Hello 👋 congratulations on 1k that's a great milestone! I'm curious about the fate ships so I would like one if you are still doing them! 😊 Can I get one for Seventeen? Box 2 Card 3 and prompt 18 if it's still available! Thank you! 🥰
Hi!! Thank you! Sorry for the wait, but I hope you like it!
Your Fate ship is....
Minghao!
Prompt 18: 'The feeling you get when you learn your crush has been asking about you.'
((Reader is suggested to be a makeup artist))
Not For Long
It felt cliche almost, like you were back in high school all over again. Sneaking peaks at your crush when he's eating a few tables away. Wondering if he ever looks over at you thinking the same thing.
Lost in these thoughts, you missed the moment when you looked over at your friend and Minghao did in fact look across at you. His eyes lingered on you for a moment as his heart fluttered.
"Joshua"
Joshua looked up from his phone with a raised brow, "Yeah?"
"You're closer to Y/n than I am..."
He hesitated, looking around, wondering if anyone was gonna hear what he wanted to ask.
"Do you know if....if they have a boyfriend?"
Joshua watched Minghao with a growing smile as his band member shyly looked down at his food, embarrassed by his own question.
Joshua's smile turned into a grin as he leaned forward, "I knew you had a crush on Y/n!"
"Shh!" Minghao hushed him as he looked around worriedly, his eyes glancing at you briefly.
Joshua chuckled, "Sorry, sorry." He cleared his throat. "I don't think Y/n is dating anyone, but I can ask."
Minghao nodded with a soft breath. "Don't make it obvious why you're asking though!"
Joshua rose his hand up dismissively, "Okay, okay."
Minghao spared another look at you from across the room, just missing the moment before when you had been watching him.
Almost everyone else was gone as you were putting away all of your products after a video filming. Glancing up, you saw Joshua sneaking up behind you in the mirror.
"I see you." You commented just before Joshua got to you.
He frowned as he got caught before sitting in the chair beside you. He was eyeing you and you side-eyed him, "What do you want?"
"I just had a question."
"What question."
"Are you single?"
You paused in your actions as you looked over at him with a questioning gaze. He had a teasing smirk on his face and you knew he was up to something.
"You're not gonna try and set me up with someone are you?"
He shrugged, "Maybe, maybe not."
You rolled your eyes. "I am single, but that doesn't mean I am interested in dating."
He eyed you, "Even if it's Minghao who asked?"
You nearly choked on your saliva as you stared wide-eyed at Joshua, who was failing to repress a grin.
Just like he knew Minghao liked you, he knew you liked Minghao too. Something he had been waiting for the two of you to finally acknowledge.
"What?" You whispered in a distressed tone. "Minghao asked if I was single?"
Joshua nodded as he watched various emotions pass over your face.
Your heart was racing as you stared off into space. Minghao, THE Minghao asked about you? Asked if you were single? Why? Just curiosity, or was he interested? Then again, when was the last time you asked about someone's relationship when you weren't interested in them in some way?
Seeing a hand pass in front of your face, you came back to your senses.
"Earth to Y/n, hellooo"
You looked at Joshua and swallowed. "Why would he ask if I was single?"
Joshua rolled his eyes, "Why else would he ask?"
Seeing someone approaching, he smiled to himself as he audibly cleared his throat and began to stand up. He stretched nonchalantly as you watched him, still bewildered.
He smiled once more at you as he began to walk away, catching someone else's eye and speaking loud enough for both of you to hear.
"Y/n is single."
You spun around to see who he was talking to, seeing him pat a startled Minghao's shoulder as he walked past. Minghao met your eyes and saw the obvious flustered expression on your face.
After gaining control over himself again, a soft smile spread across his face as he began to walk towards you, a new determination filling him.
A small speckle of light enters his field of vision and he almost bats at it, knocking it out of the way. Yet something warns him that it would be a bad idea so instead he pauses, actually focusing on it. The light bounces in the air, wrapped around something flickering, almost insubstantial. One of those detached memories... Was it his own? It felt like it was, but it's hard to tell for sure. And he didn't really care to see someone else's private moments either.
Monkey King hovers the hand over the little light to keep it from drifting away and tries to take account of which of his memories might be missing. Which is a hard thing to do in itself, after all he had about couple thousand of years worth of those and he bound to have lost some along the way even before some got ripped out of him. It has to be something important, something he would otherwise remember, but what could it be...
Something important...
Oh.
A cold feeling grips him as he realizes what exactly this memory must be. This... This is going to suck to remember. But if he's right, he can't allow this one get away. And he definitely can't let anyone else see it.
With a deep sigh, Monkey King braces himself and closes his hand around the memory.
============
They all feel it at the same time. The jokes and quips fade to silence, Baije’s knife still raised over a piece of cabbage as all heads whip to the closed door of their master’s room.
They all rush forward at the same time too, but Wukong always was the fastest. In less time than it would take for a mortal to blink, he slams the door open and freezes.
Tang Sanzang is sitting in his chair, pulled up to the bed that he rarely left in the last few weeks. Sun is shining over his closed lids, a small, content smile on his weathered face. It almost looks like the man is just asleep, bound to wake up at any moment now to scold his disciple for barging in like that and scaring him.
