#grandmothers death i wore nothing but black all the way to her funeral which i couldn't attend. god i understand him so bad. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

shiny-jr · 2 years

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the creator (I)

Warning: This is a yandere story so it will contain gore, profanity, violence, and other things such as. You have been warned. Female reader.

Characters: MC, Headmaster Herlynn, Benzol Uza.

Summary: A simple trip made to retrieve your deceased great-grandmother's belongings spirals into a fall leading to a magic world called the Rune Dominion. To survive, you must enroll in the prestigious Maxnia University of Magics. It's revealed that you do indeed have magic–– you're a rare witch known as a "creator." With your hands, you can create life and shape beings that have darker intentions.

Note: I know most people don’t follow me for my original stuff here on Tumblr, but I don’t care much. I just wanted to satisfy my want to publish something, and this will have to do. Yes, I did take inspiration from the show the Owl House and the game Twisted Wonderland. Might post the next chapters later. Maybe not. Who knows?

(Y/n) (L/n) was your average everyday citizen. There was nothing special about her. They were another face in the crowd, one look and they would be forgotten. Striving to meet expectations, struggling through the everyday obstacles of life, but she did love fantasy. Oh, to read and dream about escaping to distant mystical lands with creatures of legends and magic like in fairy tales. How could she resist a good fantasy tale?

As the bus drove along, she slowly closed the book she had completed. Clutching it to her chest, she barely contained her squeal at the happy ending. Oh, it was too good! The tale was about a hunter protagonist helping the enemy, the antagonist who was a magician for an enemy nation. A classic tale of enemies to lovers, albeit a bit cliche but what was wrong with cliche if the story was good? Gently tucking away the book into her backpack, she removed the next book which she had yet to open. It wasn’t a novel, but a picture book belonging to her great-grandmother.

Her fingers twisted the golden pendant connected to the necklace she wore. Ever since her great-grandmother passed over ten years ago, she had worn the necklace gifted to her. Great Grandma Solana had been the matriarchal figure of the family up until her death. From what (Y/n) could remember, the old woman was sweet, just like any other great-grandmother. Solana would bake her treats, knit her sweaters, and paint with her. Really, she couldn’t remember any important details, only that for some reason, Great Grandma Solana had written in her will that she wanted the family heirloom to go to the youngest great grandchild, (Y/n) (L/n). Of course, she had no idea why. All she could remember was admiring the way the necklace glittered as she stood in the aisles at the funeral, too young to understand the grief or grasp the concept of someone’s death. While she fiddled with her new necklace, her cousins, aunts, and uncles eyed her with disdain. A fight had nearly broken out with her parents defending their child from the envy of others, all because of the little family heirloom.

Now that she was older, having already graduated from high school and in college, she was old enough to collect some other belongings she was promised in Great Grandma Solana’s will. Maybe it was because she was the favorite, was what she wanted to believe, but she really wasn’t sure. How could she be certain? Now, all she could do was guess why so much was left in her name.

Black and white photos passed her vision, most of places she failed to recognize. The majority were blurry, little snaps at a small waterfall, of a couple of figures climbing a tree and lounging on the branches, but the clearest face was of a woman. If one could even call it clear. The photo was still very blurry, but she could immediately tell the woman in the image was not her great-grandmother. The stranger appeared to have long wavy hair that swept out of the frame, her face was blurry but she could make out a thin facial shape as the woman held a flower in her delicate hands. Possibly one of Solana’s friends, but it was safe to assume that the woman and the others in the book were likely long gone from this world by now.

The bus slowed to a stop, the driver pushing on the lever to open the doors as he hollered, “Outskirts of Silverkeep, anyone gettin’ off?”

Immediately gathering her items, (Y/n) stood and approached the exit, muttering a polite thank you to the driver to which he gave a weak nod. Once the bus doors closed behind her and departed, she looked around only to find the location she was searching for was conveniently just a few feet away. These outskirts were practically the border between the city where she would go to college and the small town Solana once lived in. After retrieving these items, she would return back to the city and prepare for her upcoming classes that would start in just a few months.

Gazing up at the sign, she furrowed her eyebrows as she read Vintage Antiques— Best Antique Store in Silverkeep! Peering back down at her phone, the GPS app said she was at the right location. Her parents had said that another family that owed Great Grandma Solana so much, was responsible for holding the items for (Y/n), keeping them safe until she could take the objects for herself. Shrugging off the strange location, she entered the shop, hearing the soft chime of a bell that greeted her.

“Hello…?”

Slowly stepping in, she steadily closed the door behind her and eyed the various items throughout the room. There was a desk with a register, but strangely enough, no one was there. Maybe they were on break. Proceeding further in, she marveled at the various chandeliers, framed paintings, and other gadgets lying around.

“I’m here to pick up Solana’s items! I’m her great-granddaughter, (Y/n). If you need proof I can show you an ID or something. I’m sure my cousins or grandparents might’ve dropped by to try and take the things before…”

At one of the hallways, she stopped upon seeing a table with a cardboard box labeled Solana (L/n). Strolling over, she peeked inside, rummaging through the objects. Small picture portraits, porcelain statues, a lamp, the occasional piece of jewelry, lots of books, nothing too exciting. Everything was covered in dust, obviously meaning the belongings hadn’t been touched in a long time. She sneezed, grimacing from the layer of dust coating her fingers. Spotting an old luggage case with stickers from different parts of the world slapped on the side, she decided to place all the items there. It would make things much easier to carry. Before she could stuff all the items inside, she checked the books with vague interest, but was surprised at the selection. The Spell Book for Baby Witches, Spellcasting 101, The Rules of Magic, but the oldest book by far was one titled Creation Magic. For Creators Only!

“Wow, Great Grandma Solana must’ve really liked fantasy too…”

Piling them back in the luggage case, she clipped it shut and was about to head back to the register and wait when a door caught her eye. It looked exactly like one from the photo book. Upon closer inspection, the knob had the same symbol that her necklace had, a hand. Bending down to squint at the small text embedded on the knob, she read softly,

“The hand is no different from what it creates. Find the key in the golden case. The golden case…?”

Scanning her surroundings for a golden case, she found none. Slowly gazing down at her necklace, it clicked. Her necklace was golden, it had the same symbol, so could it have been the case? Fiddling with the pendant, she heard a soft click! and her eyes widened as she pulled out a tiny key from the golden pendant. For years she had this necklace, and she never even knew it did that! She felt so incredibly stupid as she begrudgingly inserted the key and opened the door.

Immediately upon opening it, there was a bright flash as she stepped in and the sound of the door slamming shut behind her. Blinking her eyes open, her vision readjusting to the darkness, and she took another step forward–– She screamed as she fell, the floor never came. She was just falling endlessly, the wind whipping past her, her heart beating as she braced for a crash landing but it never arrived. It was just darkness, but beneath her she could see a starry glow growing closer and closer. There were glowing orbs all around her before they all simultaneously flashed off. It was dark now but she could hear footsteps.

“Shit…! What the hell?”

(Y/n) stumbled out of a cramped space, tumbling to the ground as the door she fell past slammed shut behind her. The footsteps were closer than before, a figure stopping right in front of her.

“Ah, there you are!” A middle-aged woman appeared in her line of vision, wearing the strangest outfit she had ever seen. Curly mulberry locks fluffed around her shoulders, framing her golden complexion and covered a bit by a black witch hat decorated with small skulls. Over her figure she wore a dark cloak and orange shawl that cascaded downwards. “You shouldn’t do that, leaving the Hall of Refleso during the freshman orientation! You’re an exchange student, aren’t you? You should be setting an example, even if you are new! Huh… you look quite familiar… Ah, nevermind that!” Helping the young woman up, she continued to chastise who she thought was a student. “I understand that you’re eager, but your mistake has caused you to miss the ceremony. At this time most students should be on their way to their dorms. Let’s head to the Hall of Refleso, quickly now.”

“W-Wait!” Hall of Refleso? Orientation? Ceremony? Exchange student? Was this a school? How on earth did she end up in a school by falling through the door to an old antique shop. When she looked back at where the door was supposed to be–– it was gone. With no other choice, she jogged to catch up with the mysterious woman. “Hold on, who are you?”

“Ah, that’s right, most new students learn my identity at the entrance ceremony and since you missed it… well, it is fine! Most students would recognize me anyway, so I’m assuming the teleportation magic left you disorientated. I will give you an explanation as you recollect your thoughts!” She dismissed the minor inconvenience before happily continuing her introduction and report as they walked along long academy hallways. “This is Maxnia University of Magics. Those magicians with the most unique aptitude for magic find themselves here, students come from all over the world to attend our classes. I am your lovely principal and also professor of the most arduous class that accepts only the cream of the crop, Viessa Herlynn.”

“Magics…?”

“Well, we don’t just accept anyone. Only the most blessed may attend this school. We offer specialized fields such as magic aeronautics, magic history, magic chemistry, magic transformation, and many more magic majors that I’m sure you will enjoy! There’s no need to look so worried, dear, you’ll fit right in!” Miss Herlynn exclaimed, watching as the young woman beside her stared at the huge classrooms and auditoriums, the spiraling staircases and gigantic libraries bookworms could only dream about, even courtyards and gardens below the colorful glass windows, there was even a dining hall with a store and what looked like a menu with everything one could think of to eat! When they arrived at towering double doors, the headmaster threw them open and announced their arrival to the few students still present in the hall. “I have returned! See, I was correct! There was one missing student so I found them!”

(Y/n) scanned the space, taking note of the dark hall with multi-colored glowing lights floating slowly around the room. The area was big, as large as an auditorium so there must have been a huge amount of students here just moments ago. Now, there remained only a few chatting amongst themselves or watching curiously with the return of their headmaster.

Headmaster Herlynn turned to face her and urged her to step closer, “Pay no attention to the onlookers, they’re merely student council that have stayed behind to clean up. Now, let us begin! What type of witch are you? Depending on your type, you’ll be sorted into a dormitory and from there you can choose your courses as you please! Personally, you strike me as a fortune teller and oracle––!”

She couldn’t just let her continue. Now was the best time to tell her that she’s not a student, “Look, I think you have the wrong person––” Her words seemed to fall on deaf ears, because the headmaster simply continued.

“––or even an invocationer. You may even be a––AHH!”

Everyone jumped at the headmaster’s sudden shriek, (Y/n) stood on edge and alert as the principal grabbed her arm. The pendant of her necklace was in the older woman’s hands being examined by those wide cerulean blue eyes. Abruptly both of her shoulders were gripped tight as the headmaster practically squealed, “You’re a creator!!”

Whispers and murmurs erupted from the onlookers which the headmaster didn’t seem to care about. (Y/n) squirmed uncomfortably and muttered, “I’m a what…?”

“This is unbelievable! In the last century, this school has only had one creator here before you and he still attends but for another to appear is just––!” That joy quickly morphed into confusion and suspicion as realization dawned on her, but to avoid any more attention she ushered the girl with her to the exit where they continued their conversation in private. “Wait one moment… Creators are outlawed unless given special permission by the Emperor. Our own creator student was given special permission by the government but you… I never received word about you. Who are you?”

The young woman sighed in exasperation at her growing frown, “I’ve been trying to tell you this whole time, I have no idea what’s going on! My name is (Y/n) (L/n) and I was visiting a town called Silverkeep when I somehow ended up here because I fell through the door of an antique shop!”

“Hmm, now that you mention it… you do radiate the aura of someplace… foreign. Otherworldly, seems more like the correct term. Silverkeep… I’ve never heard of such a place, and I know every town and city my students are from!” Tapping her chin, she contemplated on the next course of action and decided. “Come, young (L/n), let's do some research in the library.”

So the duo traveled to the library. As Headmaster Herlynn used her magic to make the books float and swiftly scour the collections for something about Silverkeep, (Y/n) decided to whisper an inquiry.

“Why were you so shocked when you said I was a creator, or something. What even is that?”

“It’s a long story…” She murmured somewhat somberly, focusing her gaze on the many books that floated by. Skimming the pages before moving onto the next, she explained briefly, “To put it simply, most creators were hunted down and executed nearly a century ago. Those that remain alive today live to serve the Emperor and are only alive due to his grace. Although he himself is a creator, he deemed them too powerful so he exterminated essentially their whole population save for a few handful. That is why your existence is nothing less than a miracle, since I’m assuming you’re not serving Emperor Desire.” Shifting the topic at hand, she shook her head at the last novel. Surely she expected something, but nothing came up in her search! “There really isn’t anything on this so-called Silverkeep…! No maps, no history, not even a mention of it.” Sizing up the young girl, she squinted at her and questioned, “Are you certain your last location was Silverkeep? You aren’t lying to me, are you~?”

“I’m not lying…”

“I’m just kidding! I believe you, as strange as your story may be. You mentioned on our way here that there’s no magic in your world, correct? How peculiar…” Using her magic to send all the books back to their places on the shelves, she then directed her full attention to this lost girl. “You don’t have any means of communication or identification by chance, do you?”

In that moment (Y/n) felt her heart drop, she patted down her pockets and wildly searched her bag but her phone was gone. “Crap! My phone is missing! I’m sure I had it earlier––”

“Phone?” Herlynn raised an eyebrow but gingerly accepted a card when it was offered to her.

“It’s a communication device… Ugh, I can’t believe I lost it! Well… at least I have my ID.”

Headmaster Herlynn read over the inscriptions on the card before handing it back, “That’s enough evidence to prove you’re really not of this world. Consider me convinced, but… I cannot allow someone who is not a student to stay on campus. However, I’m not cruel enough to toss you onto the street with nowhere else to go but since you are technically a witch whether you know how to use magic or not––” Her grin grew wide and her eyes practically sparkled as she hummed, “You can make an educated guess where I’m going with this, can’t you~? Another creator for Maxnia University would do wonders for our reputation! Oh, and don’t worry, if you agree, rest assured that your secret is safe with us. We aren’t stooges of the government, so you will not have to worry about anyone targeting you solely because you’re a creator. Besides, if you’re a student, you will have the whole library to use for research on your way home besides me additionally working on the case when I have time to spare, heh~”

There weren't really any other options, were there? It was either: be a student or starve on the streets. “Alright… I’ll attend, even if I do have no idea what I’m doing. There isn’t a tuition cost, is there?”

“Worry not, I’ll waive that just for our newest creator! All you’ll have to focus on is upholding your grades!” The older woman looked absolutely delighted with her newest recruitment to the institution. “As our newest creator, you, of course, will be placed in the Creator dormitory! As only one of two creator students here, you will only have one dormmate. Not to fret through, the dormitory is the largest and it will only be you two and your darling creations!”

“Creations…? Uh, what exactly does a creator do?”

Headmaster Herlynn giggled, giving her student’s head a pat as she guided her out of the library and through the hallways. “You will learn soon enough, young (L/n)! Even the most gifted Creators struggled with the concept once. Creating life itself is not meant to be easy, you know~!”

“Wait, wait, did you just say… create life itself…?”

❂ ❂ ❂ ❂ ❂ ❂ ❂ ❂ ❂ ❂

“Welcome to the Creator’s dorm!”

The dormitory for creator students was a Victorian manor. It was more than what (Y/n) expected. The black metal fence and gate were small, separating the gray cobblestone street from the lush green estate. Beyond the gate was the thin path leading up to the building itself. It was much too big for one or two students to live in alone!

She wasn’t even sure how they got here. One moment she was walking alongside the headmaster, entering another hall but this one full of portals. Then the next moment they were outside and a brief walk led to this manor. Did the other portals lead to different dormitories?

“This is… something.” (Y/n) murmured in awe, at a loss for words as the older woman led her towards the entrance.

“Yes, yes, back in its prime it used to be quite the hotspot filled with a hundred or so creators! But now it will be only you and our other creator student, Benzol Uza. At this time he should still be in class. I’ll have an assistant of mine inform him of his new dormmate!” Headmaster unlocked the front doors and entered the manor with the new student in tow.

Past the entrance was a small walkway that led to the huge living space with high ceilings and huge windows, historic portraits of creators of old hung on the walls above a fireplace. There were couches and stairs that led to the next floor. The only sign that someone was here were the coats hanging on the rack and textbooks on a coffee table.

Well, at least this fellow creator student could help her learn the ropes.

(Y/n) wandered what would likely be her new home for at least a few days, hopefully less if they found a way home early. Now seemed like a good time to ask more questions and learn more about what she needed to know. “So… Can you explain more to me? Like how this magic works and how the creator or creation thing works? I really don’t get it.”

“Ah, alright, take a seat. This is much like teaching the basics to a preschooler, heh!” Herlynn laughed slightly before continuing with the brief lecture. “Let’s begin, shall we? Lesson one: the basics of magic!”

The new student hurriedly took a seat on one of the many couch cushions, wondering if she should be taking notes already.

“In this world there are nine types of magic users. Nine! No more, no less!” Slapping her hand against a chalkboard she summoned with her magic. The green board contained pre-written titles of different types of magic users. “There’s abjurations, like protectors. Beast tamers, it’s obvious what they do. Enchanters, essentially charmers. Fortune tellers and oracles that predict events and sometimes summon spirits. Illusionists, need no explanation. Invocationers, that use the elements! Potion brewers, that’s a given. And finally, Creators, the rarest and usually most powerful of them all!”

Silently (Y/n) raised her hand.

“Yes, my star pupil~?”

“Earlier you said Creators basically create life…? But how is that possible? No person can just—”

“Great question!” Twirling a wooden ruler between her fingers, she nodded as she explained, “Creators use elements and magic to make creations, beings made of elemental magic with souls from other realms. Creations are some of the most revered beings in history!” Finishing with a smile on her lips, she proceeded, “This brings us to lesson two and three: Creators and their Creations! There are three stages creations can go through, the greatest skip the beginning stages. Most very young Creators, when making a creation, end up with a creation in the first stage, the soul stage. It just looks like a peculiar blob of an element, and can’t do much yet. With enough growth, or if you’re lucky enough, you’ll end up with a second stage creation, the beast stage. At that point the creation’s taken the form of some type of animal, not much more useful. The real treasure is the final stage! If you’re skilled enough and just have dumb luck, you’ll get a creation in the mortal stage! These beings are the strongest of all, they’ll appear as people that can manipulate the element they’re made of!”

The young woman flipped through one of her great grandmother’s books on Creation magic, skimming over the lines of information and examining the ancient art depicting what looked like magicians with regular looking people surrounded by elements. The whole thing sounded… far fetched.

As soon as she took a breath, the middle-aged woman flipped the board to the back and revealed a circular like chart. “Pay attention now! There are nine elements in three categories. The easiest elements to master or make a creation out of are water, plant, ice, electric and fire. Then air and earth. Most stop there, but the two strongest and rarest of all are dark and light! Did you get that? Good, because I will be giving you a test! Not your standardized exam, oh no. I will be testing you on your creating abilities, and in order to pass you must show me a living breathing creation you made all on your own.”

Really, most of what was said went directly over (Y/n)’s head. All she knew was that somehow she would have to make a creation to pass this test in order to receive help finding the door home. “So, to sum things up, I just have to make a creation and you’ll help me?”

“That is correct! Plus, grades and all.”

Really, she was still uncertain about all this, but again she had little choice in the matter. The human woman closed the book and stood up, “Let’s get started then! I guess this is kind of like… baking! Yeah, we’re just baking! Just baking a person with an actual soul— How exactly do I go about making a creation…? I should probably study more about it first, right?”

