so fast that Barty doesn’t have time to register it, and neither does the kid at home plate, as the ball hits the catcher’s mitt with a hard thud.

“Strike one,” Remus’ voice echoes, and the spell is broken.

The crowd roars to life once more.

Barty and Regulus get lost in the atmosphere, the crack of the bat, the whizz of the ball, the cheers of people telling their friends to steal third. They crunch through their boiled peanuts and slowly work their way through their cokes, which get stronger as time passes, due to Barty constantly topping them up with flask bourbon.

At the top of the third, a Badger player manages a triple on Bellatrix, running in two of her teammates, so Bellatrix beams her at the top of the fourth, and lets her walk. It doesn’t matter though, the score is already 6-2. At the bottom of the sixth, Tom scores the first home run of the night, and more than a few of the silly girls from high school chirp and cheer loudly, making heart eyes in his direction.

“I mean,” Regulus leans in to whisper. “I kinda get it.”

Barty screws up his face in disgust. “Fuck no.”

He makes more than a few sarcastic remarks and snarky comments, all of which make Regulus laugh or smile. Barty is humming with delight, but he desperately tries to curtail it. Regulus is also getting into the game. It’s a gradual interest, but Barty finds that he’s watching Regulus more than the game. He watches as Regulus’ eyes furrow when someone gets an out, watches the slight smile grace his face as Bellatrix throws a particularly nasty screwball, watches Regulus’ vague curiosity at Tom’s simpering smirk. At some point, their knees touch, and they stay that way for the remainder of the night. Regulus, who shies away from any sort of contact, hasn't moved his knee away.

Barty fucking loves baseball.

The game ends at a brutal 11-2 at the top of the ninth inning. Though, to the Badger’s credit, they do not look defeated or deterred. They seem more than pleased with their two runs, all jostling and shaking the girl who made it possible with wide smiles and congratulations.

The bourbon has satiated Barty and left his head perfectly hazy. He offers a lazy smile to Regulus. “Walk you home?”

It’s late, and he’s feeling tired, he’s sure Regulus feels the same.

Regulus nods, finishing off the last of the coke, and subsequently the last of the bourbon.

“Can’t let you sleep through morning violin lessons, or French tutoring, or whatever the fuck your weird-ass family has you do.”

“Piano.” Regulus rolls his eyes as he corrects Barty. His cheeks are tinged slightly pink and his eyes are a little glassy.

Barty bites his lip to keep from smiling. What a lightweight.

They’re almost out of the field, about to slip down the quiet streets, when Regulus is pulled back by a hand on his shoulder.

Barty spins around to see Sirius with a group of his teammates.

“You came?” Is the first thing out of Sirius’ mouth.

“Not for you, for Barty,” Regulus shoots off just as quickly.

Sirius’ teammates stare at the ground nervously. He makes note of them. The blonde girl from before, Marlene, and he’d know James Potter anywhere. He’s never seen James without Sirius. And the redhead, Lily.

“Well, we play in four nights if you want to watch,” James offers a slight smile. “I’m James, by the way.”

Regulus regards him coldly. “I know who you are.”

“I just wanted to, uh, say hi.” Sirius’ voice is stilted, odd. Almost pained. Barty makes it his duty to glare daggers at him.

“Well, don’t do it again,” Regulus says smoothly, and Barty can tell he doesn’t mean it.

So can Sirius, as he smiles.

“You know we could always use an extra player on our team.”

“In your fucking dreams, Sirius.”

“Come on, we want to get uniforms made,” Sirius offers again, as if this fact would entice Regulus.

He doesn’t know Regulus like Barty knows him. Regulus would hate wearing matching baseball uniforms. He would detest it. He’d rather die.

Marlene rolls her eyes. “James just wants to prance about in those tight little pants.”

“Yeah,” James shoots back quickly. “And all the girls want to see me prance about in those tight little pants, and who am I to deny the people what they desperately want?”

Lily scoffs as Regulus turns to leave, dragging Barty with him.

“Wait,” Sirius calls. “Are you coming back tomorrow?”

“Maybe. It’s none of your business,” Regulus snaps as they walk out of earshot.

They’re striding down the pavement, no shuffling feet and no delay of time, as Regulus huffs.

“Wait,” Barty can’t help himself from asking. “We are going back tomorrow, right?”

Apart from the Sirius interlude, he had a good time with Regulus. And he figures if Sirius hadn’t ambushed them, then he and Regulus would be taking their sweet time walking home. Time that Barty craved more than anything.

“Yeah,” Regulus nods shortly. “I shouldn’t have talked to him. I should’ve just ignored him.”

“Well, he did make it kind of difficult to do that,” Barty reasons as Regulus fumes.

“Fuck, and then stupid fucking James Potter trying to be so–”

“Annoying,” Barty says at the time Regulus says charming.