But Wukong has seen enough death to know what he’s looking at.
(Yet, rarely did it look so… peaceful).
Distantly, he can hear his brothers stop next to him, sounds of choked sobs filling his ears, but he can’t look away from the man by the window - though it is just a body now, isn’t it, the mighty spirit that inhabited it now gone-
Gone. The word rings in his mind, louder and louder until it is all he can think about. The whole world narrows down to him and the body he can still distantly see in front of him. He’s gone. His master is gone and he’s not coming back. Not in a way Wukong remembers him. Not in a way that remembers him in return.
And he never even told him...
He should- be angry, he thinks? Or should he cry? No, no, he should be helping his brothers, they are still there next to him, somewhere outside of this tiny world he’s stuck in. He should be supporting them right now, always a shoulder they can lean onto. He should gently usher them out of the room and start making preparations for the funeral (and that thought alone is almost enough to make his heart cry out in pain, if he still had one, if there wasn’t instead a hollow emptiness inside him where a heart used to be, the one thing that Tang Sanzang took from him to never return).
That’s what his master would want him to do right now, but he was never a good enough disciple to listen, so instead all he does is stand there and look. Maybe that would be all he ever did now, until the universe collapsed around him and buried him with it, if it wasn’t for Ao Lie, his sweet little brother Ao Lie, standing in front of him now. He tries to focus on the face but what was once an easy action seems impossible now, his eyes sliding unbidden back to the body. The dragon says something, but Wukong can’t hear it through the distance that separates them now. He wants to offer his brother comfort but his body refuses to move, so heavy in its stony stature that moving a finger right now is harder than trying to remove the mountain from his back.
(He truly once thought nothing could be worse than the punishment given to him by Buddha. He knows now that he was wrong.)
Suddenly, a long sleeve falls over his eyes, smelling faintly of the ocean and its deepest fires. With his eyesight taken away (with the body no longer in his view), the other senses finally snap into action. Wukong hears, again, the breathy cries of his brothers. He can feel the way his shoulder is soaked through with Wujing’s tears and how Baije on the other side is squeezing him hard enough that if he were weaker, his bones would break from it. Can even feel the soft pressure of Ao Lie’s head on his chest, the trembling in his hand as it is held over his eyes.
It takes more effort than anything in his life ever did, to lift his hand and place it on his little brother’s back.
It takes less effort than anything in his life ever did, to let go and allow himself to grieve alongside his brothers.
===
“Can you show me some more?”
He thumbs through the drawings, finally picking out one and lifting it up so Ao Lie can see it from where he’s lying down next to him.
“This one I’m still working on, but you’re going to love it when it’s finished, trust me.”
It’s a very basic sketch of Ao Lie himself in his dragon form, as his brother’s been needling him over ‘drawing him looking cool’ for a while now, but he never really had the time to finish it.
(He regrets not working on it sooner, now).
The dragon hums approvingly from his spot.
“Can you finish it right now? I would-” his voice wavers and Wukong feels his hold tighten around the edges of the paper, smile hurting as it is etched into his face. Ao Lie coughs weakly and smiles back. Both of them are good enough at ignoring the suffocating atmosphere in the room, heavy with the knowledge that neither of them wish to address.
“I would really like to see it right now.”
Sun Wukong takes a moment to smooth out the drawing where he almost ripped it at the edges.
“You know I can’t draw and talk at the same time too well. I will lose the thread of conversation and start babbling nonsense and I’m supposed to be entertaining you right now.”
“But big brother Monkey is so amazing and talented, he will surely be able to keep me entertained even as he draws me being oh so cool.” Ao Lie croons, tilting his head ever so barely. Wukong sighs mock-exasperated around the lump in his throat.
“I know what you’re doing. You’re trying to butter me up so I do as you say. Like the time you convinced me to carry you on my back even though you were supposed to be the horse.”
Ao Lie laughs, though it sounds less like the airy sound they both are so used to and more like soft, quiet exhales. Even that seems to tire him out as his eyes drift closed for several moments too long.
“I remember that… Master was very grumpy over it, even when Baije offered to carry him.” He finally says and Wukong lets out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “Can you blame me for trying it right now? Indulge me one last time, brother.”
One last time.
“How can I refuse my dear little brother’s plea?” He never could, after all, and it would be far too late to start now. And so Wukong clears the space next to them and uses a hair from his head to make a brush.
Ao Lie asks him questions at first, about their friends and their families, then about Flower Fruit Mountain and its monkeys. Wukong answers them to the best of his ability, though he does get distracted as he knew he would and ends up pausing and backtracking several times. Thankfully, Ao Lie doesn’t seem to mind, only humming in acknowledgement whenever it happens. After a while he goes silent, only deep sounds of his breathing and movement of his coals an indicator that he is still…
Wukong does his best to fill in the silence, as he always did. He’s pretty sure he is just rambling about the way there will be ink stains all over the tiles of the Dragon Palace and they are so getting in trouble for it when his brother says his name almost soundlessly, prompting him to go silent.
“Brother Wukong… This isn’t your fault.” Ao Lie whispers, quiet but resolute, like he needs to get it out while he still can.