“Ah, that is the tricky part. Only the creators are supposed to know and pass their knowledge down in secret, most of that information has disappeared with time ever since their mass execution. But! You are fortunate, young (L/n), for I knew many Creators in my youth. One was gracious enough to share the secret with me should a young fresh Creator witch want to follow in their footsteps but not know how.” Headmaster Herlynn plucked up one of the books from her bag, flipping through the pages. “You say these books belonged to your great-grandmother? Fascinating. That must mean she was a witch, specifically a Creator like yourself. It explains why you have the ability as well!”

The young girl was baffled. “What––My great-grandmother was a witch? Do you realize how crazy that sounds? She couldn’t even unlock her phone and she liked watching pre-recorded rom-coms on her box-like TV!”

The principal brushed her off as she searched for useful pages, “Yes, yes, that sounds interesting… Aha! Here it is! I was correct! The more of a certain kind of element used during the creating process will contribute to a higher chance of the end result with a creation of the type of element used. So for example, should you use a high amount of liquids during the process, there is a good chance the creation at the very end, if successful, is a water creation. So, if you’re ready, shall we start this process?”

“A-Already? But…” Honestly she was still uncertain about all this. It seemed like they would be tossing together random things in hopes for a miracle. Flipping to the next page, she squinted at the written lines in bold, “The most important step to making a creation is the sacrifice. Remember that sacrificing a part of yourself does not mean you will lose that piece unless your Creation dies. In the case that your Creation doesn’t make it past the creating process, the sacrifice will be null and void so do not worry. Beginners commonly start with an arm or leg. Do not attempt to sacrifice your heart, mind, or own soul— Wait a minute, no one said anything about a sacrifice!”

“Yes, well, creating life comes at a price. Even so, you’re not truly giving up a limb unless your creation dies.” Herlynn reminded as she picked up another book on creation magic.

Just the thought of sacrificing a limb was unsettling, even if nothing would happen unless her Creation was killed, but she certainly would not sacrifice her very being. But if her creation remained alive then nothing would happen to her, right…? “Just an arm, that’s it… That’s the beginner's recommendation, right? What about a finger? Or nail? Or even an eyelash?” She breathed, unsurely following the steps listed in the book. First she used chalk to draw a strange pentagram with a dozen symbols, the white substance staining the wooden flooring. Once done, she got up from her knees and continued, “Step two, place the ingredients. Ingredients can range from elements to material or magical objects to affect the creation’s personality and strength.”

Headmaster Herlynn summoned a small portal, allowing the student to reach in and pick whatever ingredients and objects she wished to use. Nervously (Y/n) stepped in the pentagram, dumping the dirt and dried herbs she chose into the cauldron. This would make an earth creation, wouldn’t it…? One by one, slowly the symbols began to glow dimly. “I-I think it’s working! Uh… anything else we should add?”

“Move aside, dear!” Rapidly Viessa joined her side, dropping in items she listed off. “A small diamond to be dazzling! A three-leaf clover to bring you good luck! A feather from a harpy to be as protective as one! The fur of a hellhound to guard you well!” Raising her palm, a smooth sphere of ice formed between her fingers, which she immediately dropped in, “And ice to be cool!”

(Y/n) finally gathered the courage to step forward, her feet touching the symbols of the pentagram and her fingers grazing the cauldron. “Won’t ice possibly change the creation’s element though…?”

“Perhaps–– Oh! Shhhhh! Shh! Look! As soon as you touched it, it started working!” A grin spread across the mulberry-haired woman’s face, excitedly peering into the cauldron she summoned.

Headmaster Herlynn was right. As soon as (Y/n), a supposed Creator’s, hands touched the cauldron, a mysterious liquid began to magically fill the cauldron. It was thick and gooey as it raised halfway, making the air smell of smoke and burnt hair.

Pinching her nose, the principal gagged and stepped back, “I don’t believe it’s supposed to smell this foul––”

“Umm… Uh… for an earth creation…” (Y/n) forced herself to breath through her mouth, avoiding the putrid stench as she looked to the book for help. A title caught her eyes, incantations for earth creations. Somewhat unsurely she proceeded to read aloud, “E-Earth that composes the ground below, make this cauldron of magic glow…! Buried deep in the mountains is where your power grows.”

“Here it comes…!!” The elf woman squealed, resisting the urge to peer into the boiling cauldron.

From beside the cauldron, she could see the contents within it boil and bubble. The glow of the pentagram only increased with every word she uttered. “Rise…! For I summon thee. Realize your call. Come out, crawl from your realm, and stand before me…!”

BOOM!

The contents of the cauldron exploded, filling the room with smoke. A gooey mess spilled from the pot, it looked more like a heap of mud that was slowly moving and wriggling on the floor. Abruptly a foot stomped on it, squishing that thing.

“I’ve never seen someone fail so dismally.” The stranger muttered, glaring down at the dirty remains on his boots.

“Young Uza!” The headmaster exclaimed, opening the window to help clear the area of the smoke. “Ack–– Ah, you’ve returned early! You see, this is your new fellow creator! We were just attempting to form a creation for young (L/n) here! But that… uh… you did just step on it.”

So this was Benzol Uza, the only other creator student. He had a rather unimpressed expression on his dark brown complexion, it quickly turned to disgust as he discarded his dirtied shoes for a new pair. Benzol looked like quite the character, dressed less strangely than the headmaster but still odd. Over caramel colored locks he wore a black floppy hat that matched with his black vest over a white dress shirt and black dress pants. Removing the round blue-tinted glasses from his face, he gazed at his newest dormmate with a frown. “I put it out of its misery. A creation formed with little preparation will only suffer in its few seconds of life. Any creator knows that.”

“Oh… I probably should have prepared more, right.”

“Yes, you should have. You missed several steps. Besides, I didn’t even hear you offer a sacrifice. A creation without a sacrifice is bound for failure. Also, the creating process is meant to be sacred. Any process with another person present, especially a non-creator witch, won’t get you anywhere near even a soul stage creation.” Yikes. He did not sound too happy.

“Ahh, how unfortunate. I was truly hoping to witness the miracle of the birth of a creation.” Headmaster Herlynn sighed in disappointment. In a quick moment she immediately brightened up and shrugged it off, bounding towards the door while she called out, “I’m going back to do more research, young (L/n)! I’ll give you a week until the deadline for your test. Young Uza, make our newest creator feel at home! Goodbye~”

“Wait! Please, don’t––” And she was gone. Headmaster Herlynn really left her with this guy who obviously wasn’t too fond of her already. Avoiding his piercing gaze, she hurriedly cleaned up the mess by picking up the stray items, brushing down the pentagram, pushing aside the cauldron, careful not to step in the remains. The least she could do was try to conversate. “Sorry about the mess. My name is (Y/n) (L/n) and you are Benzol, right?”

“Yes…” He eyed her carefully, choosing to keep his distance until he suddenly demanded, “Why not use a simple spell to clean up instead?”

“I… uh… I can’t use magic… yet.”

“Oh… you’re useless then.” Benzol spoke, eyeing her with disdain, as if she were worse than the failure he stepped in earlier. “I suppose Headmaster Herlynn told you only the best of the best go into this school? Well she’s wrong. A good portion of the students are mediocre but come from legendary lineages and big money, I’m guessing you’re one of them. It’s upsetting they would accept a clueless student just because they’re a creator. Some of us actually worked hard to attend this academy, so stay out of my way.”

“Hold on, I’m not a––” And he was gone too. Wow, talk about harsh… The young man disappeared somewhere in the manor, leaving the girl alone. As angry as she wanted to be, she pieced together his words and connected the dots. He thought she made it here by privilege when she wasn’t meant to be here in the first place. Well, if she worked hard to get into a university and others got in solely because of their family and money, she would be upset too. It was a misunderstanding, so maybe they could clear it up the next time they met.

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“Good morning, star pupil~! Did you sleep well?”

“As well as I could.” (Y/n) admitted. The spare room she had chosen out of many was quite spacious but lacking in decor, not to mention it was a bit dusty due to the lack of students the Creator dorm had. After her brief conversation with Benzol yesterday, he never showed up again, but it was a likely possibility he was still in the manor and they hadn’t yet crossed paths again. It was probably easy to lose someone in the dorm because of its sheer size.

“Wonderful! Even though you just got tossed over from another world you still look to be in good shape!” Headmaster Herlynn hummed in delight as she announced her reason for visiting so early in the morning, “The reason I’ve come to see you is to inform you of what you may expect today. Aside from prioritizing research and studying of the creation process for your upcoming test, today you will be granted permission of the entire school grounds for touring! All three meals of the day will be free for you in the dining hall as well. Once you’re done exploring we can then discuss what courses may be best for you, after that the evening is up to you but I would guess you would continue research and studying the creator ways at that point. Oh, also…” She placed down a bag of luggage, explaining the contents inside while she warily eyed the girl’s choice of outfit. “While Maxnia Academy does not necessarily have strict uniform rules, we also don’t approve of… that. So! Here are a few acceptable articles of clothing I have generously brought you!”

Checking the contents, the luggage bag was filled with neatly folded dress shirts and dress pants, cardigans and sweaters, coats, plaid skirts, vests, etcetera.

“Upon our evening appointment I shall have someone find you for our meeting. Please do change, and take on your student duties enthusiastically!”

#yandere #yandere male #yandere story #yandere oc #witch mc #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x darling #yandere x y/n

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spicysoftsweet · 3 years

Text

Chapter 6

Masterlist

“You have to promise to smile nicely, not that scary thing you do when you’re fighting,” Kumi hissed as she linked arms with Baji and, as though she hadn’t just been fussing at him, flashed her winningest smile to the camera.

Baji grumbled in disapproval but once she nudged him hard in the ribs with her elbow, he smiled widely right before the shutter sound clicked, almost drowned out by the bustle of the city square in which they stood. Excited, Kumi ran over to the old lady who had been nice enough to take a picture of them together and thanked her with a bow before accepting her digital camera back. Before she left, the grandmother didn’t miss the opportunity to hold her gently by the wrist and whisper, “please encourage that young man to get a haircut.”

Kumi held in her laughter and nodded and the elderly woman nodded off.

The picture turned out nicer than expected and she showed him energetically. The two teenagers looked exactly like what they were just from the photo - a new relationship, a first relationship, awkward yet open to the future.

“See how cute you are! No one would even know you’re a troublemaker,” Kumi said, excitedly. Baji pulled her cheek in retaliation, causing her to yelp, but it was evident that he was pleased once he took a look.

The two were spending the day in the shopping district in order to get Kazutora a homecoming gift. Baji had insisted that Kazutora wasn’t exactly the type of person to get excited over gifts, but Kumi and Kaksi had immediately argued the opposite.

We’re throwing him a party, they’d insisted. The irony was that they weren’t even sure when he would get out, but they knew about two years had passed, so it was anytime soon and they wanted to be ready.

Who was he to argue?

So here he was, following her around like a lost puppy as she quickly weaved through the throngs of people in the square, in and out of his view.

“Don’t say anything but I’m buying something for Kaksi too, her birthday is soon!” she said once she’d stopped outside of a store that sold craft jewelry, eyes sparkling.

“Hey, don’t forget you still owe me chocolate,” Baji reminded her, now irritated about all the things that she was getting for other people and not him. Just the memory of Mitsuya dumping tons of chocolate in her lap in front of him on White Day made him scrunch up his face in distaste.

“It’s literally been months! Plus I didn’t like you then,” she replied, calmly without looking at him. “So I owe you nothing.”

“Bambi,” he hissed in a warning tone.

She grinned and pecked him quickly on the cheek, causing him to blush. She went one step forward and squeezed his hand, intertwining her fingers with his.

“Next year, I promise I’ll make you so many you’ll get sick of them.”

The picture of the two of them together, along with a sticky note that promised to make Baji enough chocolates to last a lifetime, sat above her desk, right in the center of her bulletin board, bringing a smile to her face between studies from that day on.

---

Despite the amount of time Kaksi spent with Mikey, there were still very few subjects that would get him to open up of his own accord.

That was - until it came to the subject of Takemichi Hanagaki.

That name would almost fall from Mikey’s lips daily, Kaksi now noticed, although it seemed everyone preferred calling him Takemitchy. The girl had met him once as her friend had invited him to one of their ritual lunches together. Despite not being a jealous person, Kaksi couldn’t help wondering why Mikey would be interested in a boy like Takemichi.

While their meeting had been short and he had paid for his own meal, he apologized profusely to the girl for interrupting her date with Mikey, even though it wasn’t a date. Because, she in fact had a boyfriend that wasn’t Toman’s leader. Observing Takemitchy throughout that dinner, she found him to be very different from the other people Mikey would call friends. Now being different wasn’t bad, she was aware, but it was odd that he was nowhere as bright or as strong as her friends and yet he was becoming pretty famous.

As Toman’s previous conflict with another gang unfolded, Takemichi was the one who had saved Draken’s life, Kaksi had learned with surprise as well as relief. For her peace of mind, she used to prefer not knowing about the gang’s business, but as she got closer to its members she realised this couldn’t always be possible.

So it was with worried and pleading eyes that she asked her friends to all be more careful. She didn’t want to attend any funerals again; despite not being close to Shinichiro Sano, his death was engraved in her memory after all.

And any moment she thought of him had her thinking about her boyfriend.

Kazutora.

Kazutora had been released without fanfare, and quietly returned home. From the moment he was out of juvie, he longed to see Kaksi, his girlfriend and set out in the direction of her home as soon as he’d gotten settled. But she wasn’t home to welcome him, however, he realized, disappointed on his very first day out. That was without knowing that she was planning a homecoming party for him though. He decided to go to her instead. Wouldn’t that be an amazing surprise? To see her boyfriend again?

The boy thought so and waited for the right moment, making sure that he would look good for their reunion after two years of separation. He had changed a lot however - his hair had grown out, and he was taller now - he wondered what she would think of him now. Maybe Kaksi changed a lot too, he figured, on his way to her place for a second time the next Saturday afternoon.

It was with Kaksi’s favourite flowers that he had decided to greet her. It would be her birthday soon after all, so there was no harm in surprising her with an early gift.The pink orchids in his hand contrasted with his darker outfit, simple black pants and a dark grey shirt. He wore a beautiful smile on his face, excited to see one of the people he had missed the most while he was away. He may have had one specific mission the moment he came out, but reuniting with her would never take a backseat to that.

Unfortunately, that joy was short-lived as his eyes laid on an overly familiar bike model, a CB250T, the one he meant to steal two years ago. Kazutora stopped in his tracks, unsure about what he was witnessing. But there weren’t two smiles like this one. Yes, he could recognise Kaksi’s smile from a mile away. The flowers he held started the crumble as his fist tightened around them.

What the fuck was he doing here?

The fury that was taking over Kazutora was deadly.

What the fuck was he so close to his girlfriend for?

The ringing in the boy’s ears was deafening as he watched Kaksi take a hold of Mikey’s hand, only a few meters away from her apartment block. She was only inspecting the bracelet she had offered to her friend as he told her about his fear that it might fall apart any second, but of course, Kazutora couldn’t possibly realize that from his vantage point.

No, all he knew was that the person responsible for the past two wasted years of his life was getting too close to his girlfriend. What Kazutora felt was beyond jealousy, it was madness that he had been feeding every day ever since Shinichiro’s death. Kazutora had already wanted to kill Mikey. That was the only thing that could solve everything, he believed, and this was even more evidence of the latter.

Why was Kaksi smiling at him? Why was she giving him those eyes? Kazutora couldn’t understand. Didn’t she know that Mikey was responsible for all the bad things that had happened to him? The pain, the fear, the loneliness, the anger - it was all because of Mikey. He was the bad guy. So why was she so close to him?

Kazutora had noticed Mikey’s deep black eyes lingering on his girlfriend a few times in the past. But Kaksi’s brown eyes only sparkled for Kazutora... At least that was what he used to believe. Did Mikey decide to take her away from him too? Of course, he would, Kazutora was convinced. Wasn’t Kaksi the dearest person to him after all?

Kaksi was the hands that would take care of his wounds, the ears that would listen to his nightmares and dreams, the lips that would kiss his salty tears away. She was his world and he was hers. That was how it had always been between them. Yet there she was laughing with Mikey like she wasn’t supposed to be missing Kazutora.

Did she forget about him? Was that the reason she hadn’t come to see him, her boyfriend earlier? Kazutora watched as she waved her friend goodbye, making her way to her apartment building, hand playing with the fabric of her dress.

Kaksi rarely ever wore dresses, he noted. Was she trying to impress Mikey? Kazutora was too angry to confront her, crushing the orchids he had brought her under his shoe as he walked away.

Once again Mikey was the cause of his pain and anger. But Kazutora had reached his limit a long time ago. He had to kill him, that was all he could think about on the walk back to his place.

Blood still boiling, he let himself stew in anger for a few more days before he turned to his confidant.

---

“Long time no see, Kazutora.”

Baji met his friend with his classic devious smirk, muting his excitement to see him after all this time. After all, Kazutora appeared serious, and the fact that they met under the cover of night in a dark alleyway only further accented the sinister nature of their meeting.

Kazutora smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Are you in or are you out?”

Baji didn’t hesitate when he replied, “yes.”

Agreeing would mean betrayal by formally letting go of Toman, a group he’d conceived of himself with his friends.

There was more he wanted to say - more about what had happened while he was gone, how he’d missed him, to thank him for helping him out, but Kazutora had one goal in mind.

Revenge.

A singular, unreasonable type of revenge that Baji couldn’t quite wrap his head around.

Mikey did not make you do anything. Mikey did not put the weapon in your hands and force you to use it, he wanted to tell him. Mikey will understand. He’ll forgive you.

But Kazutora was too far gone, and Baji had to find a way to temper it. For the three of them to be friends again, for Toman.

“Let us know when you quit. See ya around, Baji!” Kazutora said, nearly singing out the words as he turned and walked off. Baji frowned the moment Kazutora had his back turned, fists clenched as he remembered the source of the problem.

Tetta Kisaki, a somebody who should be a nobody. He knew in almost no time that Kisaki was bad news, and he’d find a way to get to him, even if it killed him.

---

It was with anticipation that Kaksi made her way up the steps to her boyfriend’s apartment. Kaksi hadn’t visited in a long time and it felt a little strange to be there once again, expecting to see Kazutora. She wondered if he was upset that she hadn’t come to see him while he had been detained before being sentenced to two years in juvie.

This was part of the reason why she hadn’t come to meet him sooner, the fact that she still felt some guilt at not being there, and also because she was preparing a surprise party for him. But Kazutora would understand - he could hardly ever be angry at her, she remembered and he was way more understanding than he let on. There was no reason why he wouldn’t be happy to see her again, she concluded, knocking on the boy’s apartment door.

Kaksi played with the fabric of her skirt, inspecting her hair one last time as well as the light makeup she had worn on her face, waiting for him to open the door. She wasn’t even sure he was home, and apart from Baji letting her know Kazutora was back, neither he nor her boyfriend would answer her texts. She wasn’t worried however, as there was nothing unusual about Baji ignoring her unless it was for an emergency and as for Kazutora, she figured he might have changed numbers once out of juvie and didn’t have an opportunity to tell her yet.

But as the wooden door finally opened, Kaksi hoped that it was her boyfriend that would welcome her and not his mother, and her wish came true. Kazutora stood in front of her and she froze for a moment.

He had changed a lot.

Kaksi’s brown eyes studied the boy in front of her. He had grown and the girl was incredibly jealous of his height, as he’d gone from being the same height to towering over her by a few inches. His hair was also longer and styled completely differently from what she was used to seeing and it suited him very well, she realized, feeling the heat take over her face. He also had a new ear piercing, one with a dangling earring that made a tinkling sound with every turn of his head.

He looked absolutely stunning. Yet the first thing that Kaksi had noticed was his eyes, Kazutora’s wide sandy eyes. As familiar as they were to her, she couldn’t brush away the impression that something was off about her boyfriend. Still, she figured it was the novelty of his new look and the two years that had separated them that made him look so different .

