the world is most unfair to the innocent individuals who desire nothing but happiness and peace; who can live life without hungry stomachs, filled with the blood, sweat and tears of people like them. where the views of animals, sounds of trees in the breeze, touches through hugs and cherry kisses, and emotions warm and pure are enough to thank life rather than views of salty tears, sounds of protest, touches of pen and paper, and emotions deep and bitter. it is a cruel world indeed. 4:38 pm, "entry 8: the world I grew up in".
Regarding the official press release from Attorney General Pam Bondi on seeking the death penalty:
"By seeking to murder Luigi Mangione, the Justice Department has moved from the dysfunctional to the barbaric. Their decision to execute Luigi is political and goes against the recommendation of the local federal prosecutors, the law, and historical precedent. While claiming to protect against murder, the federal government moves to commit the pre-meditated, state-sponsored murder of Luigi. By doing this, they are defending the broken, immoral, and murderous healthcare industry that continues to terrorize the American people. We are prepared to fight these federal charges, brought by a lawless Justice Department, as well as the New York State charges, and the Pennsylvania charges, and anything else they want to pile on Luigi. This is a corrupt web of government dysfunction and one-upmanship. Luigi is caught in a high-stakes game of tug-of-war between state and federal prosecutors, except the trophy is a young man's life."
Now I know this is not what I usually post but I felt like it was my duty and responsibility to talk about this.
On Dec. 4, United Health Care CEO Brian Thompson was shot and killed in front of a Hilton hotel in Midtown Manhattan in New York. Just 5 days later, the suspect and alleged shooter Luigi Mangione was arrested at a McDonalds in Altoona, PA with everything the police needed for an arrest present (that's a little fishy but we can talk about that another time).
As of now, Mangione is being held in a jail in Brooklyn, NY and is awaiting trial. He has plead not guilty to federal charges of using a firearm to commit murder, stalking, and discharging a firearm with a silencer. He has also been slapped with terrorism charges.
Now, do I think anyone should kill anyone in cold blood? No. Do I 100% support Luigi Mangione and his choice to kill Brian Thompson, a greedy slime ball who killed thousands of more people than Luigi did? Yes. With that being said, Luigi Mangione is innocent until proven guilty and I think we all need to remember that. We cannot be the same people who go on Tik Tok and Tumblr calling him the hot CEO shooter and saying that his act of protest makes him even more attractive and also stand up to the DOJ and say that he is innocent and should be pardoned. Regardless of the reason why he allegedly killed Brian Thompson, he could still be charged federally and is facing the death penalty.
I understand that he is incredibly attractive. I'm not saying he's ugly and that we can't talk about it. I have saved hundreds of edits of him on Tik Tok and his name has been in my Tumblr and Wattpad search bars more than once. But that isn't all he's good for. His attractiveness is not important because we want to look at him and read fan fiction about him. His attractiveness is important because people are paying attention to him. If he was ugly or fat or, I'm going to be completely honest, though I hate to say it, a person of color, the masses would not be reacting this way. No one would be talking about the case or about the suspect like they are. His looks are making people tune in. His looks are getting people to pay attention to the story. But we CANNOT lose the plot.
Luigi's alleged selfless sacrifice is what we need to talk about. He did something nobody, up to this point, in our generation has had the guts to do. Everyday, thousands of innocent people are killed in cold blood and the police and the government don't give a single fuck. We don't help them. If anything, we make their lives harder. If one of us get's shot several times in the city by a man who had a gun with a silencer, it wouldn't be in the news. The man probably wouldn't have even been arrested. He wouldn't be facing federal charges. He'd probably just get a warning and let back onto the streets. But because a rich man who took the money and lives from the poor got what was coming to him and got killed, they needed our help to find the perpetrator and get the violent beast off the streets so that they can send him to the chair. Well, you know what, FUCK THAT!!
The Parkland Shooter killed 17. He was an adult. No death penalty.
The Sandy Hook shooter killed 28. He was an adult. No death penalty.
The El Paso shooter killed 23. He was an adult. No death penalty.
It is not my job to find you a hero to kill. It is not our job to protect the people who take our money and our lives away from us. But it is our job to protect Luigi Mangione and get him out of the courts.
Peaceful protests don't work; that's why they let us do them. Luigi Mangione knew this, and he allegedly did what he felt needed to be done. Now, we have to help him.