(Isn’t it? They will never know it, now, if the piece of the Samadhi fire that wedged itself into Ao Lie on that fateful day shortened his years of life or if they would still be sitting here just the same were Wukong more careful, less overconfident. Of course, it would be useless to blame himself for what could have been either way. And yet.)
“What are you talking about?” Sun Wukong laughs, giving his brother a carefree smile. And Ao Lie, sweet timid Ao Lie who never liked conflict, who knew his older brother well enough to understand the silent plea in his smile, shakes his head and lets it go.
“Is it done?” He murmurs instead, trying his best to keep his eyes opened.
“Almost”, Wukong lifts the drawing up carefully, mindful of the drying ink as he shows it off. “Just a few more details to fully capture the spirit of the coolest dragon the Great Sage has ever met.”
Ao Lie smiles at him, eyes sliding over the paper. An icy grip settles over Wukong’s chest when he realizes that the dragon’s eyes can no longer focus enough to see it.
“I love it.” Ao Lie wisps, eyes drifting closed. “Thank you.”
The grip shifts, holding him by the throat now and he takes a deep breath, using all his will to keep his voice from shaking.
“Let me finish it first, then you can thank me.” The brush in his hand trembles when he holds it over the paper and he grips it tighter, wooden handle splintering in his grip. “Now, where was I…”
He doesn't stop talking even as Ao Lie’s breaths slow and fade into nothingness. Doesn’t stop drawing even as his vision blurs with unshed tears.
Only when he’s done, the memory of his (amazing, strong, caring, wonderful) brother fully committed to paper, does he pull himself closer, hiding from the Heaven’s and Earth’s gaze alike in the coils of his (little, soft, hurt, gone, gone, gone) brother’s body and cry.
===
He hisses as the wooden spoon connects with his fingers, more out of principle than any pain since he doesn’t really feel it.
“You’re going to eat me out of my home, Monkey.” Baije grumbles before turning back to stir the soup bubbling merrily. “Don’t you have enough food back on your mountain? Eat there.”
“If you want me to go back to my mountain so badly, stop inviting me to help care for your children.” To prove his point, Wukong points at the sling attached to him now, with Baije’s youngest snoozing soundly inside. The rest of the children are in the garden right now, playing with one of his clones. His brother just rolls his eyes, not even bothering to look away from the pot. “I am doing you a favor, the least you can do, as a good host, is to feed me.”
Of course, that is not exactly true. This was as much of a favor to Wukong as the other way around: it gave him a good excuse to be around his remaining brothers a lot more than felt reasonable otherwise and the kids (or would piglets be more accurate?) were a good distraction back when he was still drowning in the grief of losing his master.
(He is still grieving, of course. Just no longer drowning).
Still, he tries for the dumpling bowl the second time and pulls away just in time to avoid the spoon’s wrath.
“It's not time for dinner yet!" Baije scolds him for the fifth time in the last half hour. "Where is your famed patience?”
“It’s still around. But you know I get hungry when I’m-” the front door is opened and he perks up, but a quick look reveals it’s just one of the older children back home from work. He drops back onto a chair with a huff, hand cradling the baby's head, “-troubled.”
Baije looks back at him then, taking in the tail that swishes back and forth in agitation and a crease in the stony brow. With a put on sigh, he picks up one dumpling and places it into the monkey’s paw. Wukong thanks him quietly, biting into it. The way hot broth slides down his throat does make him shudder, but soon the warm filling joins in, soothing the yawning pit of nerves bundled in the bottom of his stomach, if only for a moment.
The kitchen is silent as he chews, save for the bubbling of the soup and the child’s quiet snores until his brother speaks up again.
“He’ll be back. You know he sometimes goes off on his own, this is nothing new.”
“But it was never for this long.”
“He’ll be back,” Baije repeats, more firm this time, “before you know it, he will walk through the doors and greet us like he always does and when I tell him about how worried you were, I’m sure he will have some words to say about how lucky he is to have such a caring mother.”
Wukong grimaces, tempted to throw something at his brother (he only doesn’t do it because it might wake the baby up), but he’s right. There is no need to worry. Wujing does leave every now and then, but he always returns to them eventually.
They just have to wait.
---
Baije is wrong, like so many times before. Sha Wujing never comes back, not even after Monkey King goes looking for him and returns empty handed after a few years of fruitless searching. Him and Baije go out to the river where they first met the demon and they sit down and drink wine and talk about the old times.
And that’s all there is to it.
===
He rolls the peach between his hands, trying to look casual as he asks.
“I know you said ‘no’ last time I asked you but I wanted to know if maybe you have changed your mind?”
Baije looks at the immortality peach in his hand, then back at him. He could say something now, mock Wukong for being desparate enough to want to spend eternity with him of all people, but he doesn't. Years and experiences made him more mature than that.
“I’m sorry, brother. But I haven’t.” Wukong smiles bitterly, closing his eyes. He might have hidden it with someone else, but there really is no point in that now, so he lets the tiredness show.
“I understand.” And he wishes he didn’t.