This boy was still her boyfriend and as he watched her in turn, studying the way she had changed (admittedly way less than Kazutora), she couldn’t help reaching for his face. Kaksi’s fingertips brushed Kazutora’s skin as she smiled in adoration. She could feel tears of joy blurring her vision and quickly blinked, not wanting to cry in front of him.

He allowed her, remembering how good it felt to be this close to her again. This moment was however short-lived as he took a step back and promptly pushed her hand away. The sudden action brought the girl back to her senses, and she spoke for the first time in a while, a little embarrassed by what she had done.

“It’s been too long, Kazutora,” she said, with a little smile. “Can I come in?”

He didn’t return her smile but nodded before moving to the side, letting Kaksi enter. Kazutora closed the door behind him then faced her again. She was still smiling and he would have kissed her if it wasn’t for the jealousy that had been eating away at him ever since he had seen her with Mikey that other day.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come to see you earlier,” the girl told him. “I was busy with a little something.”

Kaksi chuckled, excited to show her boyfriend what that little something was.

“I know,” Kazutora’s voice was cold, very unlike him, she noticed.

The girl frowned, confused.

“What do you mean you know?”

Had Kazutora uncovered her planned homecoming party for him? Did Baji or someone else tell him?

“I saw you,” he said, confusing the girl further, his eyes staring into her soul. For once, Kaksi was wary about his look.

“Kazutora, what are you talking about?”

Her boyfriend laughed, but it was nothing like the melodious sound she was used to hearing when he was happy or amused. Rather, this laugh was as unnatural as it was frightening and Kazutora’s sudden change of expression didn’t help.

“I’m talking about whatever the fuck you have going on with Mikey,” Kazutora spat, voice louder and harsher.

Kaksi’s eyes widened slightly and guilt automatically washed over her. How did he find out? was what she first wondered. But this wasn’t what she should be asking herself when it was still unclear what her boyfriend was accusing her of doing.

“Nothing is going on between Mikey and me,” she replied, in a small voice.

But this wasn’t true. There was something, even if she wasn’t sure what. Still, she hadn’t done anything wrong, right?

“I saw you,” he repeated, his smile sadistic. “Don’t fucking lie to me, Kaksi.”

“I’m not lying, Kazutora!” She protested. No, she wasn’t, at least not entirely.

“What did you see?” she asked him, assuming guilt already, whether it was completely deserved or not.

What could have ever given away that she hadn’t been completely emotionally faithful to Kazutora?

“I came to see you, a few days ago,” the boy explained, getting closer to Kaksi, without his eyes meeting hers. “I wanted to surprise you. So I bought you some flowers and decided I would come over to your place. I thought we could pick up where we left off, you and I.”

Kazutora paused for a moment, remembering all the emotions he had felt watching his girlfriend stand so close to the person that had hurt him.

“But instead, I saw you laughing and holding hands with Mikey,” he continued.

So this was what Kazutora saw. But this was only a twisted version of what had unfolded last Saturday afternoon.

“I wasn’t holding hands with Mikey at all. I was ju-”

“Oh please, spare me the details,” Kazutora cut the girl off. “Instead, tell me since when did the two of you get so close to each other?”

Was it the moment he turned his back? Had she always wanted him?

Kaksi took a moment before answering, thinking about her next words carefully.

“I felt guilty after what happened to Shinichiro, even though it wasn’t my fault,” she told him, sincerely. “I was just trying to be a good friend to Mikey, that’s all.”

“A good friend to Mikey?” Kazutora asked, in disbelief, then rage. His fists clenched. “On whose side are you exactly, Kaksi?”

The girl frowned, confused once again about what was the real issue. The confusion made her upset, angry even.

“What the fuck are you talking about? There are no sides, Kazutora. Mikey is our friend.”

There was a new strength in her voice as it grew louder.

“He’s not my friend,” Kazutora replied. “And he shouldn’t be yours either. It’s because of him that I ended up in juvie. It’s because of him that I lost my friends. It’s because of him that we got separated, Kaksi!”

Kazutora yelled those last words and Kaksi wondered what she could tell him to help him regain his senses. It was clear that he wasn’t thinking straight anymore. Instead of feeling guilty for hurting Mikey, Kazutora had twisted the truth and decided to blame Mikey for his suffering. Kaksi couldn’t understand what had led him to believe in such nonsensical thoughts. But she couldn’t blame him, being completely isolated from everyone for two years after the traumatic event that had unfolded in the summer of 2003 probably didn’t help Kazutora’s fragile state of mind.

“Kazutora,” the girl said, softly, moving closer to him and holding his arm lightly. “This is not true. Mikey isn’t the bad guy, he doesn’t want to hurt you. He never meant to hurt you.”

This felt strange to say considering what Kazutora had done to Mikey. But Kaksi was unsure about how the boy would react to the unfiltered truth.

“But I am?”

“No, of course not,” she reassured.

“So why are you defending him?” Kazutora asked, the fury in his eyes making the girl step back.

“I’m not defending any-”

“You love him don’t you?” her boyfriend asked, taking a step forward.

Yes. But I love you too. I love you more. I promise.

This was what she wanted to tell him.

“No, I don’t, Kazutora,” she said, instead.

“Stop fucking lying to me, Kaksi,” he insisted, gripping her arms and preventing her from moving away from him.

Kazutora was strong and his hold on the girl was hurting her. For the first time in her life, Kaksi feared her boyfriend.

“I’m not lying,” she insisted, regardless.

“Then why were you so close? Why were you on his bike? Why were you holding hands? Why were you laughing with him? Why did you look at him like you looked at me?”

It was useless. This was a fight Kaksi couldn’t win. Kazutora might have been irrational in the way he had been analysing the situation but he hadn’t missed the subtle clues that his girlfriend had dropped, it was clear to her now. Kazutora was right. She loved Mikey and she had hurt him, Kazutora had every right to be mad at her.

“I’m sorry,” was all she could say, as tears ran down her face.

Kazutora didn’t say anything, he dragged her to his door instead. But Kaksi didn’t want to leave, not like this, not after that. She pulled as hard as she could, trying to stop the boy from moving her further. But his grip only tightened around her wrists as his movements got more brutal.

“Kazutora, please,” she begged, voice breaking. “Listen to me.”

But the boy had heard enough. He held Kaksi with one arm and opened the door with the other. She tried to fight him back, reaching for him as tears kept rolling down her cheeks. It was in vain however as Kazutora violently pushed her out of his apartment.

“Go fuck yourself, Kaksi,” he hissed, slamming the door in front of her while she fell to the ground, crying from desperation and pain.

#baji x oc #kazutora x oc #tokyorev #off target effects #collab fic #mae.writing #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers imagine #tokyo revengers #longfic

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themoonandotherslikeit · 4 years

Text

Gone - Part One

Castiel Novak’s obsession with dead things started when he was just six years old. His neighbors had this cat that the kids, fondly, called Lumpy. Her real name was something complicated, some four syllable name that was after someone that they’d never heard of, so to them she was just Lumpy. She bumbled around the neighborhood meowing at everything with a blatant disapproval that is unique to cats.

His father was a writer, constantly locked in his study, so Castiel spent most of his time wandering around. During the late autumn months, he sat on his porch crudely carving his Jack-O-Lantern with no supervision. He planned to carve a simple smile on the front of it with wide round eyes and a big open mouth.

He was focusing intensely when the familiar yowl of Lumpy danced through the chilled air. “Come here, Lumpy, you ugly cat,” he called out, not thinking too much about it as his eyes still focused on his blade sawing through the flesh on the pumpkin. He pursed his lips, making a kissing noise, wondering what was taking the fat cat so long. Usually she would be at his calf, rubbing and begging for pumpkin pieces by then.

Castiel looked up, his attention sparked just as the wet angry screech of car breaks broke through the afternoon air. The driver was gone before he could even run into the street. He stuck his hands under Lumpy, peeling her sticky, blood soiled body off of the asphalt. Her head lulled, her lifeless eyes open and accusing.

He knew he had to help her, so he tucked her against his chest, matted wet fur sticking to his cotton t-shirt. He took her to his porch and laid her out. In the mind of a child, he needed to fix the pieces that were broken on her, and then she would wake up. So he took out his carving blade, pulling it from his pumpkin and began carving out the pieces of rock. He shaved away the pieces of skin that were worn away from the tire tread. “It’s okay Lumpy, I’ll save you,” he murmured to her sweetly, like she was merely sleeping.

Castiel plucked at her broken, flattened ribs with slick, trembling fingers. Perhaps if he reconnected all of her pieces she would begin to meow and purr just as he knew her. It was only once his father stepped out onto the porch with his reading glasses perched on his nose, and his pen fell from between his lips and bounced off the leather tie on his house shoe, that Castiel realized that he was gravely mistaken.

“Castiel what have you done?”

“I’m trying to fix her,” he pleaded, staring up at his father as congealing, dead blood rolled down his forearms to his elbows, “I have to fix her.”

His father was rightly horrified and Castiel went to a child therapist for five years. He hadn’t been enthralled with death before his at length discussions with his therapist. He just wanted to help her, but she wasn’t so convinced. She thought that he found a thrill from the blade, from the slicing skin, from the pearl white bone against crimson red blood. He didn’t find thrill in it. At least he didn’t when he’d been trying to help Lumpy, the thrill came much later when his therapist unbuttoned her top and breathed whiskey onto his neck. He bit into her throat drawing blood, requiring six complex stitches, but Castiel never had to see her again.

He was an exceptional student, and he was fascinated by biology. He loved to take apart technology and put it back together, and the idea that it could be done with people was fascinating. He could heal someone, fix them. It didn’t take long for him to decide that he wanted to be a surgeon. He never went on dates, even though he was easily one of the best looking guys at his school. He graduated at the top of his class as the weird loner who wore the same three t-shirts every week. He couldn’t bother to care about fashion, romance, or anything that would distract him from getting into the best pre-med program in the states. It was no surprise to anyone that knew him that he got into both Harvard Med and the best residency program. His bedside manner was poor at best, he was awkward, and he didn’t understand much about social queues, usually missing the beat, but he was a damn good surgeon. Was being the operative word.

The tape whirred inside of Castiel Novak’s recorder. “September 21st, examination of Jacob Stevenson.”

There was something in the air the night that everything changed. It was a full moon, and maybe that’s why the leaves were blowing, crackling against windows like a hard autumn rain. Castiel felt a chill as he walked out of his stale, one bedroom apartment, but he didn’t turn back for another layer to trap in the warmth. He’d rather be cold, sometimes a feeling was better than feeling nothing at all, even if it was unpleasant.

He was used to being cold, it was part of the job. Most medical examiners he met were clad in turtlenecks up to their chins, thick layers, and a pale disposition as if they’d never seen the sun. He blended in with them, just another faceless shape in a crowd. He wasn’t always that way, though. Despite his horrid bedside manner, he was described as bright by those who met him. His skin glowed with the fresh tan of a man who played a lot of golf or read medical textbooks outside on benches.

“Caucasian male, age 71, approximately 1.6 meters tall, weighs 83 kilograms. Note a yellowing at his fingertips likely from years of smoking.” He clicked the tape off and set it back down on his instrument table. He took a swab out of its packaging and carefully ran it across the man’s fingertips. He collected a sample from under his nails, the inside of his cheek, along his bottom lip, bagging each piece he collected for testing.

He knew what he expected to find: years of heart disease, smokers lungs, too many homemade cupcakes from his loving wife. He would see a body aged by a life that was lived. That was the goal, wasn’t it?

“I’m sorry that this happened to you, Mr. Stevenson. Rest well.”

He closed his eyes, clasping his surgical gloved hands and said a silent prayer for his soul, wherever it may be. He wasn’t a believer, not really, not anymore. He just had to say goodbye to the spirit, to disconnect himself from the person that used to be inside of the skin. He had to separate himself so that he could make that first cut.

He undressed Mr. Stevenson, unbuttoning his sleep shirt. His pale, wrinkled flesh spilled and pressed against the cool metal of the autopsy table. He pressed his scalpel into the man's skin, across his chest and down his stomach in a Y shape. There was no blood. That stopped after death, settled and clotted.

He liked cases like Mr. Stevenson. He passed in his sleep. He was old, and his heart gave out. Dying old and peacefully was the goal. There wasn’t a lot of peace to be found in life and all that Castiel could really hope for was peace in death. It was called an eternal rest for a reason, right? He removed the organs one by one, weighing them on the scale. He made notes of any odd coloring, biopsied anything that was abnormal.

People often asked him why he worked with the dead. Well, not often . People didn’t often speak to him at all, but when they found out he was a medical examiner, their curiosity was piqued. They just couldn’t wrap their minds around why a surgeon would ever want to work in a dark, cold basement instead of an operating room, but they didn’t understand. How could they?

Mr. Stevenson’s heart was a little enlarged, but that was no surprise. Heart disease was on his chart. It ran in his family. Castiel wondered if darkness ran in his.

He threaded his surgical needle with suture thread and meticulously began stitching the pieces of flesh back together. He vaguely recalled his grandmother stitching together his torn shirt in much the same way, every stitch with care. “We can make it whole again, Castiel. Don’t you worry, little angel.” Except he wasn’t worried, not about a tear. Why worry about a rip when there were other things out there in the darkness?

He tied off the last suture and ran a gloved finger across the perfect line. It was much easier to stitch on unmoving flesh. Another chill ran down his spine. It was the full moon pressing down on the world like a heavy hand. It was making him feel claustrophobic.

He moved Mr. Stevenson into a black bag, zipping him up, and sliding him away into the wall of drawers to keep him preserved until the funeral home could come and pick him up. Castiel’s job was done. He discarded his gloves and washed his hands, scrubbing his fingernails, between his fingers, and up to his elbows for exactly five minutes, a habit he picked up when he was still operating. Everything had to be meticulously sterile.

He dried his hands, his arms, and reached into his pocket and pulled out a small orange bottle. He gave it a shake to listen to the familiar clatter of tablets against plastic. It gave him peace to know that the pain was a dry-swallow away from dissipating. He popped open the lid, child-locks be damned, and poured two into his hand. They looked small, insignificant against the heft of his palm. He flexed his hand, watching them hop as if eager to slide down his throat.

“Take us inside of you, Castiel,” they seemed to beg. So he did. It was the only intimacy he knew.

There were different types of trauma. While in therapy Castiel learned that they all could be categorized into one of three main types. Acute trauma that results from a single incident, chronic trauma that is repeated and prolonged such as domestic violence or abuse, and complex trauma which is exposure to varied and multiple traumatic events, often of an invasive, interpersonal nature. More so, there was capital T trauma and what she called little t trauma . Capital T was the big stuff, the stuff that wrecks a person in an irreparable way. Little t was less so. It is possible for a traumatized person to get over little t trauma.

In Castiel’s life, he’d seen his fair share of trauma. Probably more than a thirty-four year old man should’ve. He’d seen trauma happen to others, happen to himself, and he continued to see it on corpse after corpse. He saw trauma that others didn’t. The kind of trauma that couldn’t be seen from the outside. The kind of trauma that a person inflicts upon themselves.

He remembered his first tumor resection from a lung. It was successful, beautiful, that tumor was a piece of art. He went out to deliver the good news to the man's twenty year old daughter. When he told her the news she immediately threw up into the trash can. She kneeled over it, Castiel standing next to her awkwardly, unsure of what to do. He offered her a Kleenex.

She took it and wiped her mouth. She turned her head and looked at him with bloodshot eyes. “I thought he would die. I thought he had to.”

“What do you mean?” Castiel asked, puzzled.

“He knew what the cigarettes were doing. He knew they’d kill him, but he didn’t care. If he throws his life away so easily how does he deserve another chance? Why would someone willingly do that to themselves?”

He thought about that a lot, but mostly he thought about how she didn’t understand. How could she understand? He did, though, looking down at the tumor with its tendrils wrapped around the lobe of his lung. The cancer was made of him. It was a part of him. Sometimes people have to cause pain for a release. People are naturally violent. They’re prone to cutting, kicking, biting, and those that are usually find an outlet. They become a football player, a boxer, a surgeon . Not everyone can, though, so instead of inflicting that violence and pain on others, they inflict it on themselves.

Sometimes pain was the only way to feel anything at all. Sometimes he’d rather be numb.

His phone vibrated angrily on his instrument table with a vrrrrrr vrrrr vrrrrr . He opened his eyes and pulled it into his hand. It felt forgein, like it didn’t belong to him. “Doctor Novak.”

“Novak, we have a body.”

“Great,” he said flatly. “Bring it in.”

“Don't hang up!”

“What is it?”

“There’s been a murder. We need you to come up here. There’s a new detective, and I think it’s the first time he’s seen a stiff. We could use you here.”

“Fine.”

“I’ll text you the address.”

Castiel didn’t have many friends. Maybe any friends at all, but he had Inias. He was a forensic tech. He knew that Castiel didn’t like being in the field, so he tried to take care of everything on his own. When he was matched with a good detective, it wasn’t a problem. Castiel knew, though, that a rookie could disrupt evidence even by accident and leave him in a mess when he completes his autopsy. He was tired thinking about it already.

He removed his lab coat, hung it, and walked to the bathroom to change out of his scrubs. He preferred to not be out in public in them. In fact, he preferred to not be out in public at all if he could help it.

He threw a gray scoop neck sweater over his white undershirt and pulled on his khaki pants. He grabbed his kit, keys, and cell phone and walked out into the frigid day. The air bit into his skin, and he hissed a bit, wishing desperately that he didn’t leave his coat at home. The plastic bottle in his pocket weighed heavier. He ignored it, shifting his weight to the right as he walked creating a sort of limp.

His vehicle groaned angrily, whining about the cold. “Yes, I’m aware,” he commented to the machine impatiently. The engine sputtered to life after a few twists of his wrist with the key in the ignition. His head had begun to pound, and he added it to just another reason why he hated being out in the field.

The scene wasn’t far, only a few blocks. In another life, Castiel would’ve walked and basked with the sun on his face happy to be alive despite the chill in the air. That was another life, though, and in the life he was in, Castiel drove.

Yellow crime scene tape circled the scene, and Castiel hung his tape recorder on his wrist loosely with a strap. He shoved his hands in his pockets as he walked up, the recorder bouncing off his hip as he walked.

“Cas!” Inias called to him, waving like a child. He was all wrist and elbow, moving his entire arm. Even his shoulders bobbed. “Damn, buddy, it’s good to see you in the fresh air.

“Speak for yourself,” he replied sourly. “Is this the deceased?” He gestured with an elbow to a woman sprawled out on the ground.

“Nah, this is my girlfriend,” Inias deadpanned. Castiel stared back at him like he didn’t understand, and Inias pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, ‘s her.”

“Perfect.”

Castiel crouched next to her. “Caucasian female, I’d place the age in her twenties,” he said into his tape recorder. Everytime the tape looped around there was a click. Whir, whir, click. Her dark eyes stared up at him, wide, gaping, accusatory. Her lips were parted slightly as if she was going to say something. Day-old red lipstick stained the fullness of her lips.

He squinted at the pinpricks along her arms accompanied with black and blue skin. She was bruised. The blood had settled beneath translucent skin. “Drug use is apparent,” he commented into the recorder. Click!

“You must be the M.E.”

The voice was rough and it sent an immediate chill down Castiel’s spine. His eyes flicked up to catch a pair of moss green eyes glinting in the sunlight. He was young, likely not even thirty years old. His badge hung around his neck on a chain, swinging slightly as he shifted his weight. A plaid button up was tucked under a brown leather coat.