He tries to ignore the funny thing his heart does in his chest as they both fall into stunned silence.

“Well,” Barty breathes out. “Not what I was going to say.”

“No, I just mean– you heard him,” Regulus says quickly, taking on a crude imitation of James’ voice. “I’m James. I wear tight pants and steal people’s brothers from them for fun.”

Barty snorts. “Yeah, what a dick.”

Regulus nods and repeats after him. “A dick.”

But it doesn’t sound like Regulus really means it. No one can be both charming and a dick. It doesn’t work like that.

Barty walks Regulus all the way to his house, doing his best to skirt the home with the broken window.

Regulus smiles at him softly. “It was fun.”

He admits it like a secret, like it reluctantly has to be true.

Barty nods in agreement, fighting off the urge to punch Regulus again. “Same time tomorrow, baseball boy?”

Regulus nods, his hand brushing against Barty’s slightly before he turns to head inside through the propped-open window on the bottom floor.

Barty stands on the street corner, just him and chirping crickets as he waits for Regulus to flick his bedroom lights on and off to show he’s made it. Once he does, Barty heads towards his house, trying to ignore the parts of his hand that Regulus has touched crackling to life.

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jotaroslooseeyebrowhair · 2 years ago

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Dp x dc prompt

In a fight, skulker accidentally throws Danny through a natural portal, and now Danny is stuck at Pluto, what the hell you bony bastard?! So now he has to fly all the way back to earth and hope the satellites don’t pick him up, but it’s actually Hal Jordan who sees him, and when later telling the justice league about a glowing boy in space who doesn’t need to breath and definitely wasn’t a lantern, zatanna cuts him off to mention the urgent need of addressing the insane amounts of dead following what feels like an insanely powerful god of death that definitely wasn’t in this dimension the day before. Bats is obviously the first one to notice they’re talking about the same person.

Back with Danny, he can’t seem to find his way around the states with how tired that flight made him, so he crashed down onto a farm on accident, while two sweet parents see this glowing boy fall from the sky and decided yeah. Might as well have another.

Clark, meanwhile, has no clue that the god of death sending the league into chaos is the same kid his parents have been wanting him to meet back at the farm.

#Clark’s got a new brother who just so happens to be ruler of all dead dying and unborn <3 #when the JL follows the death in the air they find ma and pa Kent teaching Danny how to make good sweet tea #they’re all panicked and telling them that this boy could kill everyone on earth with the snap of his fingers and ma and pa are like #but he’s just a little guy #and he liked making sweet tea for us even though he oversweetens it and it’s too watered down #he wouldn’t hurt a fly #Jon LOVES his new uncle #idk y’all go ham #danny phantom #dp x dc #dp x dc prompt #ma and pa kent #clark kent #superman #hal jordon #green lantern #sorry for the weird formatting I’m on mobile

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gagfadget · 1 year ago

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If you’re going into the show for the first time you have got to understand that Louis is black and lives in the Jim Crow south and if you don’t know what that is, please do research. I don’t get how white people (especially white Americans) don’t get this and become confused as to why Louis is depressed and posturing as a tough guy all the time. Like I JUST went through this with The Brit.

Think about the people he has around him. Think about the COLOR of the people he’s shmoozing with. Why do you think he has to do that? Does he have anyone that he has to financially support? Does his family treat him fairly? Does he have anything going on with his sexuality that he has to hide? Is he having just a regular bad or is he living in an era where he can LITERALLY BE MURDERED IF HE LOOKS AT SOMEONE WRONG? Look at his skin. Look at his life. Use your brains.

#sorry I’m just venting but omg #also this person calling book Louis just a ‘pseudo aristocrat’ but calling show Louis a pimp like.#like why do you think book Louis was a ‘psuedo aristocrat’#where do you think book Louis got his money from? why do you think he was so rich?#answer all these questions in two paragraphs each in times new Roman in MLA format

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charmac · 6 months ago

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just wanna say I agree wholeheartedly with your tags on that fandom post. I have been following sunny on here since 2015 and there is a constant cycle of sensitive, and frankly delusional people, who claim the show, make crazy headcanons and justifications to make it tolerable and acceptable to them before they eventually shun and condemn the show altogether. it was very bad in 2018 and made me withdraw from the fandom lmao. I remember being most annoyed with the endless woobifying of charlie and the absolute condemnation of dee above everyone else. like, they're all bad. that's the point of the show. I just don't understand how they could stomach it in the first place

You are a warrior, dude.

The reason it took me so long to join Sunnyblr in the first place was the fact that ~early 2020 I was rarely seeing anything here that was based in canon, mostly weird headcanons that made no sense to me, and Reddit genuinely seemed like a more based place to exist for this show.

I literally needed a friend to give me specific accounts to follow because the tag was (and, sorry, lowkey still is) a nightmare. (Though to be fair I’ve been in fandoms on Tumblr for over a decade and literally never liked scrolling tags.)