===
Sun Wukong wakes up in the middle of the night to a jolt of pain in his chest. It’s not unlike being stabbed, which he knows enough about, or having his chest cavity scraped clean of any remaining pieces of his broken heart, which he knows less about, except there is no wound and no attacker. There’s just him and the pain and the sinking feeling that he has one more funeral to attend now.
---
He doesn’t want to go. He still goes, bringing out the same clothes he wore to all the other funerals. At least he can take solace in knowing he won’t need them again after this.
It is all pretty mundane as far as funerals go. There are far too many kids and grandkids (and great-grandkids and maybe even a couple great-great-grandkids) for his liking, but he sticks to the sidelines for the most of it and tries to pretend he is sad and not just tired and hollow.
Baije’s youngest daughter pulls at his sleeve to get his attention as she always did, her wrinkled face heavy with resignation rather than grief.
(They all knew it was coming. That didn’t make it hurt any less.)
“Father wanted you to have this.” The package she presents him might be wrapped but he recognizes it right away, even before his fingers close around the handle of the rake.
“I thought the Celestial Realm might want it back now?” he asks. He doesn’t much care for what the Celestial Realm wants, but it is still something he has to keep in mind.
She rolls her eyes, just like her father used to, and waves her hand dismissively, just like her mother used to.
“Oh, they did. But father told them forever ago that you have it, so if they wish to retrieve it, they can go to your mountain and ask you.”
Wukong laughs and it sounds like crying.
“Yeah. Of course he would say that.” He pulls the rake close to his chest and nods. “I would be honored to take it.”
She smiles back at him.
This will be the last time they see each other.
===========
Monkey King resurfaces quietly and tilts back, dropping down to the ground and looking at the sky. That was... a lot to take in at once. At least before he had the benefit of having these experiences spaced out but seeing them back to back was near overwhelming, an old scabbed wound ripped open with no grace to bleed him dry.
This would probably be a good time for him to cry. It's healthy and cathartic and all that, at least that's what Sandy always says. He even wants to, a little bit, but it's been so long since he did it last that the tears just won't come. No matter how hard he tries to push them out, his eyes burn and ache with no relief. The rest of him soon follows, body hurting as it's allowed to wind down for the first time in weeks.
He will have to get up soon. He doesn't really have time to grieve for people who died so long ago right now, not when he should be moving for the sake of those still alive. Soon, he will rise and go on, as he always does.
But here and now, Sun Wukong closes his eyes and lets himself breathe.
Dennis didn’t even get a chance to scream. As soon as he opened the backdoor and stepped out onto the porch to throw out the kitchen garbage, someone threw a bag over his head and fastened it tight around his neck, making him choke. Then, when he dropped the garbage and moved to take the sack off, someone else grabbed his wrists and fastened them together with a zip-tie. They shoved him square in the back after the deed was done, making him stumble forward and nearly topple over, but thankfully someone (possibly the one who put the sack on him, but he didn’t know; he couldn’t know) grabbed a hold of his shoulder and dragged him forward, saving him from the fall but never letting him rebalance himself so he could stop stumbling - at least until they reached a vehicle. Shortly after sounded like a van door sliding open, Dennis was shoved again and fell into something that was just below knee height. Then, another hand was on him, grabbing a fistful of his shirt and pulling him forward while two sets of footsteps climbed into the vehicle around him. The door slammed shut, someone barked out that it was all clear, and the vehicle lurched forward.
With his heart pounding in his chest, Dennis attempted to sit up but felt something small, metallic, and cold press into the back of his skull. He didn’t need his vision to know that it was a gun and immediately stiffened while someone growled, “Sit still.”
It was the longest ride of his life, filled with far too many bumps in the road, sharp turns, and worst of all deafening silence. But for as long as it felt, it was suddenly over, and after some doors were opened someone dragged Dennis onto his feet then hauled him forward again. He was able to keep up with them this time, though their fast pace had him scrambling. Again though, things came to a sudden halt and he was shoved down on his knees, making him hiss out in pain. Then, the sack was ripped off of his head and his vision was filled with enough light to make him wince. While he rapidly blinked at the bright lights and shadowy figures before him, Dennis heard a voice call out from his left. “Dennis?” It said, small and frightened, but loud and clear enough to shatter his heart because he knew who it belonged to
He looked over fearfully and felt his stomach tie itself into knots when he saw Ms. Darby sitting next to him, her hands also bound and M.E.C.H. agents hovering over her with rifles in their hands. “Ms. Darby?” He croaked out while his mind whirled for an explanation.
Fate would provide it as heavy boots stepped forward and the centermost figure finally began to take a recognizable shape. “You know each other.” Silas grinned with malice in his eyes. “Good. Let’s cut to the chase then, shall we?”
// Hey y’all, this year I was Shio’s ( @stardeworanges ) secret santa for our discord community secret santa! It took me forever but I present to you ‘Marmalade’s Winter’s Star Party’, a story with a bit of fluff, a bit of edge, and then some more fluff, with some guest appearences in there too.
The full version can be found under the cut, or you can read the story HERE.