“Yes.” Castiel said, realizing that the man was staring at him like he was a fucking idiot.

“Awesome.” The corner of his mouth tugged into a smirk that seemed almost smug, and there was a tug deep within Castiel’s belly as a response. Who did this kid think he was? “I’m Detective Winchester.”

“Pleasure.”

The detective blinked a few times before scratching the back of his head. “I uh...What do you make of her?”

Castiel cleared his throat, happy to turn back to his work. He peeled his eyes off of Winchester and planted them firmly back to the deceased. “The track marks here and here,” he said, gesturing loosely to the pin pricks on the inside of her arm. “Lead me to believe she is an addict.”

“Think it’s an overdose?”

“Hard to tell without a toxicology report,” Castiel began. “But, see this?” He gestured to her mouth. “No vomit. That tells me that it’s unlikely that it was a true overdose. Normally they choke on their own vomit. I’d have to look inside of her throat…” He turned to look back at the detective when his words caught in his throat. He had crouched down at some point while Castiel was talking and was now a breath away from him.

“What about this?” He asked, pointing to the victims throat.

“Bruising,” Castiel explained with a quick nod. “I noticed it as well. It looks like she’s been choked.”

“Could that’ve killed her?”

“I will look into the state of her windpipe, but from here it doesn’t look like there was enough force.”

Winchester nodded a few times, his eyebrows furrowing together in puzzlement. From that close, Castiel could see freckles sprinkled across his nose and cheekbones. It gave him a boyish look, young and wide eyed, but the honey brown hairs poking through the skin on his jaw aged him a bit more. Castiel had to resist the urge to reach out and feel the roughness of new hair breaking through.

He cleared his throat, forcing his eyes away from the detective, and back to the victim. “I will collect some samples and examine her back in the lab.”

The detective put a hand on Castiel’s shoulder, causing him to recoil, his head whipping back to look at the man. His green eyes were fixed, intense. “Will you call me with what you figure out? I’ve got a nasty gut feeling that this is more than it looks like.”

His mouth was dry, and he was sure his jaw was hanging open. The guy was green, a rookie, so what did he know? Castiel’s eyes flickered back to the body and his own gut twisted. He didn’t know how, or why, but he believed the green eyed detective. He believed him down to his bones. “Alright.”

“Thank you,” Winchester breathed, like he was relieved.

“It’s my job,” Castiel said blankly, his fingers tapping his pocket anxiously. He didn’t like it… talking to people, socializing, being watched. He could feel the weight of the man's gaze and it felt suffocating. He turned to Inias. “Bring the body to me, I… I will meet you there.”

He turned on his heels and shuffled away rapidly, trying to catch his breath as the sky seemed to come down on him with a crushing weight. He pulled on his collar, trying to get it away from his neck, because it felt like a tight hold, like fingers pressing on his windpipe. The pain was still there, it was always there. It was a phantom limb, gone but still aching.

He hadn’t waited for Inias to respond, or to pass over what he had collected. His recorder was still whirring in his hand, recording every passing second. He clicked it off as soon as his ass fell into the driver's seat of his vehicle. He gripped the wheel with both hands and clamped his eyes shut. He tried to steady his breathing, like he’d learned in therapy, but thinking about therapy made him even more anxious. Why did Inias call him? He could’ve handled it on his own!

He dug deep into his pocket, pulling out the familiar plastic bottle. He cracked open the top, dumping the tiny tablets onto his palm. He wasted no time before swallowing them, his lips to his palm. It hurt rolling down his dry throat, but he avoided the urge to gag. He needed it. He closed his eyes again, pressing the back of his head to the headrest, and he fell into the darkness.

+++

He was whistling, whistling. He wasn’t sure he’d ever whistled in his life, but yet there he was. It was probably inappropriate, to have some feigned happiness around a woman who had overdosed. Well, he couldn’t say for certain that it was an overdose, not until his lab got back.

Like he suspected, she didn’t die of strangulation, but there was a struggle. She was attacked and fought her attacker. He got samples of skin under her fingernails. Skin and blood. They still didn’t have any identification for her, but the police were supposed to be running her finger prints and dental records. It was looking more and more like a murder. It was a puzzle, and Castiel loved puzzles. They were complicated, but yet they all fit together in the end in a pretty picture. Not much in life ended up that way, so Castiel craved the moments when it did. He hoped she would make a perfect picture. The dead deserved justice, sometimes it was all that they got from a world that only dished out pain.

He thought back to the rookie detective as he sewed up the Y cut across her chest and down her stomach. He was handsome, young, and serious. Castiel didn’t allow himself to look, let alone date, but he couldn’t seem to pluck the man from his mind. He was a planted seed, and the ideas were already blooming and growing out of control.

He wasn’t sure exactly when he stopped whistling, but the new silence around the morgue was deafening. It was broken only by one stray drip drip drip. Did he leave the faucet on? He turned quickly to check, the world tilting on its axis a bit as he stumbled to the sink.

Sure enough, a droplet was pooling and falling rapidly from the faucet into the sink with an earth shattering splash. He let out a sigh of relief, as he placed his hand under the faucet, almost as if to check the temperature, to be sure that it was really there. Wetness pooled at his fingers as another drop fell from the faucet onto his skin, and he pulled back his hand to examine his fingers.

They were red.

Blood soaked his fingertips, a single droplet at first, but it continued to spread. Had he cut himself? He wiped away the blood on his scrub top, but it just kept coming, spurting and oozing out. He blindly reached for a towel and wrapped it around his fingers to stop the bleeding. He pressed it against the wound, his head spinning already from the blood loss.

The light blue surgical towel was already turning wet and crimson from the blood soaking through, pooling, growing, and a horrible feeling came to his stomach. He was going to die.

He didn’t want to die, but more than that he didn’t want to be a body on someone’s table. He didn’t want to be exposed, cut open, and emptied out like a bag of groceries. He didn’t want his blood to settle and congeal. He didn’t want a tag on his toe, his greying skin zipped within a black bag. He couldn’t be reduced to just parts.

His heart was racing, and he knew that it was a mistake. He was a doctor for god sakes, and he knew that rapid heartbeat would make him bleed out faster, but he couldn’t stop the panic that was spiraling within him.

The pain pulsed through him, his fingers throbbing with the beat of his heart. “Fuck,” he hissed under his breath as he quickly unwrapped his fingers. He needed to find the source of the bleed and stitch it up or he would surely bleed out and die alone next to a murder victim. He unwrapped the towel and placed his hand immediately under the faucet to run water over it. He turned on the flow and clear water ran over his skin. There was no blood to be found.

He pulled his hand away, examining it in its entirety. Then his opposite hand. There was no cut. There was no blood at all. He picked up the surgical towel to find it completely dry. There was never any blood. He stared at it, his fingers curling around the fabric.

He was losing his fucking mind.

Castiel let out a heavy sigh and turned off the faucet, wiping a bead of sweat off his brow with the surgical towel. He probably needed a day off — maybe a week. He turned back to finish his examination of the murder victim. He still had a mountain of paperwork to do and samples to process. His eyes settled on the metal examination table. The silver top gleamed in the buzzing fluorescent lights. He touched his temple and closed his eyes. In, out, in out. Keep it together, Castiel. But when he opened his eyes the picture in front of him was still the same.

The table was completely empty and cleared off.

The body was gone.

+++

Part Two

Masterlist

#supernatural #spn au #destiel #dark!fic #PPB2020 #mortiican!Cas #detective!DEan #castiel #dean winchester #MCI #pain

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ofvisitorsthefairest · 4 years

Text

Memories Up In Smoke

Here’s an excerpt from And There’s No Horizon! This is about the funeral of Orin’s biological grandmother.

WC: 1,592

CW: Death/funeral, foster care (dunno if I should tag that as it’s an essential component to the entire story, but just in case).

Note: Please forgive me and kindly let me know if I messed up any aspect of the Jewish funeral so I can fix it in the next draft. Although my mom’s family is Jewish, I’ve only been to one Jewish funeral, so I did a bit of research for the proceedings. Hope I got it right!

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“How can you not like The Lord of the Flies? It’s a classic.” Mr. Miller’s breath was thick with lingering cigarette smoke, a smell as repulsive as his opinions.

Orin grimaced. “I just--I just don’t.”

“But why?” Miller pressed.

Sally said, “I never liked it much either,” sending him into a tailspin.

“You people have no taste-”

Orin’s phone buzzed, the screen reading Rachel. He snatched it from the table and raced to the hall, wasting no more time listening to Miller’s protestation. He picked up the call, headed towards his office. “Mom?” It still felt strange to call her that, but he hid it well. Afterall, he’d called many women mom in his life between all of his foster mothers and, in one horrifying slip of the tongue, the fourth grade teacher.

“Orin,” she said, “is now a good time to talk?”

Lamar walked passed the window of his office, and Orin knew he should ask him for the hall pass he most likely didn’t have. “Yeah, sure.”

“My mom died yesterday. Grandma Frieda,” she added, as if he didn’t know who that was.

“Oh, I’m...I’m so sorry.”

“Her service is on Sunday. I thought you and Eden should know. That you might want to come.”

Was that her way of asking them to come and support her? He wondered how he was supposed to feel about the news. After all, he hadn’t seen his grandmother in years, and he could hardly recall the months he lived with her. “Yeah, I’ll come.”

“Okay.” Her voice was shaking. “I’ll send you the address.”

“Alright. Bye, Mom.”

“Bye.” Rachel hung up, and he was relieved that she didn’t say she loved him. He would have said it back, but that was still harder for him to say than calling her mom.

He walked back to the teacher’s lounge, adjusted his tie, and reclaimed his seat next to Sally. They were all looking at him. He hated the way they always looked at him. “Everything okay?” Sally asked.

“Yeah.” He tucked into his pastrami sandwich, and the conversation drifted back to the subject of classic literature. He didn’t give Miller the satisfaction of explaining his hatred of Lord of the Flies, but indulgently listed the books he did like for him.

At the end of the lunch break, he returned to his office, worked his way through his caseload, and packed himself into his car. He was halfway to the condominium complex before he realized he’d never put any music on. At home, Hollis gave him the same look his colleagues had.

“This joke killed at work,” she said, “what gives?”

“Sorry. I’m listening.”

“What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing,” he said.

“You’ve been way too quiet. Plus, you’ve been spinning your spaghetti for five minutes and you haven’t eaten any.”

He looked at his plate and put the fork down. “My grandma died.”

Hollis paused, spaghetti strands falling down her chin. “Oh shit.” She swallowed and continued, “which grandma? Imani or Sophia?”

“Frieda. Bio grandma.”

“The smoker?”

“Yeah.”

“Ah, god, Orin, that sucks. I’m sorry.”

“Thanks. I mean it’s okay. But Rachel asked me to go to the funeral.”

“Are you gonna?”

“I told her I would. I need to call Eden.”

“I’ll go with you.”

He considered this as he finally ate some dinner. “No, that’s okay. I already feel like Rachel’s plus one, so I don’t think I should bring one.”

“It’s a funeral, not a wedding. I don’t think plus ones are a thing. But it’s your call, bub.” She squeezed his shoulder as she stood to put her plate in the sink.

After dinner, he called his sister to make carpool plans. She sounded like she was trying not to cry during the call, which made Orin want to cry out of guilt. He stayed up wishing he was the appropriate level of sad, and wondering what that was. Finally he made himself feel so anxious that he indeed was upset enough, but for all the wrong reasons, and found himself unable to sleep.

The weather was beautiful as they walked into the synagogue Sunday morning, sunny and unusually warm for late autumn. Orin wished it was raining. Inside, he and Eden sat next to an elderly couple, recognizing no one in the crowd. After a while, a group came in from another room, filled with faces that were simultaneously familiar and unfamiliar. He didn’t know any of these people, save for Rachel, but they looked like him. There was one woman with the same black curls and thin lips as Eden. She looked more like her than Orin. A cousin, perhaps. These were the mourners, the family members gathered for keriah before the service. He could tell from the black ribbons they each wore. Here were all the legitimate grandchildren, and here were Eden and Orin, the ones who hadn’t counted in two decades. He bowed his head, unnerved by the pair of hazel eyes identical to his own that trained on him.

The rabbi’s eulogy was heartfelt, at times funny, but most importantly detailed. Frieda Green lived in the city her whole life. She met her husband at an art class. She loved sailing. She’d always dreamed of having three little girls, and ended up having three daughters. She was known as an excellent seamstress and made many clothes for her daughters, including her eldest’s wedding dress. Although the rabbi had woven a beautiful tapestry of her legacy, Orin was condensing it to a bullet list. He had to commit these things to memory, to feel like he’d known her.

He remembered her old fashioned glasses and bleached hair. He remembered that her house had peeling floral wallpaper. That she had a little dog named Oscar that he adored. That she smelled like cigarette smoke, a smell that permeated the carpeting and furniture. He remembered running outside, desperate to fill his lungs. He remembered going to the hospital. She bought him balloons and a teddy bear. Looking back, he wasn’t sure where the teddy bear had ended up. He’d probably forgotten it at her house when the social workers took him. He remembered being taken. He always remembered that. At least that time it hadn’t been in the middle of the night. He’d been eating pancakes with Eden for breakfast before she went to school. Orin wondered now if they’d made those pancakes with their grandmother, helping her stir the batter and flip them. Maybe they’d been frozen.

The eulogy continued with a list of Frieda’s immediate relatives. To Orin’s great surprise, he and Eden were included on the list. His heart pounded sharply in his chest, and he felt the burning guilt of never having reached out to her. What if all these years she’d been dreaming of talking to him again? To hold his hand again? He mentally cursed himself, preparing for another sleepless night. He’d missed his chance, and he’d never know how much it would have meant to her.

The service concluded, and the elderly woman seated next to Orin took out a handkerchief to wipe her eyes. Her glasses fell to the floor, and Orin bent down to retrieve them for her. “Ma’am-”

“Thank you.” She seemed to study him, her head turning slightly. “Were you close with Frieda?”

Damn it, Orin thought, she must think I’m callous for not looking sad enough. “No,” he said. “I hardly knew her.”

“Well, it’s nice of you to come.” The woman’s husband offered her a hand to help her up and they waited behind Orin to leave the pew.

“Did you...you…” His mouth and brain weren’t cooperating.

Understanding anyway, the woman nodded. “She was my best friend.”

Eden entered the conversation now, sounding politely interested. “You must have a lot of stories about her then.”

“Oh, I do.”

He wanted desperately to ask her about them, but figured a funeral was not the best time to pry. He could at least wait until his grandmother was buried. Instead he mumbled, “may her memory be a blessing,” and continued to walk down the aisle.

They proceeded to the gravesite, where everyone threw a handful of dirt onto the coffin, and then the mourners relocated to a relative’s house to sit Shiva. Rachel approached them before she left, giving each of them a hug and thanking them for attending.

“Are you coming back to Claire’s house?”

Eden and Orin looked at each other. “I don’t think so,” Orin said, “it seems like a friends and family thing.”

“You’re family.”

Orin winced. “But...I mean…”

“We have to pick up Charlie,” Eden said, whether to save him or cut him off, Orin wasn’t sure.

“Oh. Of course.” Rachel wore a pained smile. “It’s always good to see you both. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Eden said warmly, while her brother faltered.

“Yeah. Love--love you, too.”

He looked at the dirt on his hands as they walked to Eden’s car. At home, Goose followed at his heels until Orin collapsed onto the bed, at which point the dog sat on his chest and began licking his face incessantly. “You’re a good egg,” he said, his mouth covered with slobber.

Come Monday morning, Orin sat around the table with the other high school staff as they waited for their meeting to start. Sally handed Orin a cup of coffee, asking “how was your weekend?”

“It was fine.”

“Nothing exciting?”

“No.” He shook his head slowly. “Just a family reunion.”

“Oh, those are the worst.”

“Yeah.”

#writeblr #am writing #original writing #spilled ink #and there's no horizon #orin #eden #hollis #rachel #goose #my writing #my wips

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inkjam-moon · 6 years

Text

Code Of Silence Ch 2 - The Wedding

Genre: Mafia AU, Eventual smut

Member: Min Yoongi

Word Count: 8K

TW: Death mention, wedding, alcohol, lingerie mention, crude jokes

When you wake up the next morning, Taehyung is no longer in the bed with you, so you stretch yourself out on the mattress with a yawn. You pick your phone up off the nightstand and bring it up to your face to check the time. 10:37 am. T-minus 6 hours. You sigh, sitting up and swinging your legs over the edge to plant your feet on the floor. Might as well get this show on the road.

You stand and walk out the door, taking a deep breath before making your way down the stairs and into the kitchen where your entourage is waiting. Taehyung’s mom is standing over the stove cooking pancakes with Yoongi’s mom.

“There she is!” Taehyung beams at you from the kitchen table. “Our bride-to-be!”

You cringe at his words, but force a smile as you take a seat next to him. “Morning.”

“Good morning dear!” Yoongi’s mom exclaims. “How’re you feeling?”

Awful. “Great!”

“Good, good. I have to go get some things ready, I’ll see you after breakfast.”

“Okay!”

“Are you excited?” Taehyung’s mom asks as Yoongi’s mom exits the room.

“Of course momma Kim. I’m beyond ready.” You lie.

“Good!” She says, walking over to the table with a plate of pancakes, which she sets down in front of you. “Eat up, you’ll need your energy for tonight.” She winks at you and Taehyung groans as you cut into your pancakes.

“Ugh, mom, can you not?” He asks, maintaining his innocent front for his mother. “That’s so gross.”

“Taehyungie it’s not gross. It’s their right as husband and wife to be able to-”

“Ah, I think that’s enough of that conversation.” You say, your face growing red.

“Hyeong-nim! I need you!” Yoongi’s mom calls from upstairs.

“Coming!” Taehyung’s mom yells back. “Well, hurry up and eat so that we can get started.” She says to you. “We’ve got a lot to do.” She pats you on the back before going upstairs to help.

You slowly shovel the pancakes into your mouth, stalling for as long as you can, and Taehyung quickly catches on. “You okay doll?”

“You know, I really wish you’d stop asking me that.”

“Why’s that?” He asks.

“Because I don’t know the answer.” You admit, shoving the last bit of food in your mouth.

“Y/N-ah…” He sighs.

“What?”

“You know, we could always run away.” He whispers.

“Run away?”

“Yeah, you know. Pack a bag, grab our passports, and hit the road. We could get away from all of this insanity.”

“Hah,” You snort. “I think it’s a little late for that.”

“I’m just saying.”

“I can’t Tae… You know I can’t.”

“I know…”

“Besides, if I left Yoongi at the altar, I’m pretty sure his mom would kill me.”

“That’s true.” He agrees. “She does seem a little too excited today.”

“Y/N-ah! Are you done yet?” Yoongi’s mom calls down the stairs.

“Speak of the mother.” You joke before answering. “Yeah, I’ll be right there!” You sigh before looking over at Taehyung. “Are you ready?” You ask.

“It’s not me that has to be ready.” He points out.

“Shut up.” You playfully smack his arm before standing and taking your empty plate over to the sink. Taehyung follows close behind and puts both plates in the dishwasher before offering you his arm. You graciously accept and he leads you upstairs to his room where the torture soon begins.

After four hours of beautifying, you’re almost ready. Your nails have been painted, your body scrubbed and exfoliated to glowing perfection, your hair has been softly swept off your shoulders into an elegant updo, and all of your jewelry has been carefully chosen and placed on your body; all that’s left is to put the finishing touches on your makeup, and to get you dressed in a gown that you’ve never even seen.