I got into Sunny and I fell in love with Sunny because of canon. Because it’s so fucking weird and fucked up but it’s FUNNY, and there’s genuinely nothing like it. The characters are horrible stupid terrible people but they’re actually deeply complex and rich to study, so much so that you feel extremely compelled in a multitude of ways to dedicate yourself to some part of them, or all parts of them. But.. if you strip them of those core identities, of what the characters stand for, that compulsion is gone, void, irrelevant.

Because it’s the extremely raw, almost purely acting on basic instinct, unfiltered humanity, worst parts of the self, inability to recognise or follow societal norms aspects of these characters that are relatable. It’s relatable in a way that *should* make you uncomfortable, feel unsettled, and maybe a little relieved that these parts of people can be acknowledged... That’s a unique and interesting feeling, something people engage with media like this to explore and expand upon, and it’s often something that genuinely helps or supports people who wrestle with a lot of the heavy concepts Sunny satirises (and sometimes just, shoves at you head on).

When people start to disregard all of this, for whatever reason they do, that’s when you end up with the Fandom using Sunny Characters as an “ability to project” or (much worse) a “near blank canvas to play with” (because, yeah, if you strip them of their literal reason for being created and continued existence, ofc you lose their whole identity!?)

The problem seems to be that either 1) they just don’t understand the show well enough to get that they’re disregarding this aspect of the plots and characters, and so they genuinely don’t recognise that the fandom for Sunny exists because of these terrible compulsions and insane trauma exploration and that’s why we enjoy discussing and playing with these characters or 2) they do understand this but they can’t engage with it without some kind of personal moral conundrum or extreme discomfort, so they have to sanitise or completely alter the characters to enjoy them.

The thing is, if you fall into category 2, you just don’t belong in the depths of it all, and it’s an unfortunate truth you have to face. If you cannot enjoy canon, if the actual show makes you extremely uncomfortable and you’re only here for a gay ship or to project your gender and sexuality onto one character, you need to go stan something else. I say that with the greatest intentions for you. As Anon here has stated, it’s an insane cycle in this fandom over and over, you’re just going to upset yourself and resent the show and the people here, because we like the canon and the fuckery because that’s what the show is for. That is the literal point of the show at the end of the day.

Now if you’re in category 1, I heavily encourage you to actually *talk to people about the show and the characters*, read analysis, watch the episodes with different frames of reference and in alternate states of mind. Do your own analysis or character work, try and just write out the plot of your favourite episode and put to words *why* you like it. Hell, try and write a fanfic or a spec script from the mind of one of the characters, even if you think you can’t write.

Honestly, honestly, honestly, if you genuinely like this show at face value but you’re only engaging with fanon because you feel like you ‘shouldn’t’ openly enjoy the canon because it’s seen as ‘bad,’ the best thing you can do is have a conversation with someone, or multiple people, who get the show.

That being said, I do wanna open this shell Discord I’ve made to people. For people who *enjoy* the canon, who want to discuss actual Sunny (and also have fun with it, of course!) you’re welcome to join.

A lot of you get it. I’ve made some amazing friends in this fandom and regularly have extremely stimulating and insanely throught provoking convos with the people I’ve met here. I love it, it drives my insane passion for this show and I am eternally grateful to have found people who love this show for what it is. I hope, if you’re struggling to figure out why you like this show or struggling to accept that you like media like Sunny, you reach out or join a conversation and learn to love it too. And if you don’t, if you genuinely hate the canon of this show and only like the version of Macdennis you saw in a dozen different Tiktok edits to Taylor Swift songs, I really hope you move on for your own sake.

#iasip #main tag fuck it #ask #and i’ll say in the tags here #macdennis would be ‘proship’ in literally any other fandom #accept it and make peace with it okay?#all of their canon moments are non con or dubcon at best #and that’s FUCKING FINE THATS WHY ITS APPEALING.#this is not the fluffy gay ship you want #and you’re just gonna get hurt when canon continues to canon #sorry for formatting i’m at the office so i had to notes app this #also im at the office so bare with me if you’re joining the discord rn lol #but i wanted to respond to this #and also i have nothing to do at work rn lol

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hotmessmaxpress · 11 months ago

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rosquez: black, white, and red string of fate

cnn // twinnedpeaks, journal excerpt, july first x // the cut that always bleeds by conan gray // castles crumbling by taylor swift // mar-seille, via wnq-writers x // tory adkisson, anecdote of the pig // jean-paul sartre, no exit: and three other plays // yves olade, bloodsport // nbc sports

#marc marquez #valentino rossi #rosquez #motogp tumblr im so sorry #‘I’m not a motogp girlie’ I protest #when all I think about is marc marquez lol #also I hate tumblr and tumblr formatting #it makes it look so BAD #web weaving #motogp web weaving

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compressedrage · 3 months ago

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I know a lot of the characterization of Victim and the headcanons for what his plans could be that’ve popped up are mostly based around him knowing about Chosen and Dark and such, and I fully subscribe to that! But I just keeping about how interesting it would be if Victim didn’t know.