Marmalade looked down at her latest accomplishment: a small stack of laminated cards, each one addressed to the friends she had made – her Valley family. There were about 50 cards, everyone from Sebastian to Gus was invited. Names embossed in cursive detailed the addressee of each invitation. The orange-haired woman was so proud of her little cards – she had designed them from scratch, from the colours on the bordering, to the little intricate mistletoe and stars adorning the corners. They were her own little doodles, quite well-done considering Marmalade had never considered herself an artist. In all honesty, Marm had gone a little over the top with these preparations, which had become obvious after she had created a 50-page binder complete with individual greetings, an array of feast meals and cocktails, and even mood boards to pin the perfect aesthetic. But she had a mission, and by Yoba, she would do whatever it took to achieve it.
Her smile softened. The Winter’s Star had always meant so much to her. When she was a little girl, she’d always visit her grandpa for his Winter’s Star festivities. Many a memory was dotted with her kind grandpa’s grin, the smell of warm cocoa, and the flashing of festive lights; the raucous of townspeople sharing hot drinks and good food. But those memories were fading with age, and Marmalade knew that she had to take up the mantle. She was going to throw the perfect Winter’s Star feast. She was going to honour her grandpa’s legacy.
And the next step to doing so was dispersing these slick-looking invitations to their rightful owners. Most important on her list was Clark, her best friend, and the newly appointed mayor. She hadn’t seen him in a few days – the farmhand had been tied up with bureaucratic red tape left behind by a spiteful Lewis. The poor man had been running circles around the town, attempting to get at least somewhere with his new legislation. Well, there was at least a slim silver lining to that storm cloud – Marmalade knew exactly where he would be.
It was a short walk from the farm to the town, though the brisk winter winds would require a Winter’s Star sweater, and of course, the tackier the better. She scanned her drawer for the best candidate: a red and white wool monstrosity, with “Orange you glad it’s winter” knitted in a box. Perfect. The sweater slipped on, gloriously awful pun present in yellow text, a pair of oranges decorating the inscription. She wrapped a scarf around her bare neck, her orange locks falling over the dark, soft material. Finally, she swung her backpack on, filled with a water bottle, some orange slices, and the crux of it all, her invitations.
Without a misstep, Marmalade was out the door, the brisk winter winds and the ankle-deep snow neither bothering nor hindering the ginger on her mission. Winter always brought a unique beauty to the Valley, bare skeletons of trees sleeping for the winter, and those brilliant blue berries poking up through the white terrain. One of Marmalade’s favourite sights had to be spotting the holly berries and crocus flowers in the dense snow. Wet gravel crunched under her feet as Marmalade trekked on. Her mental checklist of places to stop kept growing. Gotta invite Pippa and Rue and Dae! I’ll stop on the way. And I’m sure Cherry will be home – and maybe Nikoma and Jenna will come… Then I should stop at Pierre’s for some more supplies. Oh, and of course, Clark, in the town hall!
She smiled once more to herself.
Winter 26th was going to be the best Winter’s Star party anybody had ever been to!
Clark ran his fingers through his dense, blond curls, the toll of being constantly busy affecting the usual lustre of his hair. He grimaced at the paperwork in front of him, feeling each and every monotonous, tedious word sap strength from his dwindling will to keep reading. He loved being mayor. He loved the warm appreciation of the townsfolk as he walked the streets of the Valley, he loved the constant support and trust. He loved that he was elected the Mayor. He did not love the piles of paperwork constantly inhabiting his in-tray, perched eternally on the right of his desk. The dark circles under his eyes evident of his sleeplessness, his expression stony as he stared down the stack of sheets sitting, waiting, mocking – Clark wanted nothing more than to slam his head into the desk. He pulled at his red tie, loosening its grip around his wrinkled, white button-up shirt, sleeves cuffed awkwardly around his tanned wrists. That was one thing he did miss – the blue jeans, the red flannel, the straw hat, but there was something about office-wear that really made his pecs look juicier, so he was willing to compromise. A groan escaped him, forcing its way through his teeth, as his eyes wandered towards the window, looking for anything to fuel his procrastination…
And as if summoned by Yoba himself, Marmalade burst through his office door, face alight with happiness.
She was a radiant beam of sunlight in the poorly lit office, and she couldn’t help but bring a grin to Clark’s mug. Her silly holiday sweater procured a chuckle from the exhausted ex-farmhand – it was just like Marm to be a walking pun. The woman basically bounced to the front of his desk, striking a little pose before rummaging through her pack. It was obvious Marmalade was very excited, and Hayesmith was ready for whatever the exuberant redhead was going to throw at him.
“Mayor Clark,” Marmalade’s voice rung with a silliness that she only showed around her closest friends, “I would like to cordially invite you to Miss Marmalade’s Winter Star feast party!” She slapped down the invitation on top of all of his paperwork, its festive design a winter star compared to the drab documents underneath. Clark let out another one of his gruff chuckles. “Not even a howdy before the theatrics.” Marmalade’s face went a shade of bashful pink, the playful act dialled back a bit from the cowboy’s ribbing.
“Now y’know I’m jokin’ there, Marm. I’d be pleased to make it.” He lifted the card up, inspecting the calligraphy – Clark Hayesmith, You are invited to my Winter’s Star party, 6 PM on Winter 27th. See you there! He tucked the invitation away in his pocket – it had been a while since the man had been able to socialise, and he was looking forward to the opportunity.