When you turn to look at the mirror on the vanity for the first time, you don’t know what you were expecting to see, but it wasn’t this. For how long it took, your makeup looks relatively simple, but unbelievably beautiful. Your face hardly even looks like your own.

“Good, yeah?” Yoongi’s mom asks you.

“It’s… I don’t even have words…”

“Yah, stop gawking at yourself and look back at me.” Taehyung’s mom orders. “I’m not done yet.” You turn back to face her and she begins painting your lips. When she finishes, you turn back to the mirror to see your lips are now a bright red. “It’s red for good luck.” She whispers in your ear.

“Aigoo, I almost forgot!” Yoongi’s mom suddenly shouts. She runs over to her purse and digs around until she pulls out a small box. She opens the box, removes whatever is inside and then walks back over to you.

“This,” she starts. “Has been worn by every woman in my family.” She holds out her hand to show you a small, antique hair comb; a cream colored rose, decorated with a gold filigree. “My mother, my grandmother and I all wore this on our wedding day, and now,” she gently places the comb in between strands of your hair, nestling it snugly in your updo. “It’s your turn.”

You turn to look at the new addition in the mirror, admiring it’s elegant beauty as you catch the reflection of the two women’s smiles in the mirror. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

Yoongi’s mom presses her palm to her chest and you can’t help but grin at her reaction. “You’re welcome, my dear.”

Before you can say anything else, there’s a soft knock on the door and Taehyung sticks his head in, covering his eyes. “Hey, are you almost ready in here? We should head over to the church soon.”

“Yes,” Taehyung’s mom says. “We’ll be right down.”

“Why are you covering your eyes you dork?” You ask him.

“Because! I can’t see you until you’re ready.”

“Tae, it’s bad luck for the groom to see me, not you.”

“Yah,” he points at you, his eyes still closed. “As maid of honor, it is my duty to make sure you get all the luck you can, so I won’t look until you’re finished getting ready, and you’re in your dress.”

“As maid of honor, you should’ve helped me get ready.” You point out.

“You can’t get it all doll. Now are you ready? Dad's here with the car.”

“Yes, let’s go.” Yoongi’s mom says, ushering you up and out the door. “Do we have everything?”

“Yes, we’re all set. Taehyung-ah, will you carry this for me?” Taehyung’s mom holds out your dress bag and Taehyung blindly accepts it with the utmost care. You all file out of Taehyung’s room, down the stairs, and into the garage.

Taehyung hops in the front seat of the car, so that he won’t accidentally catch a glance of you, and you cram into the back seat between Taehyung’s mom and Yoongi’s mom who are still fussing over you. Big Kim makes sure that everyone’s buckled in before pulling out onto the road.

As you drive, you watch the fields on the outskirts of the city fade into the busy streets of downtown Daegu. There are so many people out, and why shouldn’t they be? They don’t have to get married today. It’s a beautiful spring day in May, and they have nothing better to do than travel among the marketplaces, looking for choice ingredients, socializing happily as they wander around. They have no idea that such an important underground event is about to take place, right beneath their noses.

You pull up to the church and everyone gets out, Taehyung first as he bolts into the church, followed by Big Kim, your entourage, and then you. You stare up at the old building. You’ve been coming here on sundays ever since you moved to Daegu, you can’t even count the number of times you and Taehyung had almost been removed from service as children for behaving badly, and you smile fondly at the memory.

Honestly, you haven’t been here since your father’s funeral, but you’re thankful that nothing’s changed, and you’re comforted by its familiarity; the only difference being the white streamers and balloons decorating the grey stone specifically for this occasion.

Big Kim holds out his arm, which you happily accept, and he leads you into the church. He takes you down the side hallway to one of the old sunday school rooms where all of your things are waiting for you, except for Taehyung, who is nowhere to be seen. The mom patrol quickly shuffles you into the room; there’s only an hour left for finishing touches and they need you to look perfect for the sake of their own sanity.

“Aish, you shouldn’t have put the window down, it messed up your hair.” Taehyung’s mom scolds.

“Can you fix it?” Yoongi’s mom asks, trying to adjust flyaway strands.

“Of course I can.” She assures. “Will you touch up her makeup and then we’ll get her dressed, yeah?” Yoongi’s mom nods and they both set to work re-beautifying you. It takes about half an hour for them to fix everything, but when they’re done, you swear you look even better than you did at the house.

“Alright Y/N-ah, time to get you dressed.” Yoongi’s mom says. You nod and stand up, but before you can slip out of the tank top and sweatpants you had been wearing, Taehyung’s mom stands up.

“Wait!” She cries. “Here, I got you a little pre-wedding present.” She says, holding out a black box with white satin ribbon wrapped around it.

“You didn’t have to-”

“You’ll thank me later joka.” She winks, shoving the box into your hands. “Now, go in the bathroom and change.”

“Change?”

“Go, go, go!” She calls, throwing your dress slip into your hands as well before pushing you into the bathroom and shutting the door behind you. “And hurry up, we don’t have much time left!”

You put the box on the counter next to the sink before taking off your clothes down to your underwear, and then open the lid of the box, expecting to see tights or something, but instead, seated inside red tissue paper, there sits a strapless white lace bra and matching panties, as well as sheer white thigh high stockings and a white garterbelt. Your eyes go wide in shock at the contents and it takes you a minute to regroup when there’s a loud banging on the door.

“Yah, just put it on!” Taehyung’s mom yells. You quickly strip out of your underwear and begin to slide the delicate fabric onto your body. It fits perfectly.

“Hyeong-nim, be nicer.” Yoongi’s mom chides.

You hear Taehyung’s mom sigh before trying again. “It’s a tradition that the mother of the bride presents her daughter with something for the wedding night, but since your mother isn’t here, we thought we would do it? Do you like them?”

“They’re Yoongi’s favorite color.” Yoongi’s mom adds. “Taehyung-ah helped us pick them out.”

Of course Taehyung helped. You roll your eyes before staring at yourself in the mirror, your stomach suddenly twisting in all sorts of knots. Will Yoongi like this? Will you actually have a chance to show Yoongi the lingerie? Do you even want the chance to show him? You slide your dress slip up over your legs before opening the door and walking back out into the room to see they’ve both changed into their dresses.

“It’s beautiful.” You state simply before bowing to them. “Thank you so much. Both of you, for everything.” You stand up straight again to see them both wipe tears from their eyes before Taehyung’s mom claps her hands.

“Alright come on, we only have twenty minutes to get you in this dress.” You nod and follow them to where your dress bag is hanging on the wall. You haven't even seen your dress yet, and you’re excited to finally put it on.

“Close your eyes Y/N-ah.” Yoongi’s mom instructs and you obey. “Okay now hold on to my shoulders, right here, yes, no peeking! Lift your right foot and step in. Okay, now your left foot. Good.” You feel soft, light fabric sliding up your body. “Now slide your arms in. Okay, perfect. Okay, hyeong-nim’s going to button you up while I get your shoes.” You feel Taehyung’s mom quickly fastening what feels like a million buttons on your back. “Now, where did I put those things… Ah! Okay, hold out your right foot for me? Oh, whoops, just kidding, this is your left shoe. Okay, now your right. Perfect. Is she ready?” Yoongi’s mom asks.

“All we need is the veil.” Taehyung’s mom says.

“Okay let me grab that.”

Someone grabs your hands. “Y/N-ah walk this way for me.” Taehyung’s mom leads you somewhere, and you assume she’s placing you in front of the mirror for the big reveal.

“Here!” Yoongi’s mom shouts. You feel the two of them fussing around with your hair and the veil for a moment before Yoongi’s mom speaks again. “There. She’s perfect.” She whispers, her voice catching a bit.

“Okay joka, you can open your eyes now.” Taehyung’s mom states.

You open your eyes to see the mirror in front of you and you gasp. Your dress is an A line silhouette, with lace detailing throughout the skirt and bodice, which is a sweetheart neckline, overlayed with sheer three-quarter length lace sleeves. Your veil matches your dress perfectly, the same lace detailing stitched throughout, and you can’t help but be reminded of-

“You look just like her…” Taehyung’s mom whispers, tears forming in the corners of her eyes. She takes a tissue out of her pocket and gently dabs at her eyes before coming back to her senses. “Alright, where’s the bouquet?”

“Taehyung has it, remember?” Yoongi’s mom reminds her.

“Right, okay. Y/N-ah, are you ready?”

You nod. “I am.”

“Let’s go.” Yoongi’s mom says, holding out her hand for you. You take it while Taehyung’s mom picks up your train and the three of you head out the door and back up the hall to the large wooden sanctuary doors where Taehyung is waiting, now dressed in his tux, his back to you. You can hear the hum of the guests chatting on the other side. “Okay, now you wait here with Taehyung, and the doors will open when you’re supposed to enter, alright?”

“Okay.” You state.

“You look great.” Taehyung’s mom says before they both sneak through the doors into the sanctuary to take their seats.

It’s not until the door shuts behind them that Taehyung finally turns around to look at you, his eyes blown wide as he takes in your appearance. “Wow…” He breathes.

“How do I look?” You ask.

“Y/N, you… you look beautiful.” He says.

“Really?”

“Really.” He confirms.

You smile at him. “Thanks Tae. That means a lot.”

“I mean, if Yoongi doesn’t marry you, I will.” He jokes.

“You had to ruin the moment.”

“Especially since I know what you’ve got on underneath that dress.” He wiggles his eyebrows at you.

“I can’t believe you did that.”

“Hey, mom asked me to! I was just trying to help out.” He shrugs.

You roll your eyes at him. “You’re a pig.”

“I try.” He bows gracefully. “But you really do look beautiful Y/N.”

“You’re not so bad yourself.” You comment, straightening his tie for him. “You clean up pretty well little Tae Tae.”

“Thank you.” He flashes a boxy grin at you and you chuckle, patting his chest before shaking your hands out and taking your bouquet from him. “You okay doll?” He asks.

“Yeah, just… Nervous I guess.”

“My offer still stands. We can run. We can go right now and leave all of this behind.”

“Thanks Tae, but… I can do this. I have to do this.” You suddenly hear the music start up on the other side of the door.

“Are you ready?” He flips your veil down over your face, giving you a tight hug before offering you his arm, which you gratefully accept.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” You give his arm a tight squeeze and the mahogany doors open wide.

As you step into the sanctuary, everyone stands and turns to face you. Your breath leaves you for a moment, taking in the grandeur of everything as soft piano fills the room, although it’s kind of hard to see, your veil making everything a bit fuzzy.

There he is, standing on the altar, dressed sharply in a black tuxedo and matching black tie, his dark hair swept across his forehead. He’s watching you, waiting, his expression otherwise unreadable. You take a deep breath before stepping forward in sync with Taehyung.

Your head is facing forward, but your eyes are now looking at the floor, making sure you don’t trip as you walk down the aisle. You can’t bring yourself to look up, but when you finally do, you’re only halfway there. Why is this taking so long? It feels like the longest walk of your life, when really it’s only a minute or so.

You finally reach the steps in front of the altar. Your legs feel like they might give out as Yoongi walks down the steps to stand in front of you. You look back down at the floor, your cheeks growing warm as you turn to face Taehyung. Taehyung leans in, giving you a soft kiss on the cheek over your veil and taking your bouquet, before placing your hand into Yoongi’s outstretched palm, effectively giving you away, and then he takes his seat.

Yoongi tugs your hand, pulling your focus back to him as he leads you up the steps of the altar. The music fades out; the two of you standing before the priest, facing each other, and holding each other’s hands.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today…”

As soon as the priest starts talking, you stop listening. You’re too busy watching Yoongi’s eyes as they scan over you, studying you intently. It isn’t until Yoongi’s thumb rubs over your own that your attention is pulled back to the present.

“Do you, Yoongi, take Y/N, to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?”

“I do.” Yoongi states, meeting your gaze.

“And do you, Y/N, take Yoongi, to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?”

“I… I do.” You nod. “I do.”

“You may exchange the rings.”

You and Yoongi take the rings off the pillow the priest holds and he slips yours on first before you take his left hand and slide the silver band onto his finger.

“By the power vested in me by god and man, I now pronounce you, man and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

Oh shit. Here it is. Yoongi takes the edges of your veil and slowly lifts it back over your head, revealing your face to him for the first time.

“Wow…” He gasps as he takes in the sight of you all dolled up. You offer a small smile as he wraps an arm around your waist, his other hand coming up to caress your cheek as your hands slide up his chest, grabbing onto the lapels of his suit jacket. He slowly leans forward, stopping just a breath from your mouth, as if asking you to meet him halfway. You take a deep breath and then press your lips against his.

His hand snakes around the the back of your neck, pulling you closer and you hear everyone start clapping. You wrap your own arms around his neck and tilt your head, deepening the kiss. You hear Taehyung start cheering and you laugh lightly, breaking the kiss and pulling back. Yoongi smiles at you, grabbing your hand as you both turn to face the congregation, and raising it above your heads in celebration.

You walk down the steps and Taehyung hands you your bouquet as you pass him, you and Yoongi hurrying back up the aisle. Everyone follows behind you, cheering as you make your way out of the church to the curb where the limo waits for you. Yoongi holds the door open for you, and you turn to wave before climbing into the car. Yoongi gives a small smile at everyone before sliding in after you. Two bodyguards hop in after him and shut the door.

You relax back against the seat as the limo pulls away from the curb. The first part’s over, and it wasn’t that bad. You sneak a glance at Yoongi and blush a bit as you remember the feeling of his lips against yours, his arms wrapped around your waist; honestly, it wasn’t the worst thing, and you could see yourself getting used to the feeling.

You shake the thought from your head and look down at your lap to stop yourself from staring as Yoongi fiddles with his phone. One of the guards clears his throat and your head snaps up to look at him.

“It should take about 20 minutes for everyone to get to your parents house for the reception, so we’re going to drive around for a little bit, sir.” The younger guard says. You think his name is Minjoon, but honestly, you can’t remember.

“Alright Namjoon.” Yoongi mutters, not looking up. Ah, Namjoon. Well, at least you were close.

The older guard turns to look at you; his name is Seokjin. You remember him. Well, you remember his shoulders. “Would you like some champagne?” He asks you.

“Oh, sure. That sounds great.” You answer. Anything to take the edge off would be nice really. You watch him reach into the mini fridge next to him and pull out a bottle of champagne as Namjoon grabs two champagne flutes off the rack next to him. Seokjin quickly pops open the bottle, the cork flying across the limo and landing next to you.

“Whoops, sorry.” Seokjin chuckles. “These things have a mind of their own, I swear.”

“Oh, it’s okay.” You smile as he starts pouring the champagne. When he finishes, Namjoon hands you the glasses which you happily accept. You turn to Yoongi, nudging his arm as you hold one of the glasses out to him. He looks up briefly to see what you want, and then grabs the drink from your hand, offering you a small ‘cheers’ before you both bring the glasses to your lips.

“So Mrs. Min,” Namjoon starts, causing you to choke, inhaling a bit of champagne and coughing until you can breathe again. They all look at you concerned, but you hold up your hand, silently stating that you’re okay. “S-sorry.” The boy mumbles.

“It’s alright.” You assure him. “But please, no need to be so formal. You can call me Y/N.”

“Okay, well, I don’t know if Boss told you, but Jin and I are going to be with you until tomorrow morning, so if you need anything, just let us know.”

“I will, thank you.” Great. So there really will be people at your apartment tonight, listening in. You quickly down your champagne, handing your glass back to Seokjin when you finish before relaxing back against the seat.

There’s a light tension in the air, and you don’t know why until you look back up at your guards, noticing they’re staring at you and Yoongi inquisitively. Shit. You completely forgot that you and Yoongi had just gotten married, and they’re probably wondering why you weren’t all touchy feely with each other.

You slide yourself closer to Yoongi and slip your arm under his own, grabbing onto his hand and squeezing it. Yoongi turns to you, obviously confused by the sudden skinship, so you lean in and whisper in his ear.

“They’re watching.” Yoongi’s head lifts up and he glances toward the guards on the opposite side of the limo. “Remember, they’re expecting a happy newly-wed couple.”

Yoongi nods before slipping his hand out of your grip. He wraps his left arm around your shoulder and then grabs your hand with his remaining free one as he nuzzles his face into your neck, making the two other boys in the car look away in embarrassment.

“Right.” Yoongi mumbles. “Okay, just laugh like I said something funny or sweet.”

You snort. He could’ve just said something funny or sweet, but you suppose that would be asking too much, so you simply giggle lightly and push on his chest with your free hand. The two guards turn back to you and smile at the sound of your laughter as the car stops.

“Ah, we’re here.” Seokjin states, moving to open the door and stepping out of the car, followed closely by Namjoon. Yoongi goes next, pulling you along with him, your hands remaining locked together as you carefully get out of the limo, your dress making the task slightly more difficult than it should be, but you manage to free yourself from the confines of the backseat.

As you step onto the curb, you look up at Yoongi’s parents house. You’ve never been here before, but it’s beautiful. It’s decorated with the same white streamers and balloons as the church was, and you can hear music and chatter coming from the backyard.

Yoongi gives your hand a tight squeeze before leading you into the house. You two wander up the stairs, and he leads you down a thin hallway to a bedroom before turning to your entourage and asking them to wait outside the door. They agree and Yoongi quickly pulls you across the threshold and closes the door behind you, releasing your hand as soon as it clicks shut.

You look around to see you’re standing in what must’ve been Yoongi’s room when he was younger. The walls are decorated with posters of musicians and rappers, a small desk sits in the corner with an electric keyboard sitting in front of the computer monitor. You walk over and run your fingers over the piano keys.

“I didn’t know you were into this kind of stuff.”

“Hm?” Yoongi looks up from unfastening his cufflinks to see you playing with the piano. “Oh, yeah. I was a music major at first in college, but my dad had me switch to business so I could join the family.”

“I guess that shows just how little we know about each other.”

“Hah, yeah.” Yoongi chuckles, shrugging off his suit jacket and folding it over the desk chair before walking up to you. “So you can leave whatever you don’t want to wear all night here. I’ll send someone to get it in the morning.”

“I would if I had another dress.” You joke, reaching up to start the removal of your veil.

“Ah, yeah that might be a problem.” He agrees. “Do you need help with that?”

“Oh, sure.” You nod, and Yoongi’s fingers begin carefully unpinning your veil from your head. “So what kind of music did you write?”

“Mostly hip hop, but I took a lot of classes for classical stuff too, that’s my favorite.”

“Who’s your favorite composer?”

“Chopin.” He states simply, not even having to think about it.

“Hm.”

“What?” Yoongi asks, as he pulls the veil off your head and tosses it onto the bed.

“Nothing, I just had you pegged as more of a Schubert guy. Anyway, help me pin my train up?”

Yoongi scoffs, grabbing the end of your train and holding it in place for you to pin it. “Well I bet you’re a Beethoven girl.”

“Hey, Beethoven’s great.” You argue, making sure the pin is in place before you allow Yoongi to release the train.

“Please. Moonlight Sonata is so overrated.”

“Um, excuse you, Moonlight Sonata is beautiful.” You say, spinning a bit to make sure your train won’t fall.

“What, did your dad used to sing it to you when you were…” Yoongi trails off as he realizes what he’s saying, his body freezing as you stop, your gaze falling to the floor. “Y/N…”

“It was my mom actually.” You whisper, grabbing your veil and gently folding it before returning it to its place on the bed. “Dad got her a piano for her birthday one year, and she would play a different part of it for me every night before I went to bed. It was her favorite song.” You can feel the tears welling in your eyes, and you quickly blink them away, sniffling as you do.

“Y/N, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s okay.” You assure him, twirling the rings on your finger as you walk over to the window, peeking outside to catch the edge of the party already in full swing. “I just wish they were here.”