He might have gone after Chosen because he knew he’d fought a cursor- maybe he didn’t even know that that cursor was Alan!

Victim might know a lot less than we think, and if that’s the case, I’m on the edge of my seat to see what exactly he knows, and how he will react to the rest

#If this is formatted weird I’m sorry; I’m on mobile rn and it SUCKS #also I’m tired so it might not be as polished as it could be #But like #what if victim isn’t as all knowing as I sometimes see him portrayed as #(I’m guilty of this myself)#I’m so intrigued for the rest of the series omg #animator vs animation #alan becker #rage's ramblings about sticks

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asteria-argo · 4 months ago

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🌹 - hope you are having a good day

Thank you! I am for the most part. Here’s a snippet of the next chapter for tatbp, in which all that emotional repression Jamie’s been doing comes back to bite him in the ass as promised

It reminds him distantly of what locker rooms used to feel like. Richmond had been a bit like this, at least it had been beginning to be that night at the bonfire. He imagined it was a lot like this now, after so many years under Teds tutelage with his power of friendship philosophy. It certainly seemed like it was after watching them all on Saturday. It was nice. Jamie reckons he’d like it there, at Richmond, if he’d stayed.

The thought comes abruptly, and promptly ruins his good mood. Ever since the show, the lingering thought of what if was stuck in his mind like a fly in a trap, souring every fucking thing he did. He thought he was fucking happy, but now the thoughts wouldn’t leave him alone. Would he really be happy with his life if he knew he had another option? If he could’ve had everything? He’d never felt like that before. Jamie regretted a lot of things, but he’d never regretted leaving. Until now. Suddenly it was all he could fucking think about. Maybe he’d have played for England by now if he’d stayed. Maybe he’d have won for England if he’d stayed. He used to dream about that shit. It was an unwelcome reminder that he still dreamt about that shit.

#I hope you all didn’t think he was safe because he’s not #asteria answers asks #wip stuff #jamie tartt #ted lasso #to all the better places #teacher jamie au #boromirsdoom #also sorry if the formatting is weird I’m on mobile cause my laptop died lmao

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datesinredink · 6 months ago

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I won’t lie, I completely forgot that I actually planned on posting writing on this blog- aghhh I’m one of the most inconsistent people alive, god help this outcast please. Here’s some stuff I wrote while listening to the ruikasa fixer cover. Hopefully since school’s over for the summer I’ll remember to write more! Might do Tsukasa later.

General yandere Rui headcanons

Yandere type: Monopoly main type with stalker and manipulative subtypes

I think you’d know Rui either as one of his middle school friends or as a WxS fan

If you were friends in middle school, I think he’d be less intense in his obsession. You’ve already stuck with him for this long, so he has less doubts of whether or not you’ll leave him.

On the other hand, if you meet him through his shows with wxs, he’s much more paranoid about you abandoning him, especially if you also end up getting close with the other members.

He doesn’t realize his feelings for you at first, though his friends probably notice. It’s likely one of them teasing him about you that makes him finally piece things together.

Anyway, I think he would’ve stalked you throughout school and occasionally outside of that even before he realized he loved you, but now that he knows, he’s upping the ante

Any room with good hiding spots have cameras in them, he’s hacking your devices, giving you little robotic gifts that, while cute and fun, also have listening bugs.

Speaking of gifts, you now have a horde of them. Anything from little figurines that throw confetti, to your own robo-you if you’re shy like Nene.

He brings you along to his rehearsals. He does show off a bit, but it’s in line enough with his usual dramatics that it’s only obvious if you’re looking for it.

Unfortunately, Rui tends to be Extremely Jealous. He is NOT a fan of you getting close with the others. I think he’d believe Tsukasa to be the biggest threat, since he can be genuinely charming, followed by Emu, then Nene, since he’s known her for a while and trusts that she won’t hurt him by getting in his way.

I don’t think he would resort to killing other people, it’s just not in his character. I think his method of driving people away from you would be leaning into his reputation as an unhinged freak so that people stop talking to you since he’s pretty much glued to your side whenever he can be. This might result in some injury to others, but usually nothing too bad. He won’t go further than a medium sized cut or a particularly bad bruise.

The main motive behind his obsession is a fear of abandonment. He’s been so alone and isolated from his peers for so long that the first time someone he’s in love with doesn’t think he’s creepy (before the stalking, anyway) he can’t help but latch on to you and never want to let go.