“Say Marm, who’ve you invited to this lil’ shindig?” Oh, how Marmalade had missed his deep, soothing drawl – and boy did she have a list of names for him. “Well, Pippa and her crew are coming, and Clive, uhh Sebastian and Maru said they would come, Red and Derek, Abigail… Nikoma sighed at me and said ‘fine’ so I’m assuming he’s coming… Jenna and Haley said yes too! Oh, and Jenna has an assistant now? And Amelia, Ainsley, Edel…” The names kept coming, and Clark’s excitement to flex his social and physical muscles was only growing.
“Trust me darl’, I’ll be there, I wouldn’t miss it for th’world . Now, I better get a hustle with this work, or I’ll be stuck here till the party’s over.” Clark shook his head in exaggerated despair, and Marmalade let out a small chuckle.
“Okay Clark. See you at the party!”
“See y’all at the party, Marm.” Clark waved as Marm hurried out the door, the farmer eager to deliver the rest of her invitations. The new mayor-elect pulled out his invitation once more.
He grinned, and for the first time in what seemed like days, he actually wanted to finish his paperwork. A party clearly makes for a mighty fine motivator.
Winter 27th was going to be the best Winter’s Star party he’d ever been to.
The ticking of the kitchen clock on the wall had drove her crazy. It now laid facedown on the tiled floor.
Marmalade glared at the door. She sat alone, at her dining table, 34 different plates of food sitting, cold, untouched, abandoned on the dark cherry wood, uncovered and unprotected from the cold night air. The fire had burned out about half an hour ago – what was the point of keeping a fire burning if no one was here to stay warm?
Marmalade glared at the door. She hadn’t touched any of the food she had slaved the day away cooking. She hadn’t had a sip of the punch, or the soup, or the wine. She was at first waiting for someone to come, to share the food with, but after an hour of sitting alone she had thoroughly lost her appetite.
Marmalade glared at the door – only pausing to wipe the tears defiantly escaping her eyes. She had told herself she wouldn’t cry. It didn’t matter if no one had come. She was sure there were reasons why they hadn’t come, but no one had even called to inform her. Maybe they just weren’t her friends. She had always thought that at least a few of the farmers had been left with good impressions of her. The anti-social ones, she understood – those like Katherine, afraid of people, or Nikoma, annoyed by people – but the extroverts? Cherry? Pippa? Red? Where were they?
The only conclusion Marmalade could come to was they didn’t care. They must have had other plans, or had forgotten, they must have been too busy with their lives to remember Marmalade’s party. She sniffled, wiping away more tears that had forced their way down her face. She had to reason with herself. After all, yesterday was the Winter’s Star Feast, and everyone would be tired…
Even Clark, her best friend, her old farmhand, was too busy for her. It must have been his new job…
Marmalade glared at the door. The door swung open. Tension was almost palpable in the air as Marmalade tensed up – tears at this point were streaming over her blushed cheeks, make-up running. Clark walked in, sighing. He had yet to look up, his head was hung low, the strain of sitting at a desk all day leaving a myriad of cricks in his neck and back.
The cowboy could tell Marmalade was in earshot, and he called out while taking his shoes off. “Hey Marm, excited for your party tomor-…” Finally, his gaze swung up to meet Marmalade’s glare.
Time froze as he scanned the room; the festive decorations, the tinsel-covered tree, the holly and mistletoe and wreaths hanging from every possible point. The banquet of food laid out in spectacular fashion. The poor, lonely woman, sitting isolated amongst the festivities.
Uh-oh.
Marm broke down. The floodwalls failed, and she began sobbing, only quietly, but there was no other noise – all Clark could hear was Marmalade’s soft weeping. Immediately, he moved towards her, trying to protectively wrap himself around her, in an attempt to shield the orange-haired woman from what had happened in her own dining room. She protested, albeit weakly, beating closed fists against his brawny chest. It didn’t last long, as those beating fists uncurled into fingers gripping his shirt, knuckles clenched white, the fabric a lifeline to Clark as Marmalade pressed her tear-soaked face into him.
Clark didn’t know what to do, he didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t even entirely sure what happened – her party wasn’t supposed to take place until tomorrow evening… Unless she didn’t know that. The invitations must have been wrong. The cowboy shook his head. All of Marmalade’s meticulous planning, all of her expertise and effort, left to rot because of a typo on the invitations. Clark knew what he had to do.
Clark continued to hold Marm as she wept out her grievances, Clark affirming her and hushing her softly. It didn’t take long for Marmalade’s crying to slow – it was clear now, obviously the town didn’t hate her. But it didn’t matter. The party was a failure, and she had spent so much time and effort and money on this one, she had nothing left to throw another one. It was all a waste, and everyone was going to be disappointed.
All Clark could do was hold the woman, assuring her that the townsfolk wouldn’t be mad. He told her stories about his failed events in the past, about his week and all the mess-about that went into being mayor, about how people were kind, and forgiving, especially in these parts. For about 40 minutes, the pair laid spread out on the on the cold tiled floor, Marmalade’s head still on Clark’s chest, time passing in an emotion-filled haze.