“I’m sure they’re watching.” Yoongi walks up behind you, placing his hands on your shoulders. “If I knew anything about your dad, it’s that he wouldn’t miss this for the world. He really loved you, Y/N.”

“Yeah.” You mutter.

After a moment, Yoongi sighs. “Well, are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.” You spin to face Yoongi’s concerned expression.

“Alright, well, remember to keep up the act like in the car. And have some fun while you’re at it, you deserve it.”

“Thanks Yoongi. You too.”

“Oh and I should apologize in advance, my mom is a firm believer in the glass tradition.”

“The what?”

“The thing where when people tap their glasses with silverware, the bride and groom have to kiss.”

“O-oh. Um, alright.” You blush, wondering exactly how many times you’ll have to kiss Yoongi tonight.

“Alright, let’s go.” Yoongi grabs your hand again and opens the door.

“Are you ready sir?” Seokjin asks.

“Yes we are.” Yoongi shoots a smile in your direction and you return the gesture to the best of your ability.

“Let’s go, everyone’s waiting.”

With Seokjin in front of you, and Namjoon behind you, you and Yoongi make your way back up the hallway and down the stairs to the kitchen to the door that leads outside. Yoongi glances at you and you nod at him before Seokjin slides open the door and announces your arrival.

“Introducing for the first time, Mr. and Mrs. Min Yoongi!”

There is loud clapping and shouting in approval as you and Yoongi walk through the doors out onto the porch. Your breath leaves you as you take in the scenery around you. Tables are scattered around the backyard, encircling a large dancefloor. There’s an archway of white roses at the far end, standing over what must be your table.

White roses and lilies are the centerpieces at each table, and have also been used to decorate the pillars on the deck you’re standing on, along with small twinkling strands of lights flashing from every nook and cranny. It’s beautiful. You’re about to walk down the steps when Yoongi’s parents suddenly appear in front of you.

“Y/N-ah!” Yoongi’s mom shouts, wrapping you in a tight hug. “Goodness you look so beautiful, I could cry all over again.”

“I think there’s been enough of that.” Your Uncle Min chimes in as his wife releases you and moves on to hug her son. Well, you suppose he’s your father-in-law Min now. “She was a mess at the ceremony.”

“Hush.” Yoongi’s mom scolds before grabbing your hands in hers. “Now, you have to go around and say hi to everyone and then you can sit and eat or dance or whatever you want, okay?”

“Okay.” You smile, genuinely loving how happy this makes her.

“Have fun you kids, we’ll check up on you later.” Father-in-law Min says.

“Thanks dad.” Yoongi nods.

“Yeah, thanks uncle- I mean, uh-”

“You can still call me Uncle Min if you want Y/N.”

You smile gratefully. “Thanks Uncle Min.” He nods and starts to walk away, tugging your ecstatic mother-in-law away with him. Yoongi offers you his arm, and you accept it, looping your own arm underneath and resting both of your hands on his bicep as he leads you around the yard.

The two of you walk around, mingling with your guests, hugging, laughing, small talking, keeping up your love-bird appearance to a tee. Everyone you know is here, the entire family, and then some. Even some of your friends from high school stopped by; congratulating you for landing such a ‘hot piece of ass’ and remarking about how ‘the sex must be amazing’ and how you were ‘so lucky’. If only they knew. But you do your best to try and convince them they’re right, which honestly doesn’t take much, they had already dipped heavily into the champagne.

As you leave their huddle, Taehyung manages to snag you, and immediately shoves a glass of champagne in your hand. “I figured you might need this.” He says sympathetically.

“I’m actually feeling pretty okay right now. This is kind of fun.” You reply.

“Well, it might help you loosen up for tonight.” He suggests. Your eyes go wide and you quickly down the bubbly liquid, making Taehyung laugh. “Jeeze, I was kidding.”

“I know,” You hand the glass back to him. “But you’re right. Get me another please?” Taehyung nods and quickly disappears to find you another drink as you feel arms encircle your waist from behind, making you jump.

“It’s me.” Yoongi whispers in your ear when you try to turn and look. “Are you ready to sit?”

“Y-yeah I guess so, but-”

“My mom is watching.” He explains before you can even ask. “Now turn around so I can kiss you.” He orders.

“But no glasses are clinking?”

“Trust me.”

You turn in Yoongi’s embrace and drape your arms around his neck as he leans down to press his lips to yours before you can even blink. This kiss is quick, but proves effective as you hear Yoongi’s mom squeal from across the yard. You blush slightly as you release Yoongi and he hastily guides you over to your table under the archway, pulling your chair out for you and pushing it back in as you sit down before taking his own seat next to you. Taehyung reappears at your side with another glass of champagne and takes his seat on your other side, handing you the glass which you happily chug.

As you settle into your seat, the noodle soup is served along with rice wine and braised chicken. You happily dig into your meal, not realizing how hungry you are until the food is placed in front of you. You shouldn’t be surprised, you haven’t eaten since 10:30 this morning. As the meal ends, the toasts begin, and having already downed half of your wine and three glasses of champagne, you have a nice buzz going as you listen to everyone congratulate and praise you.

When your uncle Min stands up, you sober slightly, listening to his sweet words about raising Yoongi and working for your father. “Choi was a great man and he raised an amazing daughter. I still remember going over to his house one afternoon and seeing this one running around in her underwear with a bucket on her head, claiming she was a pirate and I had stolen her buried treasure.” He gets a laugh with that one, and you blush at the silly memory. “But Y/N, you grew into a smart and beautiful young woman, and I’m so very happy that you fell in love with my son and that you’re officially part of my family. I couldn’t ask for a better daughter-in-law. I’m so proud of you, and I know your parents are too.” Uncle Min raises his glass as tears well in your eyes. “To Y/N and Yoongi!”

“To Y/N and Yoongi!” Everyone repeats before taking small sips of their drinks. You look around to see who’s next, when Taehyung pats your back and stands next to you, grabbing his glass and tossing a smirk in your direction.

“Good evening everyone!” He shouts. “For those of you who don’t know, my name is Taehyung and I am the maid of honor.” He smiles wide and a soft chuckle sounds throughout the yard. “I’m going to keep this short, but I just wanted to say that I’m so unbelievably happy for you both.” Taehyung turns to face you and Yoongi. “Y/N, you’ve been my best friend since we were six years old and we’ve gotten into more trouble than I care to admit, but through those mistakes, you’ve taught me everything I know. I’m so proud of the person you’ve become over the years, I love ya doll. And Yoongi, while I don’t know you very well yet, I trust that you’ll take care of Y/N. I think you’re good for her and I hope that we can become good friends as well. Congratulations you two, I’m happy for you.” With that, Taehyung raises his glass. “Cheers!” He yells before downing his champagne as everyone calls back to him. When he puts his glass down on the table you stand and wrap him tightly in your arms.

“Thank you Tae Tae. I love you too.” You whisper in his ear.

“I would hope so, my speech was awesome.” You roll your eyes as you pull back, about to say something snarky when you hear a clinking sound. You look around to see almost everyone tapping their glasses with some sort of utensil, looking at you intently.

Yoongi stands and pulls you toward him, apologies written on his expression as he leans down to kiss you. This kiss is a bit more aggressive as he pulls you flush against him, and you think the alcohol must be affecting Yoongi as well. When you pull away, you giggle slightly, wiping away the bit of your lipstick that transferred over to Yoongi’s lips.

“And now if we could please have the bride and groom to the center of the floor for their first dance.” Taehyung calls.

“Dance?” You look at Yoongi, worried. “No one said anything about a dance.”

Yoongi smirks at you. “Don’t worry, just follow my lead.” He grabs your arm and tugs you in the direction of the dance floor. When you reach the center, you both stand there a bit awkwardly and you wonder what cheesy song Taehyung chose for your first dance.

Soft piano fills the air and you recognize the song instantly. Here I Am by 4Men. Why is your best friend such a cheeseball? Yoongi grabs your waist and pulls you against him as the violins swell. He leaves one hand on your waist and grabs your hand with his other, leaving you to place your free hand on his shoulder. When the words begin, Yoongi begins leading you through the dance, swaying slowly at first as you both get used to the rhythm.

As the music picks up, Yoongi leads you through a sort of waltz, well, the best waltz you can do to a song in 4/4 time. He swirls you around on the dancefloor, impressing you with how well he knows exactly what to do.

“Where did you learn how to dance like this?” You ask as he spins you again.

“Your dad.”

“Really?” You raise your eyebrows.

Yoongi nods. “It was one of the first things he taught me. He said every man should know how to dance if they want to-”

“Sweep a lady off her feet.” You finish for him, causing him to smile.

“Exactly.” He pulls you close again and leads you around once more as the song slows down before he stops and places a hand on your back, dipping you down with the last few notes and placing a surprise kiss on your lips.

Cheers erupt around the room as your dance comes to an end, and Yoongi lifts you back up, his lips still locked with yours. When he breaks the kiss, he rests his forehead against yours and smiles before standing up straight. A new, faster song starts up and Yoongi gestures for everyone to join you both on the dance floor.

There’s a mass shuffle as everyone joins you and you all dance happily to the next few songs before you excuse yourself to sit, grabbing another glass of champagne on the way down. Taehyung appears at your side once more, two glasses in his hands this time. When he sees you already have one, he laughs.

“Great minds think alike, huh doll?”

“Whoever said you have a great mind was lying.” You snort, causing him to pout momentarily as he takes a sip from his glass.

“So how’re you holding up?” He asks.

“Good, I feel good.” You flash him a smile and he laughs.

“I was wondering why that kiss was so intense, you’re drunk.” He accuses.

“I am not!”

“Yes you are, I’m surprised you can even stand right now!”

“Shut up!” You smack his chest. “It’s my wedding, I can be drunk if I want to!”

“Isn’t that a song?” Taehyung questions. You ignore him, polishing off the last of your champagne before grabbing the glass Taehyung brought you. “Oh no!” Taehyung cries, grabbing the glass out of your hands.

“What? Tae, come on.”

“Nope, I want to dance with you before you can’t walk anymore.”

“Tae-”

“Come on, up.” He orders, standing and offering you his hand. You begrudgingly accept it and he helps you to your feet before dragging back to the dance floor just as a slow song comes on, but honestly, you’re too buzzed to notice what song it is.

Taehyung pulls you close, grabbing your arms and placing them around his neck before he wraps his own arms around your waist. The two of you sway back and forth, slowly, lazily, enjoying being next to each other.

“You know,” Tae starts. “We haven’t danced together since senior prom.”

“Holy shit, you’re right.”

“I need to ask you to dance more often.”

“Yeah, you do. We used to dance all the time. What happened?”

“You asked me to stop, remember?”

“I did?” You tilt your head, trying to remember.

“Yeah, it was at a meeting, we were trying to pass the time while we waited outside, but you were trying to listen in so you told me to stop asking you to dance.”

“Well, forget I said that.”

“Hm, are you just saying that because you’re drunk?” He inquires.

You shrug. “I dunno.”

Taehyung snorts and pulls you closer. “Can I get that in writing?”

“Shut up.” You mumble, leaning your head down on his shoulder. After a moment you speak again. “Tae?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m nervous.”

“About what doll?”

“Tonight. What if Yoongi doesn’t want to have sex with me and we can’t fool the guards?”

“Just throw on some porn.”

“Tae!” Your head shoots back to give him a disgusted glare.

“I’m serious. If it doesn’t make him want to bang you, then just turn it up and the guards will probably think it’s you.”

“Why are your ideas always so perverted?”

“Hey, they may be perverted, but they work.”

“Yeah yeah.” You roll your eyes as the song ends and you feel a tap on your shoulder. You turn to see Uncle Min standing there, holding out his hand.

“Can I steal her from you Little Kim?”

“Of course.” Taehyung nods, pushing you in his direction. “Be careful, she’s a bit tipsy.”

“Ah, that’s to be expected.” Uncle Min laughs before whisking you away, leading you through a slow waltz.

“I liked your speech.” You mention. “Although, you could’ve left out the pirate story.”

“Are you kidding? That was the best part!” He exclaims.

You roll your eyes. “Of course it was.”

“I meant what I said though joka, I’m happy to have you in the family.”

“I was already in your family.” You point out.

“You know what I mean. I think you and Yoongi work well together. Even if it is just acting.”

“I don’t think that was acting, I think Yoongi’s just drunk.” You chuckle.

“Ah, well, whatever it is, I’m happy you’re with us joka.”

“Me too, but I was wondering something.”

“What’s that?”

“Can I just call you guys mom and dad?”

“Of course you can.” He beams at you. “That’d make us very happy.”

“Good.” The song ends and you give him a tight hug before making your way back over to your table and taking a seat.

You have another glass of champagne before you’re tugged back onto the dancefloor by your friends. You all dance to the next several upbeat songs, having a great time as your cares fade away into a liquor fueled bliss.

You dance with pretty much everyone at one point or another, even Big Kim joins you at one point, but you’re continuously pulled away by Yoongi so you can flaunt your ‘love’ in front of his mother and spend most of the night dancing by his side, and you can’t even count how many times you’ve kissed him.

Your feet start to hurt and you eventually end up back at your table, sipping lightly on a glass of wine as your feet rest on the chair beside you. It doesn’t take long for Yoongi to make his way over to you, stumbling a bit as the alcohol hinders his motor skills.

“You okay?” He asks, lifting your feet before sitting and placing them in his lap.

“Yeah, my feet just hurt a little bit. These aren’t exactly the most comfortable shoes.” You wiggle your feet in his lap and he nods in understanding.

“Do you want to head home then?”

Your head snaps up. “H-home?”

“Yeah, you know, back to the apartment, so you can lay down?”

“I guess that’s probably a good idea. It’s getting pretty late.”

“Alright.” Yoongi pushes your legs off his lap and stands back up, wobbling a bit as he does. “Let’s go say goodnight to everyone.”

You nod and stand yourself, taking Yoongi’s hand and following him to the dance floor where his parents are standing talking to Taehyung and his parents.

“Hey you guys. It’s time for us to head home.” Yoongi states as you walk up to them.

“Already?” His mom whines.

“Yeah, Y/N’s feet hurt and we’re both feeling pretty tired.”

“Okay, let me grab Jin and Joon for you.” Yoongi’s dad says before disappearing while his mom quickly wraps her arms around you.

“Treat my boy right tonight, yeah?”

You nearly choke at her words. “O-of course.” You nod, quickly pulling back.

“Ask him for a massage first, that’s how I get his father going.” She winks at you and you offer her a forced smile. That’s a piece of information you never needed to know. Taehyung’s mom offers you a quick hug before tugging Big Kim away back to the bar. Taehyung grabs you tightly and wraps you in his arms.

“Have fun tonight.” You can hear the smirk in his voice.

“I hate you so much.” You mumble into his shoulder.

“I know doll. I love you too.” He gives you one last squeeze as Yoongi’s dad returns with your bodyguards in tow.

“Be careful you two.” He chides, giving you each a hug before ushering you off in the direction of the front door.

You wave goodbye to everyone one last time before making your way into the house and back out the front door to the curb where your limo awaits. The four of you climb into the back seat once more, and you quickly snuggle up to Yoongi’s side, leaning your head on his shoulder, not for the act, but because you suddenly realize how tired and drunk you are. Yoongi rests his head on top of yours as the limo makes its way the short distance to your apartment.

#kpopwritingnet #inkjam-moon #bts scenarios #mafia au #bts fluff i guess?#bts fanfiction #bts fics #min yoongi #bts yoongi #suga #min suga #bts suga #code of silence #series #code of silence series #chapter two #the wedding

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the-gay-cryptid · 6 years

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I stepped out of the car as the man stood. He'd been crouching so low he might as well have been sitting, a cigarette was held in his hands, pinched with his whole hand rather than sandwiched between his middle and index fingers.

He was tall and thin, bordering on gaunt. He dressed plainly, in an off white shirt and black pants. He wore gold rings, a loose gold watch, and a gold chain round his neck. His beard was grown only around his mouth, short and black, just beginning to gray. He had the general appearance of a charming man who could be any number of things. Kind or otherwise. His eyes though, were quite another story. Glassy and tired.

He sipped his coffee and greeted us, introducing himself by his name, but not as my great uncle. I made sure to inform him of how excited I was too finally meet him after all the stories my mom had told us about her uncle Devon. He smiled and said he was glad to hear it. He was so kind. He'd said nothing of importance to me yet and I still knew he was so incredibly kind.

He let us inside and took my sister and me to meet his cats, all of whom were rescues, and further confirmed my theory about his quality of person. The rest of the family, all from my mom's side for once, arrived shortly. After that, I drifted from person to person.

My grandfather's girlfriend was a wonderful person. She was kind, but in a different way from my uncle. She was kind like the sun. She was bright and warm and happy. He was kind like a Dawn. Quiet and soft and without parade. I loved them both.

A few months later, my parents would rush out of the house at eleven at night because my grandfather had called them. They'd find him covered in blood, bruises, and scratches while his girlfriend, void of any injurt sobbed that he'd been beating her, that his blood under her nails came from self defense. My grandfather is nearly seven feet of pure muscle. His girlfriend, though tall, weighed maybe a hundred pounds soaking wet. We also later learned she had a criminal record that included stalking and domestic abuse. But none of that was even vaguely possible when we met her, so we loved her.

I drifted mainly so Devon could have time alone when he needed it. I knew his husband had died less than a year ago, but having never known anyone under the age of ninety to have a dead spouse, I'd not known the impact. Bobby haunted that house with a low hum. One could hardly make a comment without disturbing his memory. Like walking past a pile of leaves, stirring a few in your passing.

Devon recalled him fondly, which made it less uncomfortable. I unintentionally talked about death, though I think it may have been mildly comforting. I talked about the second lines of New Orleans. After a funeral, the attendees would gather and march through the city with police escort and a jazz band leading the way as the people danced in celebration of lives and memories. It was so beautiful and hopeful, I'd fallen in love the first time I saw one.

The feasting ended, and people slowly trickled away, shrinking the crowd in the living room more and more until only my immediate family, great uncle, and great grandmother remained. We talked quietly for an hour more before we had to depart for the three and a half hour drive home.

My great grandmother told me again how pretty I looked and how happy she was to see me. I told her the same, and promised ro bake something and bring it next time we visited

While I waited for my parents to finish loading leftovers into the car, I turned to my uncle.

"This was the best Thanksgiving I've ever had. I can't wait to come back"

We hugged. I made sure I was the last to let go, and then told him I loved him he said he loved me too.

The chilled autumn air was no match for the warm feeling in my chest. That feeling like warm tea and fuzzy socks and sitting with loved ones. The kind of sensation impossible to describe without images of glowing hearths and soft voices and simple things that portray a domestic comfort found only in family, blood related and adopted. Like there was a orange ember buried in my chest, filling my entire person with pure heat.

That feeling fell in tandem with the orange sky and lulled me into pleasant sleep as the car rumbled down the road and as the sun rested deeper on the horizon. I dreamt of returning again with home baked sweets and stories and hopes for him to become as constant in my life as the sunset itself.

#my post #text post #my writing #truestory #true story #family #thanksgiving #abuse tw #abuse mention

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yoosungshoodie · 6 years

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bright stars.

CHARACTERS: ORIGINAL CHARACTERS. Juyeon Park, Daeshim Ryu. FANDOM: Mystic Messenger, but only mentions of canon characters like V and Rika. Not based on MM’s plot purely and diverges canon. WORD COUNT: 2.5k. AUTHOR’S NOTE: Keep in mind there’s slight abuse in this. Nothing too serious. A completely self indulgent project for an MM OC I have, intended to be V’s alternate MC but this is written in VABVerse’s universe, which is written by the lovely @fromthedeskofelizabeththird. Also including @kiserusmoke for her OC Daeshim Ryu. I’m aware I should write something about Juyeon before posting this, but I’ll save that for a later date.