He’s entirely aware that what he’s doing and feeling isn’t normal or sane, but at the same time, he doesn’t really care. Even if you do find out, he’s been called a maniac for almost all of his life, so even if it stings a bit more, what’s one more person? If push comes to shove, he could just stage an incident to get you expelled and then keep you in his basement with him and his inventions.

#yandere pjsekai #pjsekai #rui kamishiro x reader #rui kamishiro #yandere #sorry if the formatting is weird or smth my computer broke and I’m writing using my iPad now #if it looks funky that’s just how it’s gonna look #hopefully I got his characterization right #or. as close as I could with a yandere au ig.#this was all done in one go so I haven’t proofread this #something which will likely become a trend because I die when I look at my own stuff #Strawberry's basket

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cheriekos · 29 days ago

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these are super, super informal and unorganized thoughts but god these panels are haunting me so:

it’s interesting to finally be reading some of the issues that i assume influence general fanon perception of damian because there’s so much emphasis on the actions against tim (and like yeah fair, fucked up let’s not move past that) but also there’s little moments sprinkled throughout that made me go “…this is a child. This is a whole child.”

like idk man! These two pieces of dialogue are very striking to me! “See? I can be useful!” And “Look at me, Mother!”. Maybe it’s just because I work with kids but i read this and very clearly hear a child’s voice! And sometimes i think because a lot of people get caught up in the “formal” way that damian speaks that people forget he’s a kid. A very competent, highly trained kid. But he’s a kid.

Again, i don’t think Damian’s actions can be brushed off just because he’s a kid, and (within the content of the Morrison run), has had some fucked up shit going on. But like - for fanon, I’m just begging folks to strike the balance between talking about Damian being held accountable for his actions and also understanding that in this point in time he’s like maybe nine or ten-years-old. Idk! I’m tired of reading analysis and fan fiction that absolutely crucifies Damian and doesn’t try to find the nuance at all.

#Ramblings #damian wayne #batman comics #batman #batman and son #i don’t wanna give any flowers to Morrison because these are also the issues with the most insane depictions of talia i’ve ever seen #But like. These moments are in here for a reason okay #I don’t have enough brain cells at the moment to talk about how there like. Might be some adultification bias somewhere in here #From the fandom side #Peace and love i am also a Tim Drake stan but why is he allowed to be a hurt child and not Damian #Examine that perhaps #And I’m so dead serious when you read or re-read damian Wayne’s dialogue #When you read him in fics #Do you actually hear a child’s voice. Im so dead serious #I’m just feeling particularly reflective on how we teach and treat children because I’m in the middle of an intense work week w my own kids #And so. These panels are haunting me #Also like if u made this far into the tags please feel free to correct me on Damian’s age in this particular run #Cause I’ve been hopping around from run to run and so i get confused #Anyways please look at all these characters as humans #Im scared of fandom so I’m dropping this and running away bye #The formatting on this post is so inconsistent sorry if it’s not readable

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edge-oftheworld · 2 months ago

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girlies (gn) with dissociative disorders 🤝 girlies (gn) with abandonment fears 🤝 girlies (gn) going through any kind of burnout->>> wfttwtaf

#sorry the formatting is nonexistent but I’m on my appreciation hours again #luke hemmings #wfttwtaf #5 seconds of summer #5sos #it makes me sad in like. a cathartic way #literally how can you listen to it and not be like. I hope nothing else bad happens to this person ever #but also be like. infinite gratitude for this piece of art that might just be evidence that this experience isn’t totally being done alone #but imagine having to actually go through the effort of writing and recording said album to get that lesson and we all get it for $16.99

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hcdragonwrites · 1 year ago

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A Nightmare (a @journey-to-the-au drabble)

Another one! I split this one into two- so that way the people who enjoy fluff and are sensitive to the triggers can pick one or the others. Warning: this is about the Six Eared Macaque and what happens in the Betrothal AU

Trigger warning: Gore, Violence, Cannibalism and Descriptions of the Like. Allusions of SA (nothing happens but if this is a trigger don’t read!)

Did Heaven know of nightmares?

Earth Reaching Willow couldn’t answer that. In all her endless days within the Polestar Palace, among the Orchards of Immortal Peaches, and across the wide clouded bridges and celestial marvels, she had never known anything but tranquility and Peace.

Willow felt the other Monkeys of the troop swirling about her. Mothers bared fangs in fierce smiles while fathers and brothers teetered on grabbing weapons or jumping into the fray. However the being before them, the being that had been living among them, wore a familiar face, spoke in a voice that was warm in tenor.

It was a trusted person, a king of kindness, that had sat before them with grisly gore smeared over his teeth.

This wasn’t Wukong.