It was 9:03 PM on Winter 26th, according to Clark’s wristwatch.
He knew exactly what he had to do to make this right. As Marmalade drifted to sleep, he swept her up, and escorted her to her bed – and then he was out the door. He knew most of the farmers and townsfolk would be winding down for the night, but if he knew this Valley, he knew that they would come together for something this important, especially for the mayor.
Well no, actually.
They’d come together, especially for Marmalade.
Clark had to make sure that Winter 27th was going to be the best Winter’s Star party Marmalade had ever been to.
It was 9:04 AM on Winter 27th, according to the clock Marmalade had picked up off the floor.
She was still a little down – she had thrown all the wasted food in the bin, and tried to salvage what had kept, but it all felt like a big mistake. She was now sitting at the dining table, staring absent-mindedly at the door. Clark was nowhere to be seen, again, as always. The farmer didn’t want to walk out that door, didn’t want to have to tell everyone the party was cancelled.
But she was a brave woman, and she’d let most of the negativity out last night. She wasn’t ready to do it yet, though. No, she’d check the mail, and then finish her coffee. Then she’d set off to let the public know of her shame.
The woman stood up, stretching her haunches, mug of hot, black coffee clutched tightly. A small amount of the life-saving ichor had stained the sleeve of her long sweater, but that was fine, it was just a pyjama top anyway. The soft fleecy fabric was a latte-foam tan, with the sleeves slightly too long, and honestly, the small brown stains added to the look. Marmalade ambled towards the door, procrastinating her eventual exposure to the outside elements.
It was just the mail.
She’d have to face the world eventually.
She swung the door open – and dropped her mug.
Laid out on the front lawn, cleared of snow, was tables of food. Fresh prepared meats, plates of berries and fruits – all in season, all garnished with those dark green leaves that survived the winter chill – bowls of punch and liquor and crates of wine laid out, hot coffee and soups simmering over small fires. And with it all, stood all the farmers she had invited to yesterday’s party.
Warm smiles from familiar faces all began turning towards Marmalade, the breaking of ceramic and the splashing of coffee alerting the people laying out this feast on her front lawn. It felt like a dream – the slow roll of applause started to crawl across the crowd, and before long they were all cheering at (or cheering for, more likely) Marmalade.
Friends and acquaintances from all around the Valley were present – she immediately noticed the tall figures of Barclay, Rue and Bernard, discussing fishing in the mines (a very controversial topic, apparently), with Pippa and Red inspecting the miner’s latest find close by. Edel, Katherine, Mona and Amelia sipped at Kat’s latest champagne, the bubbly enticing enough to drink even this early in the morning. Alex and Cherry were carving roast chicken, while Ainsley and Delaney seemed to be debating what exactly defined a ‘soup’. Jenna and Haley chatted away with Vi, Percival and a pair of siblings who Marmalade hadn’t seen before – but they were all far too dressed up, clearly. Even the recluses had turned out; Anderson and Morrison stood at the end of a table, alone, and Nikoma sat in a pile of snow, flask in hand. And that wasn’t even most of the people Marmalade could recognise – about 60 bodies, more than she had ever invited, stood around, having a good time, eating food and drinking merrily, just as she had envisioned for her party…
And right, smack-bang in the middle of them all was Clark, those new, dark rings under his eyes the blackest she’d ever seen them. He had been up all night, corralling the locals into coming together, pooling their resources, cooking and brewing and shovelling snow, to throw Marmalade the best Winter’s Star party that she had ever been to.
Marmalade hopped over the shattered mug, and ran straight into his arms, once again pressing her face into his broad chest. There was no way this was all happening, and yet, it seems Clark had made it happen.
A few tears stained that same, white shirt he was wearing last night.
“Thank you so much, Clark! Thank you…”
Clark smiled warmly, his tired eyes softening as he patted Marmalade on the back.
“Not a worry in the world, Marm. You know I -… You know this town would do anything for you.”
Marmalade could feel the kindness in her soul, the flame that had been doused last night, reignite within her. She couldn’t ask for anything more, to be surrounded by those she lives with, to supply the space for her community to be happy, to be safe, and to have a good Winter’s Star. To take up the mantle of her grandfather. She pulled herself from Clark, and looked around at all of her friend’s faces, warm drinks and good food in their hands.
This was going to be the best Winter’s Star party ever.
It’s a simple statement, gently delivered but firm in its meaning. A singular glare is all the dying man can offer back at first, his healthy double crouching beside him sad. It can’t be over. Not yet. He needs to.. He needs to make sure...
Fear and despair wash over him in waves as the realization hits. His memory is slipping. He can’t tell. He can’t tell if he’s managed to check and see if any of his children made it, if any of his friends have. Everything’s blurring. Quietly tears fall and any resistance to his fate dies with them.
Instead he poses an observation.
“You let me go this long, when we both could’ve perished.”
“It’s not as if you were going to let me stop you-”
“But you could have,” he interrupts knowingly, “With your magic, your friends. That’s an excuse.”
A beat.