We cannot, and I can't emphasize this enough, let him be a trend. Everyone was talking about the Menendez Brothers for weeks when the Netflix show came out and now everyone forgot. I didn't, but a lot of people did and the lack of support now is making their lives harder. Luigi Mangione cannot be the white boy of the month who we forget about in a week. He is a public figure now and we have to help him. I'm begging all of you to do everything you can. Send letters, sign petitions, keep his name in the media, and most importantly...
TW: Detailed Gore, Mentions of Murder, Mentions of Sexual Assault [Not by Michael], Slightly Possessive Michael, Protective Michael, Mature Audience only!
A/N: Requested by my bestie @prettywhenibleed! I really hope you enjoy this and it was an absolute pleasure to write this for you!! Love you, my favorite slasher whore! ❤️ This isn't my best work, I'm afraid, forgive me.
The Smith's Grove Sanitarium operated according to a schedule that was consistently set in motion without interruption. No authorized doctor employed by the sanitarium, however, would have foreseen this. Medical specialists thought they were completely familiar with Michael Myers' behavior. He was docile and kept to himself, despite being the most dangerous and threatening patient in the hospital.
But if you left him alone, there was a chance he would treat you in a similar fashion. The sole exception would be if touching his masks or otherwise bothered him. Even being among other patients was something he never enjoyed.
You were a new patient, recently exiled from society and your family because of your dreadful infatuation with fire and burning objects of interest. Your arrival left the building in absolute shock. On your first day, you were assigned to the recreation room. When you entered the room, your initial instinct was to walk over to the largest and most dangerous man within the sanatorium while grinning brightly. You only watched him work on a paper mache mask while standing over his hunched figure in the corner of the room, his hospital-approved supplies scattered along the table.
You thought the colors were stunning, which you happily expressed.
As a precaution against Michael harming you, guards stood by the recreation room's entrance wielding batons. Michael, on the other hand, did the exact opposite, giving you a cursory glance before grunting and slackly pointing for you to sit next to him.
It was like you and Michael had your own timetable inside the sanitarium, and this went on for the next few months without fail. As directed by his psychiatrist, Michael was permitted to create his masks in the recreation area in the mornings. You would follow not far behind and take your normal seat beside him at a table chosen at random, apart from the other patients. You would merely watch him create his masks and ramble about whatever was on your mind. Michael never responded to the conversation, but that didn't stop you from talking to him because he had his own style of doing so without words. You have grown accustomed to deciphering his thoughts from his basic grunts and gestures.
"Hey, Mikey." You said with a smile, taking a seat at your usual spot next to Michael's side, placing your tray of food onto the table.
Michael was in the middle of placing wet paper mache on the face mold for his mask, his fingers caked in colors of paint and residue from the paper mache. He paused for a moment, giving you a small grunt as acknowledgement before returning to his activity.
You smiled more, chuckling at his usual ways of communicating as you watched him craft. You've always been interested in his masks and the variety of patterns he would use for each one. Many of his masks had their own unique qualities. However, you knew to only look, not touch.
"I see you're adding bright colors this time; are those happy pills finally working?" You teased him, nudging him softly with your body.
Michael huffed through his nose, which you learned was his way of chuckling as he shook his head at you. In the past, It took a while, but you had a better understanding of Michael's gestures and emotions than the doctors.
Simply because you treated him like a person, not an experiment.
"Maybe next time then." You replied, turning towards your tray before glancing at his project once more. "You're really good at that, Mikey. You're really talented."
Once again, Michael paused his movements, his stained fingers holding the paper mache while his eyes remained downcast. His fingers twitched before he resumed, and you almost thought you said something wrong.
"I didn't mean-"
You were cut off as Michael grabbed another mold from the table, pushing it in your direction. Your eyes widened slightly as you pushed your tray out of the way as Michael's slow movements brought other materials in your direction.
Still in slight awe, you watched him turn towards you, and your eyes connected through his favorite orange mask. You couldn't help the way your heart skipped a beat at the way his eyes stared into your own, seemingly piercing into your own soul.
The doctors were wrong; his eyes weren't soulless, nor were they black, resembling a massive void of nothingness. They were blue, similar to a clear sky or the glimmering waves of the ocean.
He huffed before pointing a finger at the materials and then towards you. He wanted you to mold with him.
"Thank you, Mikey." You said softly, a bright smile on your face.