The Monkey King slouched, relaxed on the floor of Water- Curtain Cave. The gray stone beneath was dark with the scattered remnants of …

Willow couldn’t. She couldn’t - who had it been? Who had they been ? Willow had spent decades among the troop of Flower Fruit Mountain, years watching her new family grow and flourish. She had welcomed new members, helping mothers tend and care in turn for the babies and teach. She had brought flower petals to scatter upon the bodies of old and fallen friends and family, returning their vessels to the earth and praying for their next reincarnation. Death was not impossible for the Monkeys of the mountain even if age was not a factor now.

Her stomach curled at the scattered red and pink and purple flecks against the gray stone.

Willow had tended and cared for her family. Liu, Rin Rin, Ma, Ba, Beng, Mama Courage, Mama Wisdom, Chestnut- and so many more. She had cared for them because they loved her and she loved them.

Willow cared for them in all the years Wukong had been away. She, wife and friend to king of Flower Fruit Mountain, understood the importance of her position.

This creature that had once been alive was now twitching as it’s body bled out.

Another rending, echoed in the cave. The teeth of this Wukong hooked into the rib cage of the fallen little monkey beneath his foot. The red flesh pulled free of the white bone with a shlap sound. This mimicry of Wukong slurped the flesh and smacked his lips as if in ecstasy.

“Exquisite taste as always.” The voice was so familiar in its sound. Wrong wrong, Willows mind warned, her stomach becoming stone. This isn’t him!

The corpse of the monkey lay near the entrance of the cavern, splayed out in the pose of a running animal having been taken down by a lion. Upon that corpse, casual foot set against its shoulders, was the monarch of the mountain.

Mama Courage was bristled, fangs flashing and eyes full of fury. For all the rage behind him, the creature that wore the skin of their friend, was unperturbed. Instead he dug his claws into the skin and pulled. The sound set her teeth on edge and her stomach to flipping. Something pink and soft was between his claws- and then down his gullet.

The mothers and the distant warriors around the cave watched in horror. Most of the troop was outside, enjoying the everlasting summer of the mountain. Willow wished she had been just a bit faster, just a bit sooner and she could have been among them.

Instead she was stuck inside a living nightmare.

The Wukong turned his head, eyes alighting on one little of the troop adolescents who came too close. Faster than any of them could react, the Wukong had seized the youngster by his tail and dragged him over. The mothers started forward but froze at the pained screams of the little monkey.

“Curious one are you not?” The Wukong grinned, all threat within that smile. He sat the youngster beside him, petting his fur and pulling it close. “Come! Take a bite! This foolish subject shouldn’t have brushed me in his haste to get by. Now he will serve me in the only remaining way he can~”

“Eat! Eat!” With his free paw he gestured to the slaughtered monkey at his feet. The individual had had his throat cut, the blood pooling beneath his dun fur. The great wound on his side had been inflicted while they had been alive, it had happened right before Willows eyes.

Willow didn’t remember what the conversation had been about before. She had been walking out of one of the stone huts, signing to Wisdom beside her. It was the season for apple picking and they were both in a deep conversation about what foods to make with the apples they harvested.

‘Pies?’ Wisdom had puzzled.

‘And jams’ Willow signed back. ‘Tarts and sauces.’

‘You want to make these?’ Wisdom signed as they turned past a curve in the cave.

‘I want to teach others how to cook them’ Willow explained. She had been baking for years now, testing and trying new creations. With so many different types of fruit orchards and with an ever abundance of rotating bloomings and ripenings, Willow couldn’t resist. Apple pies, peach cobblers, plum puddings, candied pears, and strawberry tarts. So many things Willow could make- so many treats she could spoil her family with.

When Earth Reaching Willow had started making her first treats, the smell had begun to attract some of the denizens of the mountain. Little round faces poked through the kitchen windows, eyes wide and noses inhaling. Willow had passed each little one a bit of whatever she had been making- breads full of almonds, ripe watermelons dipped into sugar, orange juice freshly pressed for the porridge she would make- and they had scurried away, excited.

It had only taken three days for the rest of the mountain to be waiting outside her door, eyes eager and arms full of the fruits they wanted made into treats.

‘Teaching will be difficult.’ Courage signed.

‘How so? I like to teach and I think most will have the patience to learn.” Willow countered gently. Then she suddenly had a thought and amended, ‘Maybe not Ba though. I think he will be the one that will possibly try to sabotage me for a prank or steal whatever I make’

Courage laughed her silent laugh. Her eyes twinkled with mirth. ‘If he switches your fruits I will make sure he gets a thorough fruit thrashing. But no- I have no concern of your ability. Only about how much space we may have in the kitchen.’

It was Willows turn to laugh.

The morning had been going so well.

And then.

The two rounded the last curve of the tunnel, coming up to the roaring waterfall that blocked the main entrance to Water Curtain Cave. It’s soft, silver light soothing to see. It was like the mountains voice, forever roaring by them all. Courage paused, grabbing at Willows sleeve.

Willow looked up.