Keep in mind this is a work based solely on my OC and other people’s OC’s in a verse that diverges canon.

Juyeon Park (Jenny) is a twenty-something year old soloist who drops off the map and becomes a member of Mint Eye after the death of a family member. She eventually becomes one of Rika’s "prized” expendable followers before being discarded and the cult is disbanded. This takes place before set events of VABVerse, and gives some insight to her character.

Juyeon Park did not understand the words spoken to her over her cell phone’s receiver. While her hearing was exceptional and she had a knack for creating songs, she had no longer been able to comprehend the string of words being spoken to her over the phone.

“We would need some money from you to cover funeral costs,” Her mother had told her conversationally, as if they were discussing borrowing money to buy a pair of shoes. Juyeon, from what she had seen from her mother’s social media, was a very big fan of Louboutins. “I know you were close to her, so I’m not too concerned about the cost of the funeral. I’m wondering if she had kept any extra money behind as well.”

While she had always known her mother was never much of anything besides pencil skirts and paperwork, there was an uncomfortable feeling that settled itself in her stomach when she heard of her grandmother being spoken about; almost as if she was a pet goldfish. It did not take long for Juyeon to know it wasn’t her lack of eating that had made her suddenly feel very ill.

“I understand, but I have a request to make of you.” Juyeon spoke slowly while she drummed her fingers over her armrest. “I don’t feel comfortable speaking to you directly. Handle the issue through my manager. Please know that your invitation to her funeral is pending.”

In truth, she knew for a very long time her grandmother was dying. She had taken time off to watch time serve judgement by ending a life that didn’t deserve to end, even though she could never say that out loud. As her grandmother’s health declined however, Juyeon’s fear drove her away from impending death. Knowing that she had died, as terrible as it was to admit, seemed to feel like a relief. It felt like a weight lifted from her chest, no longer in suspension and freed her tangled limbs to move forward. Perhaps it was possible that she wanted her away from the world that had been nothing but cruel. It was better for her grandmother, and better for Juyeon as well.

Cruelty, she had decided, was something that was natural in people. She had never met a kindness in her life, and despite the smiles that placed themselves on waiting faces for her gaze, there was always something shiny and inauthentic about the notion. Learning to swallow those feelings at a young age, it had not been long before Juyeon knew how to conjure up a smile of her own that read in the exact same way. Acquiring a perfectly even-sided grin which showcased perfect teeth and sparkling eyes to match, Juyeon had given herself away to the inauthenticity she swore to harbor so much hate for.

She had not considered anything different from people until she had received an inkling of something at a gallery event she was forced to attend.

“Juyeon. Fix your posture. These windows aren’t tinted.” A gauntly woman next to Juyeon spoke. Ms. Yoo was a ghostly looking woman who stood at five-foot-seven and had likely been in the same position Juyeon was, once. Despite that possibility, she had never managed to exercise much empathy towards Juyeon’s from her merciless scheduling and overnight shooting. As far as Juyeon’s thoughts about her went, she personally would have taken great pleasure in running her over with her own sickly and tacky white convertible.

If Juyeon was to be honest, though, she was watching her a great deal. It was understood that her manager was divorced at least once, judging by the wedding band she wore despite being Miss Yoo, and the equally frightening men that she lingered beside in photos stationed at her desk. She was also aware that her bitter divorce battle was something that managed to spill into her work while she was in her office, considering the thin walls of the agency. There was a time Juyeon considered leaking some of her more private matters into the media out of sheer boredom, but having a new manager was a risky move.

“You know,” Her manager had spoken again, this time her voice much lower. “I heard you went up three kilograms.”

“Thank you for worrying about me.”

“Thank me for what? That you’ve been sneaking food from the back of the building because you think they don’t have security cameras? I’m sure you already know.” “How do you know it’s me? It could be any of the other pig trainees at the industry.”

Juyeon hadn’t been looking at her when she spoke, and she could only respond with a mild yelp when she felt the side of her head shoved towards the passenger window, with a dull thump from the glass resonating between the car.

“Do you think you can slack off now because you’ve made it?” Her manager had kept her hand raised in case of retaliation, but Juyeon said nothing as she settled herself back into the passenger seat, fixing her fussed curls with a shaking hand.

“You think you work so hard, don’t you. Just because you can hit a couple of notes and you look pretty. It’s disgraceful, really.” She had gotten out of the car by then and Juyeon quietly followed suit, lips pursed into a moderate line.

The hall was nothing short of grandiose and photographers galore, possibly more than she’d seen at her usual events. The host was a man she had met briefly at another gallery showing; she could tell by his humble gray cardigan and his sideswept blue hair that he was otherworldly and alluring. It was not difficult to find that his girlfriend had been something of the same distinction, judging by her waist long waves of blonde hair and grass-green eyes.

When Juyeon had first seen them, she had thought someone ripped the two out of a perfectly curated designer catalogue book—if she didn’t know any better, she would’ve been surprised the moment they moved. She remembered being distantly envious of her kindness. Rika, if she remembered correctly, spoke in a high voice that sounded akin to wind chimes, and even though she was a virtual nobody next to Juyeon, she still found herself thankful that she now had Rika’s number saved as a contact. It was slightly humiliating to think about.

Like all events she had attended, they wasted no expense on the decor—it never mattered how things really looked if you decorated it enough—with flowers and bright white lights that seemed to fill the room. Ms. Yoo had gone off to wherever she usually went, chatting up other people while she was left to her own devices.

In her peripheral, she could tell people had been eyeing her, surveying her, and measuring her up as she walked by with a quiet grace that was beaten into her from her debut. The way men would gawk at her made her feel like a pet in a cage to be judged for her grooming, but the thought no longer bothered her as much as it used to.

She found herself stationed in front of a blown-up portrait with a long exposure shot of the stars, faint white dotting the print canvas with a skew of color variations rolling over the sky. While she examined the photo carefully, it became obvious that it was too large and held too much for her eyes to simply glance over, so her feet stilled directly in front of the photo. The gentle and cold hues of the blue and purple provoked enough thought to quiet the world around her as she goggled unabashedly. Faintly, she wished she could be as bright and unfeeling as they were.

She had felt a very particular set of eyes on her that stood out from the others for amidst her admiration, but by the time she turned around, she could only see a flash of burgundy and black that sunk back into the crowd.

Who wears a suit that shiny? Her eyebrows seemed permanently knit together as she considered the lack of comfort that involved putting on a suit of that caliber.

Navigating the sea of crowd that presented itself before her was a hassle in itself. People she could hardly remember asked her if she recognized them, to where she had nodded with an excitement she reserved for variety shows and live performances.

“Juyeon! How are you?” Jihong Jung’s presence was as alarming as a fireball, and Juyeon had to mentally prepare herself before he spoke any further. He was a strange man who stood at a nice six-foot-one and had a rather strange fondness of skinship, despite Juyeon only working on a song with him. While he was rather pretty, Juyeon was never fond of another person’s touch.

“Not so loud, you bastard.” A manicured finger pressed against her temple and her eyes shut in moderate annoyance.

“This venue isn’t exactly built for inside voices, you know.” He began, a hand running from her shoulder to the tip of her elbow rather slowly. He kept up this action for a while.

She scoffed. “You must live a tiresome life.”

“You know how it’s like for me, we all have an image to uphold.” Jihong’s voice lowered and he had stepped closer to her for privacy’s sake. If she was to be honest, she was glad he was at least no longer yelling in her face.

“Taking photos next to pound dogs isn’t an image that’s going to last. I mean, you could be spending much more of your time improving your craft.” She said slyly. How lazy could he get?

“True. But you’re one of the lucky ones.”

She wondered how dense he was to agree with her. Fixing her dress, she propped a brow upwards as she spoke. “I’m aware, but tell me how so anyways.”

“You can get annoyed and kick and scream all you want, and everyone would cover it up for you anyways. The nation’s princess and all. I can’t even remember the last time I’ve ever been able to be angry.”

He didn’t know how wrong he was, but she let him continue speaking regardless. A clouding look had overshadowed his features when he paused between a sentence, as if something had suddenly occurred to him. “Speaking of, there’s something you need to know…”

And in the midst of his own faux secrecy he had grabbed her by the hand and pulled her close, eyes set on her while she could only return an expression that read of bemusement. Juyeon would have loved to at least pretend to feign some sort of interest, but instead she had found herself watching a very familiar figure slam something down towards a waiter and barrel out of the hall. The idea that her attention was elsewhere made her rather uncomfortable, but she was quick to deduce it down to just being tired; she usually quite enjoyed hearing about other people’s scandals.

“Speaking of annoyed, I’ve had enough. I’m bored.” She said dryly, pushing his hand away from hers as she straightened her posture. The only thing she had looked forward to tonight was being able to sleep on the car ride to her next destination, and she thought she was near hallucinating when he found a firm grip on her elbow to pull her back.

“Wait, listen to me.” It wasn’t difficult to understand that something in his eyes were different as he said that to her. A small smile pricked the edge of her lips when she watched his grip on her elbow tighten.

So he does have a breaking point. Juyeon made no point to move as she knew that people didn’t like her making too much noise, nor would anyone help her in the room as her knowing smile turned into a vague scowl.

“Miss Park, how lovely to see you again!” It’s a voice she didn’t recognize, one that was calling towards her with so much familiarity it makes her gaze falter towards the person in question.

It was instinctive for her to scowl, but she paused when she had seen exactly who had been the one calling for her. The man in the burgundy suit, who worked with V. If her brief and sour meeting from him gave her anything, it was that his name was Daeshim and he had a flair for the dramatics; his suit made it glaringly obvious. She had sworn, from the bottom of her heart, that he despised her. He had seen right through her when they first met, and it was strange to think that there was someone who didn’t find her charming. However, he was V’s PR agent. The likelihood of him meeting countless people like her before wasn’t slim.

There was a moment that she needed to register that he was speaking again. “Please introduce me to your lovely acquaintance, is he your co-star?”

What does he think he’s doing? Juyeon had never had someone intervene in situations like this before, and she had never intervened in the many that had occurred in her presence. For the most part, people ignored things like this—people who worked in the industry only gravitated towards shiny and pretty things.

It was clear he wasn’t looking for an answer to her question, because he continued to speak anyways. “Why, you’re so stunning I’m sure my client would love to have you as his next model. Let’s go say hello.”

With only her mouth hung slightly ajar, she had watched Daeshim drag Jihong further away from the scene and melt into the crowd yet again. The exchange she consequently watched take place had nothing to do kindness and brimmed to the edge with venom. While she wasn’t aware of what they were saying, it had taken her almost halfway through their conversation to realize he had saved her from something she was far too accustomed to, one she had learned to shove down her throat and normalize.

When she knew that, she began to rationalize as quickly as she could to make sense of the situation. She juggled the possibilities of him wanting her to owe him later for a favor, or maybe he simply did it in hopes of other people watching to seem like a good samaritan; but the truth was, Daeshim had nothing to ask of her and they had not attracted the attention of a single soul throughout the exchange.

A sudden detachment came between herself and the party as he let Jihong go and turned back to her with nothing more or less than nod. She had expected him to come back to her and demand compensation for the brave act, or at the very least expect something. It was the first time she had witnessed the kindness she passionately rejected the existence of, and it had been enough to keep her deep in thought for the rest of the party. Somehow, she felt that he would be something significant—to her or the world, she wasn’t quite sure yet.

#juyeon park #i should tag all my writing works but sig h s #that's just a lot of suffering #anyways meet my daughter she's a little shit #be warned this is almost entirely about an oc so lmfao

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thelostcatpodcast · 5 years

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THE LOST CAT PODCAST TRANSCRIPTS: SEASON 3: EPISODE 07: LIFE IS PAIN

SEASON 3: EPISODE 07: LIFE IS PAIN Episode released 23rd April 2017 http://thelostcat.libsyn.com/season-3-episode-7-life-is-pain

Wine is made from fermented grapes. That’s all. We all know that. There’s no secret to it. But what makes wine, wine: that is what I found out the other day, and in doing so, the meaning of life.

THE LOST CAT PODCAST SEASON 3, BY A P CLARKE, EPISODE 7: LIFE IS PAIN

My friend's grandmother had died. This was not a particularly happy thing, yes, but she had lived a right old life. I had caught her dancing not six weeks ago. She had been on the gin. We had been on the gin too, last night, and too we had danced. And now we were at Gran's funeral, and my friend wore sunglasses inside. I could not close my mouth. And OK, fair enough: maybe this wasn't cool, but you have to remember that Gran would get drunk at every wedding and tell everyone who would listen the story about the old farmer and the horse that ran away. Often we would sit with her in the corner of whatever hall we were in, swapping stories, and drinks, until she'd decided she'd had enough to attempt dancing. "Dancing should not be done lightly," she would say. "But lightheadedly." And we had danced last night. And today, in the presence of death, we felt an awful lot like death. Which, OK, sounds like a joke a little too tastelessly cute, I realise, but we were not much in the mood for jokes that day, not feeling the way we did, anyway. That feeling that tells a wearying story of the world: where your toe stubs on every post, your foot snags on every crack in the pavement, your coat hits every glass as it passes. A world where everyone was angry, and shouting, and in your way, and where we are all inevitably falling apart. And the worst part of this story is that it feels like it was telling you the truth. As like a flower at night, we closed up tight. Now dear listener, I do not pretend to be proud of the state we were in, but I must report the facts. "Never again," said my friend. "Never again," I agreed. But truthfully, it sounded like a toast. We looked around for the bar, but only found the altar. Yeah OK, maybe that was a little embarrassing. It was a really nice church too, and one of the last in the area with a steeple and a graveyard and catacombs and everything. We had the decency to feel a little bit of shame, at least. But today, as we enetered, we felt something different too. We felt a presence. In the pulsing grey fog at the edge of our vision, I was sure I could see some things moving in between the pillars of the nave, keeping to the shadows away from anyone’s view. I snapped my eyes round, which did nothing for my head, but everytime I looked at the shadows where I thought they were they seemed to slither away, finding a deeper darkness to hide within. And as they got closer, they turned the people of the nave into harsh, blurred scratches, and made their gentle conversation seem harsh and discordant. The simple flourescant lights on the ceiling became blinding and nauseous. The wave of it bloomed in me like bacteria and all I could see were the tears in everyone’s clothes, the cracking of their teeth and the bloating of their skin. I stepped back with my friend, who was obviously feeling the same way. And we stepped towards the coffin of her Gran, and here it was calm and cool and fresh. I looked around, and these presences, these holes in the room, they were all converging on this spot, wrapping themselves around pillars, and snaking through the oblivious legs of the guests. It was clear to me. These things had come for Gran. They were drawn to her, and wanted to be near her. They wanted something from here. I said this to my friend. What I said was: "Gran... bad... monster things" And she agreed. She said: "Hrrrnnnggh." Again: I am not proud of what we did, but I can only report the facts. We were not going to let these things get Gran. So as the slithering approached, we picked up the coffin. We held Gran on our shoulders, and disappeared down the stairs in to the catacombs. For those wondering, Gran had been small anyway, and losing weight by the end as so many do, and the coffin was thin and cheap, for no-one had money for such things these days that did not matter so much. It was dark down there. So dark we could barely see a thing. We walked, carefully, but briskly down the long low-ceilinged hall of the catacombs, but then we saw the slithering in front of us too. We stopped. We started to head down a side tunnel, and the faint movement followed. Though it was so dark, they could still follow our every move. "They can hear us," I said. "Let us stay completely silent." "good idea," she agreed. And we did. But that crawling movement stayed locked on to our position. "They can sense Gran," my friend said. "That’s what they’re following. They’ll be able to get us any where. Put her down and we’ll fight them off if we have to." And I said "Hrrrnnngghh." So we stopped, put down Granny and turned to face the darkness. And out they came, slithering from the shadows on dozens and dozens of tiny, spindle-thin legs, dry slug-like creatures of segmented rippling pale gray skin emerged before us into the main body of the catacombs. The first It reared up. Beneath a heavy, hood of thick skin, was a strangely humanoid face, but distorted as if in pain, with infinitely deep lines along its forehead and down its cheeks. Its eyes were deep wells of wet black, buried deep in down-drooped sockets. The skin seemed in a constant state of movement rippling back from itself, as if trying to get away. "OK," said the creature. "Thank you for stopping. let’s all calm down. Let’s just... calm down." It moved its hands out and in a slow, calming movement of tamping something down gently, with a slight shake in its limbs suggesting how much effort it was having to put in to maintain this level of control. "Please do not move so much. It is like...an explosion to us. Please: have this:" And its colleague produced a bottle of wine. "You see," said the creature. "Why we are here is, we make wine. Would you like a glass?" "Certainly," said the both of us. And a shrinking creature scuttled towards us with two full glasses. We gingerly took them. All of this happened very slowly, so as not to cause any sudden shocks. We sniffed it, and it was so rich and dark and thick with the promise of relief. We took glorious, deep mouthfuls "Yes, we make wine," said the creature. "We make wine out of death." We both of us stared at the creature, and at the rich dark liquid in front of us, warming our throats as it slid so smoothly down, and we finished our large glasses of wine.

Wine, wine is like blood: I need it inside me. Do not waste a drop It proves useful in acts of debauchery

Wine, wine is like blood: it is an acquired taste. it reddens the cheek for a kiss and it marks the line twixt chaste and disgraced

Wine, wine is like love: it enflames my soul and when I do not have it I need it, I need it so.

Be careful when you take another's always leave them some. It makes a party more dangerous and always a lot more fun

Wine, wine is like blood: it makes an embarrassing stain. One is a symbol of God's sweet mercy and the other is blood.

Wine, wine is love: it enflames my heart and when it all runs out I fall apart. and when it all runs out I fall apart.

"No we are not going to eat your Granny." My friend said "Well I won’t let you if you try" And they both recoiled from the emotion in her voice. "Well we won’t." "Good." "Would you like some more?" "Yes please." And they re-filled our glasses. "No, we do not feed on the dead. We leave that for the likes of you. We feed on death. The long stillness of dis-animation. The cooling echoes of the space left behind. There is peace there, in the silence. There is solace there, in the cold. Comfort, in the darkness. Light is blinding. Noise, deafening. The heat, burning. Life is pain. You poor creatures, bound to your lives as you are, can not see the fire you are in. So we take that sweet death, and distill it into a liquid to give you all a glimpse of the promise of relief. "No," said my friend, still being defensive over my friend. "I do not accept this," And she stood between the goblins and the coffin. "You are deceiving us for some reason. Coldness is not a thing, but a lack of it. Darkness neither. Death is not a thing, and wine is not made of it." And the creature sighed. "Of course," it said. "I promise you we tell the truth. We only have the truth to tell. Wine is made of fermented grapes. Of course. That’s all it is. There is no secret, and everybody knows that. And life is chemicals reacting between neurons. Of course. That's all it is. There is no secret. There is no more meaning there than that. And yet, here you are. And yet, here we are. What are we to make of that?" We continued drinking the wine, and the creatures gave us more. "Are you here, though?" continued my friend. "Why do you hide?" "We feed on death. Think then, on the creatures that feed on life." and they looked towards the far end of the catacombs, which had begun to brighten. "We must be quick. Please let us feed on your grandmother’s death? These creatures: they are horrifying for us. A constant screaming. A thousand fireworks. A maelstrom of knives. A chaos. They come. They come for you. It is not your fault. You can not help it." A look of great pain passed across their faces again. "We can not be here for much longer." "Please," said my friend. "Take my Grandmother’s death. It is yours." And already we felt a rush in our bodies and a lift in our spirits, and already we could feel the memory of death fleeing from us as the crypt lit up from the far end. They approached. They looked like butterflies hovering above the ground on silk-thick wings, their hair filament-thin, it floated like a halo around faces so brightly lit they looked like babies. And we went and we hid with the cretures behind the coffin. Already we could see them shrinking from us. Already it was difficult to hear them over the rising noise, see them over the rising light." "They are decievers these things. they lie to you in your happiness, and hide our truth from your joy. In this way you become full of life for them to feed on." "We do not want our life fed on," I said. "Accept it, or do not. It is necessary. Or at least inevitable." "Maybe we can escape," I said. But I could see my words causing physical pain to the creature. "Listen please: in life, death. In death, life. Enjoy it. Live a full, good life. It will make the wine taste better." And with that they were gone. And then the bright creatures came, rising over the coffin and making the air vibrate. These bright shining butterflies. Their wings blinding us in their colour. Their every limb deafening us in their roar. And there was light and noise and heat all around us and all became a blur. They loosed their coiled tongues down toward us and we opened like flowers and all of the light rushed in. They found us, the rest of hte guests, laughing and singing with bottles of wine in our hands, over the coffin on Grandmother, deep in the catacombs of the church. We had some explaining to do. But there was wine, and we opened it and we explained that this is what Gran would have wanted, to have one last shock, one last break of a taboo, one last adventure. And as the wine went down, all agreed with this, and we all had a great night, that none remembered in the morning.