When your eyes met Michael's, he was unable to comprehend the sensation in his chest. Usually, when his sight fell on their figures, individuals would tremble or turn away. He wasn't concerned by their fear of the facility's most dangerous patient. He actually benefited from the fear he instilled in the hearts of many who came to the sanitarium.
Yet you didn't...and he liked that.
He liked that you weren't scared of him, speaking to him, or even touching him like you've been these past few months. The thought of you being scared of him made him feel...hollow.
When you started working on your own mask using the materials that were laid out on the table, Michael couldn't help but covertly place a palm on his chest to feel how his heart was refusing to settle down. He almost wanted to groan in annoyance, hating the way he liked being around you and having your attention.
He had been content with his solitude for a long time, He preferred being alone and had been for many years. However, the notion of you leaving him made the murderous itch inside him threaten to resurface.
He decided that he would keep you with him, protect you with everything he has, and extinguish anyone who threatened to ruin that. With darkened eyes, he returned to working on his mask.
On that day, you and Michael became closer.
You weren't born yesterday and you certainly weren't born stupid. Trouble was afoot in the institution and it was either happening under the doctors' noses or they simply didn't care enough to investigate. Over the past week, you would hear feminine screams down the hallway in the women's section of the institution during the late hours of the night. Last night, the screams could be heard two doors down from your room.
The screams and cries began when a new guard was appointed to the institution, supposedly replacing a well-known guard who was at the age of retirement. Due to your paranoia, you would sit on the edge of your bed, watching the door in the chance of someone entering your room when they weren't supposed to.
During the days, you would spend all you could with Michael, hoping that your association with him would make you seem off limits to mess with, or you hoped. Yet, Michael couldn't protect you when the sun went down and the men and women would return to their respective cells on opposite sides of the institution.
Tonight, you were following the same routine, sitting on the edge of your bed and watching the door. Your mind was in shambles, trying to come up with a plan in that chance, that horrid chance of the new guard coming for you. You hoped it wasn't what you were thinking, and for once, you prayed.
God never heard your prayers, and he certainly didn't now, especially when the jingling of keys were heading down the hallway, towards your room.
Michael couldn't sleep and when he couldn't sleep, he would simply pass the time by creating more masks or painting designs onto them. He was sitting at his desk, the surface covered in paper mache, markers, paint, and crayons. He was in the middle of adding a touch of red when he heard the distant sound of screaming.
His annoyance was disguised under his mask as he sighed and tightened his grip on the crayon in his hand to the point that it almost broke in half. He puffed again at the commotion and went on, indifferent to the screams. Perhaps a patient was making a scene during the nightly check-ins.
In order to block out the noises, Michael withdrew within the walls of his mind. It was a way that allowed Michael to escape freely from the confinement of his cell. He would always imagine a life outside the institution, with you. He would imagine the way he would protect you and provide for you. The thought used to sicken himn, but now he enjoyed it, the possibility. The sound of keys jingling, seemingly opening his cage, caused him to pause, though. With a loud crash, the cell door swung open, and shouting could now be heard outside of his room.
"Want some, freak?" The guard asked him in an mocking manner while Michael remained at his desk, his back to the guard. Michael immediately understood what the guard was pulling when he heard the feminine screams and intended to ignore it.
He continued to ignore his surroundings, ignoring the rage building within his chest. The sound of his bed creaking didn't deter him from continuing on with his activity. However, it all changed when the victim screamed one word.
"Michael!"
You.
Your trapped figure on his bed, with your nightgown pushed up so that only your thighs were visible, caught Michael's attention as his head whirled around. Your eyes were filled to the brim with tears, which streamed down your cheeks as you sobbed and struggled. His eyes quickly shifted to the guard hovering over you, and he developed tunnel vision instinctively.
A ferocious roar erupts from Michael's mouth and takes hold of the guard by the neck and collar of his shirt, throwing him off balance. In the midst, you shakily brought yourself to a sitting position, fixing the bottom of your nightgown to cover yourself. Your eyes watched as Michael picked up the guard, pinning him to the wall with eerie silence. The man in his grasp was yelling in pain and fear as Michael kept him pinned, his legs dangling in the air.
"L-Let go! Let go, you fucking punk!" The guard cried out.