At the great wide flat stone before the waterfall, stood Wukong. A chill crept up Willows spine.

The Wukongs eyes alighted on the two and he smiled broadly, waving.

“Mother! Willow!” He called in friendly tones. “My beautiful wife is just the person I wanted to see !”

Willow felt that chill touch her veins.

He skipped closer eyes dancing brightly. But something was off. There was a shine to his eyes that looked feverish.

Wukong grasped the limp hand of Willows and kissed it. The press of that mouth over her skin felt hungrier, the eyes of his looking upward into her own with … with an expression of love meant for …

For the bedroom.

Willow took her hand from his palm, plastering a small smile onto her face. A wolf was before her. Wearing sheep’s clothing. Willow knew a wolf when she saw one however.

Wukong and her may be husband and wife but he never hinted or tried at more romantic inclinations when they were away from the cloudy courts of Heaven.

As she pulled the hands from his there was another flash, some sort of color burning in his eyes. What was that?

“Hello Wukong.”

“My Love~” His voice was syrupy sweet. “I have missed your company these few nights. Will you indulge me? I have the perfect place picked out! There’s a pond just south of here- and when the moon is out and the water is still, it turns silver and it’s beautiful.”

“It reminds me of your beauty.”

“I would love to,” Willow felt the repulsion rise. She had to fight the urge to pull back. Courtly edicate. She had dissuaded similar trysts and attempts from far more skilled men than this Wukong. But none of them looked like her best friend. “However I’ve promised to bake an apple pie and show your Mother how to make one.”

Courage nodded, signing ‘We must be off, son. The light will soon be behind the mountain and it will be too dark to see.’

Courage grasped her hand, tugging her away.

Wukongs face fell. Another flash in those eyes.

What happened next was all too quick, all too brutal.

Wukong- the wolf in Wukongs skin- moved to catch her hand-

And Willow had retreated, barely escaping his grasping hand.

One moment, Wukong had been trying to grab her attention. Courage had caught her hand, tugging her. Willow had bowed and given her excuses, her apologies. She retreated in relief. And she saw the eyes, finally, change to an ice blue.

The next moment, as one of the many monkeys walked by -was his name Radish or Cloud?- Wukongs eyes flashed.

Wrong-they are blue with red chips within them. Why are they blue ?

It was like the striking of lightning. One minute Wukong had stood, gaze open and full of such a light as to give a dragon nightmares, and the next the world was turned end over end. The monkey had at one moment been brushing past the king and the next he had been pinned to the stone floor. The savage strike had split the side of the little monkey's flank, opening up fur and skin and flesh. Exposing the inner workings of the poor creature in a spray of red so dark as to be black. The Wukong with those painfully bright blue eyes had cleaved the bone of the rib cage as easily as a knife slicing through butter.

The monkey gasped, eyes blinking in confusion. The pain hadn’t registered yet. Only shock. Wukong tugged a bit of pink intestine out of the still writhing monkey and ripped it to shreds.

Blood.

Screaming.

Willow felt her stomach heave.

“I have your attention now ?” Wukong had said.

Not Wukong.

This creature, whoever and whatever it was, was not Sun Wukong.

It couldn’t be.

This Wukong shook the adolescent monkey it had hostage again, yanking at the corpse before him. The noise of the screams had brought the few monkeys still in the caves running, some dragging weapons. Upon seeing however, that the threat was no tiger or jackal or leopard but their own king tearing away at one of his own, had driven all the fight from them. It had left only horror.

The poor monkey face was contorted in a frozen scream. Its eyes were staring sightless. Vacant and grayed over. Gone.

“Come have a taste. I only share the best of meals with the ones I love.” The wrong Wukong spoke, tugging the poor creature forward. He held the flesh closer, eyes blazing blue. The tiny monkey squirmed in his grasp, eyes wild.

“Stop!”

The Wukong froze. The world froze as Willow called out. Her heart raced. Only her heart and the roar of the waterfall dared to make a sound.

She saw the tiny monkey squirming and clawing at the hand that was still about its scruff, whimpering. His eyes, that unusual shade of blue, slanted her way. They burned coldly, wildly, full of one such emotion that Willow couldn’t mistake.

Hunger.

“Oh?”

The Wukong set the monkey back down. He didn’t let go of the poor thing. His eyes were only for her, his attention peaked. Earth Reaching Willow, Eldest princess of the Jade Emperor, threw herself into that woman she had been before her monkey, before Wukong had come into Heaven and offered her the world. She was an actress.

As still as a pond with no ripples. He may be full of a burning ice but I must be colder- I must be that calm within the eye of a hurricane.

Willow pressed her forehead to the floor, bowing. She felt the hands of Courage tugging at her. She kept her head flat to the floor.