THANK YOU FOR LISTENING.

Links

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facebook.com/lostcatpodcast

soundcloud.com/a-p-clarke/sets/the-lost-cat-podcast

apclarke.bandcamp.com/releases

#lost cat #cat #lost cat podcast #audio drama #audiodrama #podcast #transcript #monsters #horror #hangover #death #lifeispain

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investmart007 · 6 years

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WINDSOR, England | The Latest: Sir Elton John serenades royal newlyweds

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WINDSOR, England | The Latest: Sir Elton John serenades royal newlyweds

WINDSOR, England (AP) — The Latest on the royal wedding (all times local): 4:25 p.m.

Elton John has performed for guests at newlyweds Prince Harry and Meghan Markle’s wedding reception.

The singer was among 600 people invited to Saturday’s marriage ceremony at St. George’s Chapel in Windsor Castle. He sported a bold pair of pink spectacles as he arrived with husband David Furnish.

Kensington Palace says John “performed for the newly married couple in recognition of the close connection he has with Prince Harry and his family.”

The palace did not disclose which songs the musician, who was made a knight in 1998 by Queen Elizabeth II in 1998, chose for the occasion.

John was a close friend of Harry’s late mother, Princess Diana, and performed the song “Candle in the Wind” with recast lyrics at her funeral in 1997. ___ 3:30 p.m.

Meghan Markle was not the only star of the royal wedding on Saturday. The children who were her pageboys and bridesmaids captivated the crowd in Windsor and television audiences, too.

Prince Harry’s nephew and niece —Prince George and Princess Charlotte— were among the six bridesmaids and four pageboys. The 10 attendants all are age 7 and under.

The royal siblings are no strangers to performing wedding duties as they held the same roles at the wedding of Pippa Middleton, the Duchess of Cambridge’s younger sister, last year. Princess Charlotte waved at crowds outside St George’s Chapel following the service — proving that she’s catching on quickly to the duties of royal life. ___ 2:35 p.m.

Chloe Edwards still can’t believe she had a conversation with George Clooney on Prince Harry and Meghan Markle’s wedding day. The 16-year-old British army cadet yelled out to the actor as he and his wife, Amal Clooney, walked from St. George’s Chapel to a post-wedding reception hosted by Queen Elizabeth II.

Edwards said: “I was like, ‘George.!’ and he came over, we had a bit of a conversation. It was fantastic. He asked if I had enjoyed the wedding.”

Edwards received a coveted invitation to watch the procession from the grounds of Windsor Castle as recognition for her outstanding cadet work.

“It was just so surreal,” she said. “I still don’t believe I was actually here. I just loved every moment.”

Edwards said Prince Harry’s and Prince William’s military service has helped build morale.

She said: “I think it’s brilliant that even though they’re royals, they still contribute toward the forces and it’s really an inspiration for the rest of the country.” ___ 2:15 p.m.

Guests are welcoming royal newlyweds Harry and Meghan at a reception featuring seasonal British produce and a nontraditional wedding cake.

Kensington Palace says the 600 guests at the Windsor Castle wedding will eat canapés including Scottish langoustines, grilled English asparagus and croquette of confit Windsor lamb.

There’s no sit-down meal at the lunchtime reception, but guests will be offered bowls of chicken fricassee with morel mushrooms, pea and mint risotto and slow-roasted pork belly.

Place of honor will go to the wedding cake by California-raised London master baker Claire Ptak.

The layered lemon and elderflower cake features ingredients including 200 Amalfi lemons and 10 bottles of elderflower cordial from Queen Elizabeth II’s Sandringham estate.

The cake is decorated with Swiss meringue buttercream and 150 fresh flowers, mainly British and in season, including peonies and roses.

The reception is hosted by Prince William, his brother’s best man, and will include speeches by Harry’s father, Prince Charles, and the bride and groom. ___ 1:35 p.m. Meghan Markle reached 125 years back into the British monarchy’s vault to choose her wedding tiara.

The diamond bandeau Markle wore was made for Queen Mary, who was crowned with husband King George V in 1911. The tiara was specifically designed to accommodate a brooch that was given to Mary in 1893 to commemorate her engagement to the then-Prince George.

Queen Elizabeth II inherited the pieces in 1953. The grandmother of groom Prince Harry has hundreds of tiaras stored in locked vaults. Royal tradition holds that the queen would let Markle borrow one of the sparkly heirlooms.

In the months before Saturday’s wedding, there had been speculation over whether Markle would continue the tiara tradition and if so, whether she would choose one that belonged to Harry’s late mother, Princess Diana. ___ 1:30 p.m.

A teenage cellist is getting praise for his performance at the royal wedding.

Sheku Kanneh-Mason, who is 19, performed for 600 guests and a huge global television audience as the newlyweds Harry and Meghan, now the Duke and Duchess of Sussex, signed the register.

Kanneh-Mason performed works including Franz Schubert’s “Ave Maria.” The cellist won the BBC’s Young Musician of the Year contest in 2016, the first black musician to do so. ___ 1:20 p.m.

The leader of the Episcopal Church has quoted civil rights leader Martin Luther King Jr. on the “redemptive power of love” as he blessed the marriage of Prince Harry and Meghan Markle.

Most Rev. Michael Bruce Curry, who was hand-picked by the couple to deliver a sermon at their wedding, told the bride and groom Saturday that there was “power in love” and that “love can help and heal when nothing else can.”

But Curry, a champion of civil rights causes and outspoken supporter of gay rights, continued “it’s not just for and about a young couple, who we rejoice with, it’s more than that.”

Invoking the days of slavery in the United States, he said love helped those in captivity persevere.

He told the couple love has “the power to change the world.” Curry says “when love is the way, we actually treat each other, well, like we are actual family.” ___ 1:15 p.m.

The royal newlyweds are taking a short trip through Windsor in a horse-drawn carriage, to the delight of thousands of well-wishers. The crowd roared as Harry and Meghan emerged from St. George’s Chapel and kissed at the top of the steps.

The couple, now the Duke and Duchess of Sussex, will travel through Windsor in the Ascot Landau carriage before looping back to Windsor Castle for their reception.

Tens of thousands of people have come to Windsor in hopes of catching a glimpse of the couple. ___ 12:55 p.m.

A buzzing crowd of Californians and British expatriates has packed into a Hollywood pub long before dawn for a pajama party and royal wedding viewing.

British flags and pictures of Prince Harry and Meghan Markle hung all around the Cat & Fiddle Pub early Saturday. It’s just a few miles from Markle’s childhood schools.

The sold-out pub is packed with guests wearing pajamas party hats, nightgowns and crowns.

Nottingham, England native Craig Young was giving a wedding-themed pub quiz as he wore a bathrobe and Harry mask.

The 44-year-old actor says the wedding is especially sweet for Britons in LA because a woman from their adopted hometown is joining the royal family.

It’s one of countless watch parties at pubs, hotels, movie theaters and elsewhere across the U.S. ___ 12:40 p.m. The archbishop of Canterbury has declared Prince Harry and Meghan Markle husband and wife.

Justin Welby, the head of the Church of England, has made the proclamation after the couple promised to love and cherish one another “till death us do part,” and exchanged rings.

The British-American pair are now officially known as the Duke and Duchess of Sussex, and the duchess will take her place among senior members of the royal family.

Saturday’s ceremony took place at St. George’s Chapel in Windsor, the British royals’ longtime home. ___ 12:10 p.m.

Dean of Windsor David Conner has welcomed the congregation at the start of the wedding of Prince Harry and Meghan Markle. The couple are standing at the altar in St. George’s Chapel. They smiled at each other as a soprano sang a work by Handel.

As they stood at the altar, Harry said to Meghan: “You look amazing.” Markle arrived to a fanfare and walked down the aisle accompanied part of the way by Prince Charles, and by 10 young page boys and bridesmaids. The children include 4-year-old Prince George and 3-year-old Princess Charlotte, children of Prince William and the Duchess of Cambridge. ___ 12 p.m.

Meghan Markle is wearing a dress by designer Clare Waight Keller for her wedding to Prince Harry.

Markle’s choice is being closely watched Saturday given how big an impact royal wedding dresses have on what brides everywhere want to wear. Princess Diana’s 1981 wedding gown, with its romantic details and dramatic train, defined the ’80s fairytale bridal look.

More recently, when Kate Middleton married Prince William in 2011, her long-sleeved lace gown immediately sparked a trend for more covered-up, traditional lace bridal dresses. ___ 11:55 a.m.

Queen Elizabeth II arrived at St. George’s Chapel in Windsor in a flared lime-colored dress in printed silk and an edge-to-edge coat with a lime silk tweed fastening.

The royal palace said that both items of clothing were designed by Stuart Parvin. She was joined by her husband, Prince Philip. The guests stood to attention as the pair entered the chapel. ___ 11:50 a.m.

American television star Meghan Markle has arrived at St. George’s Chapel for her wedding to Prince Harry.

Markle, who is being ferried to the grounds in a vintage maroon Rolls-Royce with her mother Doria Ragland, is expected to enter the chapel shortly.

Prince Harry and his brother and best man Prince William were seated waiting for her on Saturday. ___ 11:35 a.m.

Prince Harry and best man Prince William have arrived at St. George’s Chapel for his royal wedding in Windsor to American actress Meghan Markle.

The pair, dressed in formal military uniforms, waved and smiled as they stepped across the grounds of the 15th-century church.

William, who was married to commoner Kate Middleton at a ceremony in 2011, is carrying his brother’s rings. Saturday’s ceremony is supposed to last about an hour.

Other members of the royal family have taken their places inside St. George’s Chapel, including Harry’s uncles Prince Andrew and Prince Edward, his aunt Princess Anne and his cousins Princess Eugenie and Princess Beatrice.

Guests are awaiting the arrival of the most senior royals, including Princes Charles, who will walk Markle down the aisle, and Queen Elizabeth II and her husband. ___ 11:30 a.m.

New York theatre producer Allen DeWane has a prime viewing spot on the sunlit grounds of Windsor Castle along the procession route Prince Harry and Meghan Markle will use. He was invited because of his charity work, and happy to have the chance to share the moment.

The 47-year-old DeWane said: “I’m African-American and I’m very proud of Meghan Markle. She’s such a very class young lady. She carried herself so well and I think she’s made us all proud.”

DeWane says his contacts in the industry speak highly of Markle’s professional conduct on the set of “Suits” when it was filmed in Canada.

He said: “She’s got an excellent reputation with the workers and the crew, and not everyone does. It’s not talked about every day on the streets, but I think the majority of African-Americans are quite proud of her. And happy.” ___ 11:25 a.m. American actress Meghan Markle has arrived at her hotel on her way to the royal wedding.

The 10-mile (16-kilometer) trip will take her to St. George’s Chapel in Windsor, where she will marry Prince Harry.

Markle waved for the cameras as the car she was traveling in, a vintage Rolls-Royce, drove past Saturday. She appeared to be wearing a white dress and a long veil. ___ 11:15 a.m.

Patsy Small, a 53-year-old nursery manager who was invited to the Windsor Castle grounds, says she is “very British” but she has close relatives in the United States who have been calling her in the last few days to talk about Meghan Markle.

Small said: “As a black British woman I am so happy. Everyone’s phoned me from the States this morning, they are so happy that she’s here, that she’s biracial, all they’ve been saying is black people in America are so proud and so happy.”

She said she is very impressed with Prince Harry and Prince William. Small said of Markle joining the royal family: “Will this bridge the gap? We don’t know. But one thing we know is these two boys are real. Harry and William. They are real. They go to the West Indies.

They go to Africa. They are trying to have a legacy like their mother. They know they’re royals, they know who they are. But they are also entwined with the general public and the community. They have a mind of their own.” ___ 10:55 a.m.

Tennis great Serena Williams and soccer star David Beckham are among famous guests from the world of sports attending the wedding of Prince Harry and American actress Meghan Markle. Williams, a 23-time Grand Slam champion, said on Instagram on Saturday that she was “getting ready for my friends wedding.” She later walked into the chapel.

Williams returned to the WTA tour briefly this year, after a 14-month absence to give birth to her daughter. But she withdrew from the ongoing Italian Open, saying she wasn’t “100 percent ready to compete,” leaving her free for the wedding.

Beckham won six Premier League titles at Manchester United and had 115 appearances for England. He also won league titles in Spain (Real Madrid), the United States (LA Galaxy) and France (PSG). Stars from the rugby world included Sir Clive Woodward, who coached England to the world cup in 2003, and Jonny Wilkinson, a member of that title-winning team. ___ 10:35 a.m.

A-list couples including George and Amal Clooney have arrived for the royal wedding of Prince Harry and Meghan Markle. Crowds cheered as the Hollywood star and his lawyer spouse arrived at Windsor Castle — he in a gray suit, she in mustard yellow dress and matching hat.

David and Victoria Beckham have also arrived at St. George’s Chapel for the ceremony. The former soccer star doffed his sunglasses to pose for photos with well-wishers. Designer Victoria wore a smart navy blue ensemble and hat with half-veil. ___ 10:15 a.m. Kensington Palace says that Prince Harry and Meghan Markle have chosen Cleave & Company to make their rings.

The American actress’ ring has been made with Welsh gold given by Queen Elizabeth II. The company also made her engagement ring. Prince Harry’s ring is a platinum band with a textured finish. Prince William will carry the rings into St George’s Chapel on Saturday. ___ 10 a.m.

St. George’s Chapel has been given an overnight makeover with flower arrangements at the main entry door and inside the great room where Prince Harry and Meghan Markle will wed.

A cascading hedgerow style using native flowers and foliage graces the entryway. A similar display was inside.

Senior chapel official Charlotte Manley said the flowers were put in overnight while other decorations were put in place in recent days. She said Markle helped choose the plants but has not seen them in place. That will happen when she arrives to be wed.

The chapel was filled with light from the extensive stain glass window on a bright sunny morning as guests started to arrive. ___ 9:50 a.m. Oprah Winfrey and Idris Elba are among the first guests to arrive at Windsor Castle for the wedding of Prince Harry and Meghan Markle.

The American talk-show titan and the London-born Hollywood star are among celebrities, royalty, athletes and family friends in the 600-strong congregation invited to St. George’s Chapel in Windsor.

Singer James Blunt has also arrived Saturday at the gothic chapel, where the wedding will start at noon (1100GMT).

Royal relatives on hand include Charles Spencer, the brother of Harry’s late mother Princess Diana. ___ 9:20 a.m.

Royal fans have come from near and far for a glimpse of Prince Harry and Meghan Markle on their wedding day in Windsor. Hundreds camped out overnight to get a prime spot outside for the newlyweds’ horse-drawn carriage near Windsor Castle after the ceremony.

“I woke up wet, and I’m freezing cold, my back is sore, and I just want to go to bed,” said Bernadette Christie, a Canadian from Grand Prairie, Alberta.

“I’m here for that 10 seconds when that coach goes around the corner,” she said. “It’ll be well worth it.”

Farkahanda Ahmed came with her mother and a friend from Slough, a few miles from Windsor, arriving at 4 a.m. to get a good spot. The trio wore Union Jack hijabs in honor of the occasion.

“It’s a proud moment for us — times are changing,” Ahmed said. “Who would have thought a Hollywood actress would become a British princess? “We are proud to be British and we wanted to come here and show our support.” ___ 9 a.m. The members of the public selected for prime viewing spots for the royal wedding have started arriving.

Alan Scott was one of the first arrivals among the roughly 2,600 people invited to watch the procession from the grounds of Windsor Castle. He was invited because of his 45 years of service to scouting, an activity that enjoys much royal family support.

He will have a front row view of the wedding procession and hoped for a good chance to see Prince Harry and Meghan Markle after the ceremony. The 69-year-old Scott had come in from Lincolnshire the night before for the big event.

“It’s a great honor,” he said of the unexpected invite. “The atmosphere is great. The royals are great supporters of everything and the young element is really coming through. I think they’re going to take things forward.” ___ 8:30 a.m. Royal watchers have swarmed the first trains from London to Windsor as they headed for the wedding of Prince Harry and American actress Meghan Markle.

At the station in Slough, the changing point for travelers from London, revelers found sign boards reading “All aboard the royal wedding special to Harry & Meghan Central.”

Many of those on the standing room only trains were Americans, including Christine Clancy from Virginia.

Clancy says she’s “always been a royal fan — not an extreme one — I just love British history and love the royals. I just wanted to be part of the wedding celebration.”

Irene Bowdry, a lawyer from California, booked her trip with four friends as soon as the date was announced. She said “an American in the royal family, isn’t that so exciting?” ___ 8:20 a.m.

Queen Elizabeth II has conferred a dukedom on Prince Harry — making him the Duke of Sussex, Earl of Dumbarton and Baron Kilkeel.

The new title will mean that when Harry marries American actress Meghan Markle later Saturday in Windsor, she will become the Duchess of Sussex.

The secondary titles are for use in Scotland and Northern Ireland. The monarch similarly bestowed titles on the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge before their wedding in 2011. ___ 8 a.m.

Thousands of people are on the streets outside Windsor Castle after many of them camped overnight to grab the best spots to catch a glimpse of Prince Harry and Meghan Markle on their wedding day.

It was the fourth night sleeping rough for Canadian royal-watcher Bernadette Christie, who says it will be well worth it if she sees the royal couple pass by in their state carriage.

Christie says, “I’m freezing cold, my back is sore, and I just want to go to bed.”

But she is unrepentant. She says “I’m here for that ten seconds when the coach comes around the corner.”

Police and security marshals are out in force to ensure the safety of the tens of thousands of people expected to converge on Windsor during the day. ___ 5 a.m.

The big day is finally here: Prince Harry and Meghan Markle are to wed at St. George’s Chapel on the grounds of Windsor Castle. It all started with a blind date two years ago that went very, very well.

That has turned into a global mega-event Saturday that is helping reshape the British monarchy and will be watched by tens of millions of TV viewers around the world.

By Associated Press – published on STL.News by St. Louis Media, LLC(R.A)

#Prince Harry and Meghan Markle audiences #Prince Harry and Meghan Markle's #St. George's Chapel in Windsor Castle #TodayNews #Windsor and television

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