Michael did not like that, not at all. Without a second thought, Michael hurled him into his desk, his art supplies falling to the ground in a cluster of clangs while the man groaned in pain. Like a predator stalking his prey, Michael's towering form stalked over to the smaller male, his eyes black as night and void of any life or mercy within. His large hand reached out to grab the same red colored pencil,
Michael's next action seemed to be a blur, he body launching onto the guard and stabbing him with the colored pencil, his resiliant strength making the pencil tear through flesh and muscle.
You watched in a sickening twist of fascination and awe, watching as Michael stabbed the guard over and over, leaving no body part untouched, the man;s screams filling the room. Your heart felt warm, knowing that Michael was willing enough to kill someone for you.
Lastly, Michael stabbed him until his chest, stomach, and face was shrouded in punctures, cuts, and wounds. With one last jab, the colored pencil stabbed into his neck, making the man gurgle on his own blood.
"Michael..." You whispered, your eyes taking in his bloodied form as he slowly turned to you, heaving himself up and moving towards you. It was as if he was a trained dog hoping he made his master proud. However, you were nothing of the sort. When he was close enough, you wrapped your arms around him, pressing yourself into his strong form. "Thank you..."
Michael gave a small huff, hesitantly touching your head with his bloody palm, staining your strands with the bodily fluid. Without another word, Michael pushed you away and grabbed your hand, pulling you off the bed and heading towards the door.
"Where we are going?" You asked in confusion, following behind the behemoth of a man down the stark white hallway.
In response, Michael tugged on your hand and you decided to go along with whatever he had in his mind. He saved you after all; even when he didn't have to, he did. It made you feel safe and protected in his presence.
"Alright, Alright." You muttered, your figures turning a corner and out of sight.
Red and white.
Those were the colors you would never forget. The way the walls were coated in blood and bodily fluids of various nurses and guards that laid along the floor in mangled messes.
Michael was strong, very strong. You remembered the way he smashed a guard's skull in with his fingers alone. You shuddered at the thought, crossing your arms and staring at the wall in front of you as you waited for Michael to finish off his last victim. A nurse arriving at the right place at the wrong time as Michael ambushed her, his hands around her throat as he strangled her.
Michael walked over to you, his muffled huffing practically hovering over your ear as he showed you shoes and coat. You stared at the items with a blank expression, wondering what he wanted you to do with these.
He huffed before shaking the items in his hands, motioning the items towards you. You sighed before taking the items with a small smile, throwing on the shoes and coat. You felt the warmth of the fabric soothe your cold figure.
"Thank you..." You muttered softly, looking up at him as he stared down at you.
He couldn't help but think you looked...cute.
He offered you his bloodied hand, which you instantly took and followed him to the exit. You both were finally going to be free and it was all thanks to him.
After a few hours of walking, your feet were beginning to ache and the adrenaline from earlier was wearing off.
After your fifth yawn, Michael stopped in his tracks, turning towards you in the middle of the field. He simply stared at you as you bent forward to rest your hands on your knees.
Michael, I need to rest for a moment. Please my-" Your words were cut off when Michael stormed over to you, grabbing you roughly around the hips, hoisting you into his arms. His arm went around your waist, while the other held your back in a bridal style fashion.
Your eyes widened from his sudden roughness, however you couldn't complain as you basked in his warmth, nuzzling your face in the bloodied fabric of his robe.
"Thank you." You said, closing your eyes and allowing yourself to finally relax for the first time tonight. You didn't notice the way Michael was staring at you in his arms, his darkened eyes filled with something unknown, dangerous...maybe even a little bit of caring.
Silently, he turned and resumed walking through the field, making sure to keep you safe as you began to doze in his arms.
“I’m never reading another fanfiction ever again,” says me after reading the most gut wrenching heartbreaking earth shattering beautifully written masterpiece and being reduced to a shell of a human unable to move on because of it
and a gentle reminder to take breaks, and get a snack and some water. Don’t forget to take a moment to breathe.
and if you can, try to do something nice for yourself after its all over. No matter how it turns out, you struggled and you survived so you deserve something nice :)
theme/s: none very gruesome, typical childhood best friends pining, unspoken feelings and all that
word count: 5.1k (got carried away lol)
notes: not proofread and not revised so pls expect grammatical/spelling errors! will be working on the pending reqs now hehe lmk what u guys think <3
about: charles was six when he promised to marry you when he got older and the time was right. as crazy children can go, you always thought he was delirious, but he reminds you of it almost every year.