I must play this game. Protect my family-

Even from the one who I looks like my friend. For my friend. Wherever he is—

“Has my Wife finally decided to give me attention?” Willow heard the heavy and terrible sound of bone snapping and muscles rending. She didn’t look up. “It has been so long, my love. You’ve left your king….” A harsh crunch of bones, of noise that is the sound of teeth digging into something soft. Snapping it like a twig. “….hungry.”

“Please, let the little one go.” Willow pleaded. She felt the brush of Mamma Courage along her side, Wisdom along the other.

“Lift your head.”

Dread.

She did as she was told, composing her face to serenity. The serenity cannot withstand the horror before her. It cracked.

This Wukongs face is smiling cynically, eyes glacier blue and glowing. In his free hand, the dismembered paw of the poor deceased monkey, cut clean from mid forearm down. The bone had been cracked, the marrow dripping.

“What will you do my Willow?” He asked, shaking the still struggling babe. One of the mother monkeys barked in rage, taking a half step forward. Another stopped her. Willow felt like a mouse caught between a wolf's paws.

“Your husband is very upset at you for ignoring his … advances.”

Nothing. I won’t do anything. I will turn into the smallest speck of sand and let the wind blow me away.

Willow let her fear spin just for a moment. Then she grasped it in her mind and pressed it behind that cold veneer of courtly teachings. She had acted much of her life. She had acted to fool her father, her advisors, the very suitors that saw her as a chess piece to improve their standing within the Polestar Palace Court.

And I will act now- I will hold my horror to best give everyone a chance— a chance to get away. To prevent more deaths.

“I have neglected you husband.” The words smoothly emptied themselves from Willows lips, even as she wanted to snatch them back. Be brave. “It was not my intent to do so. I have been busy helping our family. Forgive me.”

I don't want forgiveness from you. You aren’t my Wukong. He wouldn’t demand attention from me. He wouldn’t ask me for this.

“I’ll forgive you. I’ll be pacified by you.” The imposter sounds almost relieved, as if her words had soothed a burn upon his skin. He shakes the poor baby again, eliciting a squeak and an angry chorus from the other mothers here. Willow is still surprised it is just them in Water Curtain Cave.

A miniature horror show just for them.

“I will even let this little one go, since I am such a benevolent king. No one should say that I, Sun Wukong, didn’t listen to my beloved wife.” He smiled again, staring straight into her soul. “But I want a Kiss.”

“A kiss?”

The Wukong nodded, eyes flickering. A ripple of black and then gone again. “One single kiss. To reaffirm our union. Maybe more … later.”

The ‘later’ sent chills down her spine. But Willow nodded.

“Good! An obedient wife makes a happy life!” He laughed with Wukongs voice, but none of the joy of her Wukong was reflected there. It was twisted, spun into something bent and hideous. A mimicry of joy. A sound to match the horror.

Tears streamed down her face, the only break in the smooth surface of her cool demeanor. Willow leaned forward, about to stand.

“Oh but I am not prepared.” He said. She froze. Something malicious crawled over his face. The imitation Wukong- I refuse to believe this is Wukong- took up the bloody wrist and pressed the still bloody end across his face. Willow felt her horror rise, the gorge in her throat threaten to upheave. He smeared the bloody stump across his teeth, over his lips, across his chin. Like a monsterous paintbrush, this Wukong painted his lips in the blood.

Finally the Wukong drops his captive, the little monkey scurrying up to the group seated before their King. It’s mother scooped them up, pressing them to the soft underside and trying to hide his face from the nightmare. Willow couldn’t look away. Her courtly armor, the thing she had pulled up to cover herself in, shattered into a million pieces as those blue burning eyes fluttered and locked onto her lips.

“What’s the matter darling?” The Wukong holds the arm in one hand, the free one pressed to his face, almost as if he were resting it there. The thing before her must read Willow's repulsion. His smile turns softly, a predator's smile curving away from those gore filled teeth. “Don’t you want to Kiss me?”

#ALRIGHT ITS DONE #part one of this very chilling scene #for journey to the au #sun wukong #jttw au #Betrothal Au #hcwrites #writing stuff #jttw tag #tw gore mention #tw blood #yeah this one’s a bit brutal #the next part is gonna be much softer - I have it written already but Tumblr just takes away all the little formatting I do and FIGHTS ME #six eared macaque #he’s an absolute monster in this #poor Willow I’m so sorry #also I love momma courage so much #I wanted to give her a highlight in this just because she fit so well with the setting #Willow is gonna spoil all da baby monkeys on the mountain with treats she’s learning and can bake and she’s joking with Courage when BAM #Blue spooky eyes bastard pops up.#I Wrote Willow hopefully well.#I Kinda have her some of my own ace perspectives on this #I DONT know how else to tag this lol #no music I listened to this time - listened to an audio book while writing for work.#fluff will come soon I promise #I just have to fight Tumblr #too many tags WOOPS #hcfanfics

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