“It is. I wanted them to be safe too. I wanted you to be able to see them yourself.”
I wanted you to live as long as you could, since there’s no certainty even with this mercy.
“It almost sounds like you’re in mourning.”
“The man you were and are is almost certainly better than the man I ever was.”
A hand reaches out trembling, weak, before clinging hard onto the other man’s collar. His voice is hard, there’s bitterness spite and regret finally seeping out of his tone.
“Then *be* better.”
It’s the only words the doppelganger offers before being sent off. They haunt Ozpin every night for weeks after.
~When dark demons awaken and darkness is split from the light~
Lodger was walking around his lodge patrolling around the dark hallways and rooms like he normally did, but tonight felt odd the air was heavy and the demons that lurked in his home seemed more agitated than usual. Suddenly a dark voice filled the room he was in "The time has come" the voice said before Lodger continued on his little journey around the large house.
After a few hours Lodger stumbled upon a strange yet familiar room, confused Lodger slammed his small body against the barred door before finally breaking through. Immediately a wave of dread and despair washed over him. "So, you arrive at last young Lodger.... It's been awhile... Do you remember this place?" A large eye-like demon said. It looked like one of Lodger's eye breaches, but more twisted and demonic as well as being more sentient then the others. "W-w-who are you?!" Lodger stammered as he held his lantern close to him as he shook in fear. "Don't you remember?.... I am the demon you summoned long ago as a child... The one who gifted you with your guests... And the one who cursed you for your ignorance!!" The demon screeched loudly. Lodger felt hatred bubble up inside of him and before he could stop him Mudak came to the surface and took over. "You bastard! What do you even want!? You've been gone for a century and now you decide to show up again?!" Mudak yelled as his clenched his fists. "Arrogant runt! How dare you speak to me you insufferable minor demon!" The eye demon screeched as it's tentacles waved around madly in anger. Mudak emitted a low growl before leaping at the eye when suddenly a tentacle stabbed through the small man's head, but instead of killing Lodger a small purple-ish orb flew out from his head and landed on the floor. The orb soon changed form and appeared to become some sort of purple-ish six legged, four eared rat creature of sort. Lodger then collapsed to the ground unconscious and with his eyes completely white from shock.
The eye demon tsked a bit at this "Pathetic.... I expected more from you Lodger... Maybe next year it will be different... especially without that demon in your head... Well until then...Bormot..." The demon said before disappearing into a cloud of black smoke as the morning sun rose over the trees.
First off wooow you’re great. Second I’ve recently found your blog and I’ve done nothing but read your writing lol because I’m in love with it. And I was just wondering if you could do #15 with Frank Castle perhaps?
15. “Are you scared of me?”
Thank you darling! I’m so happy that you’re enjoying my writing! Here you go!
Frank’s hands were bruised. So was his face, his ribs, and his back. You watched as he carefully pulled his shirt off and dropped it on the floor in the bathroom. You walked to the doorway and waited until he noticed you hovering.“Is there anything I can do?”“Do you have some frozen vegetables? Or an ice pack?” He poked at a bruise on his side and winced. You nodded and went into the kitchen to grab the two ice packs that you had in there as well as some dish cloths. He put one against his side and sighed.You bent down to pick up his shirt and flinched back when he reached out to grab it at the same time. His hand paused and hovered for a moment before he pulled back to look at you.“Are you scared of me?”“I don’t know,” you answered honestly. He frowned at you and you sat up, his shirt clutched in your hands. “I know that you wouldn’t hurt me, but you leave carnage in your wake.” You thought about the blood stains on your kitchen floor from when you had found him shot and bleeding there a few weeks back. “I think I’m just scared that one day you won’t come back.”Frank nodded and then reached out with his free hand, the other hand keeping the ice pack pressed to his side. He pulled the shirt from your hands and then pulled you to him. He pressed his chin to the top of your head and you felt his entire body shudder as you placed your hands on his chest.“I’ll always try to come back. I promise you that.”
After explaining where her power came from and her vision about the Calamity. Kazial picked up her Paladin soulstone, “The next part of the story takes place with the Paladins.” She began the next part of her story.
Kazial had been trained in the ways of sword and shield by her father, who was a Paladin back before his injuries, Her father, Raju’a, trained her to be as good with the sword as he was if not better than himself. Kazial had even managed to beat one of the elite knights from his squadron when she was only fifteen. This brought many to think that Raju’a was training his talented daughter to take his place when he would need to retire. Raju’a was actually training his daughter so that she would have the necessary skill to survive in Eorzea after Kazial was nearly attack by a bear. He had never planned on having her become a Paladin. However when the Calamity struck when she was only seventeen, Raju’a was called to defend Eorzea. When he returned, he was never able to wield the sword like he used to. After having sustained many injuries from the fighting, he wasn’t able to fulfill his Paladin duty. One day, Kazial asked her father to allow her to fulfill his duty. He consulted his wife and they both agreed that she’d be able to become a Paladin. A few days later, Kazial was given her father’s soulstone by the elite knight she defeated in combat two years ago and Raju’a’s squad refitted his old armor to fit Kazial. That day, Kazial swore the Paladin oath and joined her father’s squadron.