“Y’know what, when we get older, I am going to marry you for real!” Charles, in broken French, says a little enthusiastically as he walks down the makeshift aisle you two had made for the two-hour playtime your parents allowed.
With a pillowcase hanging on your head as an improvised veil, you held in your hands hand-picked flowers from the Leclerc’s garden as your bouquet. Two of your other friends cheer, the joy of make-believe weddings children orchestrate on their own taking over.
“You’re crazy, Charlie! We can’t marry each other, we’re only six years old,” you giggle.
“I know,” he says. “I’ll do it when we get old! When we’re 18 or something.”
You thought of Charles as demented every time he promised to marry you in the unforeseeable future. He first said it when the two of you were six years old, playing an infamous game of roleplay wedding. For a long time, in your little group of friends, the two of you always assumed the role of the groom and bride. Of course, you were just as young as he was, but you dismiss his thoughts by saying you were too young to get married - and he’d always respond with the promise of doing it when you both got older.
Even when his parents and his older brother Lorenzo watch the two of you, he assumed Charles was just hopped up on the adrenaline of playing with his best friend, his favorite person in the whole world, you. He thought that when the two of you actually get older, Charles would eventually forget the silly vow he had made when he was awfully young.
But Charles never abandoned the thought. As he got older, he finds himself repeating the same promise he had told you in his family’s backyard, not for the sake of mere recollection, but because he deems you as his perfect pair, his soulmate.
It was at age 10 when he had made the same promise to marry you. You sat a bench in front of your school’s gates, waiting for the school bus, clutching your backpack as tears welled in your eyes. You and Charles had made a pact to always go home together and sit at the bus side by side, so he’s not surprised to find you at your usual spot, but he was surprised to see you crying.
Charles rushes to you, taking off his backpack to set it on the bench.
“Hey, why are you crying?” Worriedly, he says, a little panicked to see his best friend with tears running down her face.
“Louis t-th-threw away my let-t-ter,” you say in between sobs.
Louis was a grade above you, who was the dreamiest boy in school with his soft brown hair and brown eyes. Every girl at school had a crush on him, gigantic ones at that, so his locker is expected to be filled with love letters even on normal days. Frankly, Charles never got the hype over him but he’d never tell you that, not when you were one of the lovestruck girls at school.
“What happened?”
“I was too shy to tell him I like him,” you tell Charles, who proceeds to rub your back calmly to ease you down. “So I wrote a letter to tell him that and he crumpled it up into a ball and threw it in the garbage.”
“He did it in front of everyone!” you add, breaking into cries once again. Charles’ brows furrow, wanting to punch the stupid boy who had made you cry, but his main goal was to make you stop crying first.
“Il est idiot ou abruti!” He’s a jerk.
“Y/N, please stop crying. He’s no good for you, you’re too great for him.” he says, using both his hands to grip your shoulders as he adjusts you so you can face him.
“I’m so embarrassed. What if this goes on for years? What if nobody likes me-” you ramble on and Charles could only look at you sympathetically.
“Hey, I like you! You’re the best girl I know.” Charles replies, smiling slightly.
“And I will always like you, you know? It doesn’t matter if it’s years from now, I promise to marry you when we’re older because I will always like you!”
“You’re just saying that because I’m sad,” you shake your head, lightly laughing at his attempt to cheer you up.
“I’m not lying! I really will marry you. That’s how much I like you.”
It’s amusing to hear. What do 10-year-olds know about marriage, anyway?
At first, Charles thought he was repeating his vow to marry you years from now just to fulfill what he told the best person in his life when he was young. He remembers the time he had made the promise again back when he was 10 and he recalls telling you you were the best girl he knew. He convinces himself that he said that partially to cheer you up and because he’d do anything to make you smile, you were his best friend after all.
But it’s three years from now and he had done it again. Maybe it’s a reflex, something he thinks he’s supposed to say because he had said it two times already. Maybe when he was six it was out of joy and the child-like innocence he had. When he was 10 maybe it’s out of the fact that he wanted to dry your tears. Yet this time, he had no reason to justify it.
Deep down he knew it was because he grew to like you, more than a friend, more than he should. Internally he shakes his head, trying to dismiss the thought of breaking the unspoken rule of liking his best friend. He was 13, figuring things out, and the first thing he knew to be certain of was you were in fact, his dream girl.
Your family and the Leclercs were together again for dinner, a tradition done at least once a month. A big table was set up at your house since it was your family’s turn to host dinner. Plates were neatly set up, the smell of roast chicken and the aroma of an array of dishes coming out of the kitchen. It’s the same night Charles realized just how beautiful you’ve grown to be. Your hair was much longer and you were a little taller. You dressed differently, and the two years you had braces finally paid off. Charles feels butterflies in his stomach each time you smiled, but he chooses to ignore it.
“Remember when you said you’d marry me like, three years ago?” you spoke up, hoping to playfully embarrass Charles who was beside you in your bedroom, legs sprawled on your bed.
“You can say it, were you just saying that to cheer me up?”
“No, can you stop accusing me of that? I really meant it!” he says in defense, knowing he really did mean it, and he means it even more now.
“Hmm, I’m sure you won’t mean it anymore when you ask Elise to the dance and you guys have your first kiss,” you tease, enunciating the word “kiss” just to poke at Charles and the fact that the school dance was in 2 weeks.
“I’m still going to mean it, Y/N.” he shakes his head. “And weren’t we going to go together? I already bought your ticket.”
“Come on, Charlie! You don’t have to appease me anymore, we’re growing older, you know?”
“I know, and I keep my promises,” he turns to look at you, shifting into a seated position.
“Really?” you mock, raising one brow at him with a smirk on your face. “You’d really marry me like, 10 years from now?”
“I would,” Charles responds, unknowingly providing you with a small amount of comfort you couldn’t figure out just yet.
Things were pretty routine for you and Charles. Every time he promised to marry you, your response was always to never take him seriously. You always think he’s just trying to lift your spirits up or it’s because he’s fulfilling a promise he made when he was six years old. And if Charles was anything, he wasn’t someone who broke promises. He shows up and keeps his word, it’s just who he was. You think that vow would eventually be null and void when he finds a girl he genuinely likes, and the same would go for you.
Charles never lets your response get to his head. After he realizes he had grown feelings for you, feelings that persisted until now that he was sixteen, he lets your chuckle and “you’re crazy” responses slide away. He didn’t think he’d make the promise again anyway, he knows better than to say it again now that he actually was going to mean every word.
At sixteen, you and Charles attended your first party with friends without parental supervision. Even Lorenzo wasn’t there as a chaperone so it was an entirely new experience for the two of you. He had promised your parents prior that he was going to take care of you and makes sure you don’t go home wasted, and obviously, they trusted him with their entire chests.
Charles made sure not to drink too much that night, not even with the heavy and ceaseless invites from his friends. He wanted to be of composure in the event you get more inebriated than him, which will take place about an hour from now. You both went your separate ways, agreeing to meet when it was time to go home. You had friends outside of Charles and he had friends that weren’t you as well. Before letting you go he makes you promise to not drink too much and you only respond with a nod and a wide smile.
But he was summoned by your friend so he comes running to the living room and he finds you flushed and drunk out of your mind.
“Hi, Charlie!” you slur, waving your hands aimlessly as you see Charles’ figure tower over you.
“Oh my god, how many have you had?” Charles asks, desperately trying to lift you up and out of the couch you were nearly passed out on.
“Come on, Y/N, I told your parents I wouldn’t let you drink!”
“Sorry, Charlie.” you say, all senses nonfunctional, slinging both your arms over Charles' shoulder as he carries you.
He figures he can’t take you home in your state, so he takes you out to the patio and sat you on the lawn chair. The booming music was heard outside, red cups littered on the grass, teenagers shouting every now and then. He had asked someone to fetch a clean towel drenched in water so he can wipe your face, hoping that and some water could lessen your inebriation.
“Aww, you’re taking care of me,” you coo, still clearly drunk. You had totally underestimated the toll alcohol would take on you.
“When we get married, are you going to take care of me when I’m drunk?”
“What?” Charles mutters in disbelief, but he quickly remembers you were drunk out of your mind so he tries his best not to give it any thought.
“You promised you’d marry me. You’ll keep your promise, right?” you say, mispronouncing some of the words and holding back a hiccup.
Charles doesn’t say anything and continues wiping your face with the damp towel in his hand and proceeds to tie your hair into a neat ponytail. He ignores that most of the time drunk words are a product of sober thoughts. He grabs the glass of water beside you and asks you to drink it. You shake your head in disapproval.
“Not drinking until you say you’ll m-ma-marry m-me,”
He can only sigh, not believing he was making the promise yet again, this time out of actual sincerity, not just because you asked and he wanted you to shut up and drink the damn water he had in his hand.
“I will marry you, okay? When we get together and the time is right, you’ll walk down the aisle and you will see me.”
“Now, please drink some water, I’m begging.”
And oddly enough, Charles is convinced you would have no recollection of the words that came straight out his chest.
Charles was already nineteen and how he felt for you hadn’t changed, not one bit. He’s evaluated the emotions he’s been avoiding hundreds of times - he asks himself if it was the nostalgia of having known you for more than a decade or if it was really because he had grown old enough to realize you were all he could ever want. But he’s not the type to do something about it, he’s far more afraid of losing you than having to keep the biggest secret he had withheld from you.
You would be lying if you said the way you looked at Charles was still the same way you did when you were nine. You were scared to entertain the thought, it’s a dangerous territory should you try to open the door and see what was inside. For some time you disregard the pounding in your chest when Charles sends you a smile or the electricity that runs through your fingertips every time he held your hand.
Both of you decide to keep it at bay, stashing whatever you felt in a box and stowing it away in a compartment in the back of your heads. You were still as comfortable as ever, knowing each other best like you were each other’s home address. For whatever reason you and Charles deem it best and most reasonable to stay as friends and not say anything, you both loved each other too much to risk, jump, and then fall. Unbeknownst to the two of you, you were both ready to catch whoever falls first.
It’s not like neither of you tried to expand your horizons. There were attempts to date other people and establish the same or at least a comparable connection with another person as the one you had with each other. Numerous times you asked for Charles’ opinion on what to wear on a first date and several occasions were you with him as he bought flowers for whoever was waiting for him. The difference was that you were more desperate than Charles, trying your best and trying hard to get over the fact that you were possibly in love with your best friend. Maybe because you weren't at peace with it as much as him, so you figure that maybe when you actually meet someone you like, all of this would just fade into thin air.
But it does get tiring. Looking back now, you weren’t sure you got the irony in going on several dates just for you to come home at night to Charles, who’s almost always waiting for you at your front door to make sure you got home safe. Sure, his house was awfully near, but you don’t mind it anyway.
To say your date tonight was bad is an understatement. It was with a guy you met through a mutual friend, and at first, seemed charming and kind. After having rescheduled the date four times because of reasons he couldn’t say, you took comfort in the fact that he might be a great guy and you should give him a chance. He didn’t pick you up from the house, which Charles frowned upon, but he let it slide eventually after some persuasion and convincing. The whole night he only talked about himself and was even rude to the waiter who served you. To make the night even worse, him complimenting your physique in a way only perverts do was the cherry on top.
Charles’ lips twitch to form a small smile the moment he saw you walking towards your door. Previously on his phone, he shuts it down and sees your shoulders slumped as you give him an exasperated sigh when you finally get to him.
“Home so soon?” Charles asks, though it was more of a statement laced with an I-told-you-so tone.
“Why are you here so early?” you return the question.
“It’s only what-” you glance at your watch. “8:30 in the evening? You’re usually not here until 11.”
Charles shrugs. “I figured this date wouldn’t go well. I had this weird feeling to wait for you really early, call it best friend instinct or something.”
Best friend. In some weird way, the comforting thought that he goes out of his way to wait for you was joined with a little pang in your chest from the two words that defined the two of you your whole lives. Best friends, were all you were and you figure, all you ever will be.
“Sucks you had me give him the benefit of the doubt - the douchey shirt he was wearing really gave it away for me,” he laughs lightly.
The both of you sit down at the front of your door like you usually do before you went to bed. It’s routine, something you never get tired of, even when sometimes you and Charles were just enveloped in silence, comfortable silence that is.
“In my defense, he did seem nice. I wanted to give him a chance.”
“Yeah that’s the problem with you, no?” he says. “You give way too many chances. You give them away like it’s Halloween and they’re trick-or-treating. Even when signs point you to not entertaining them, you’re too kind to dismiss it.”
I’ve only ever wanted to give one person one chance. But I’m too scared to lose you. You wanted to reply, but there was no way in hell you would actually say that. So much for the self-imposed courage you said you had.
“That’s practically what dating is, Charlie,” you say instead, sighing after. “How am I going to meet the right person if I just stand and stall?”
“It’s because you keep looking. I think incessantly looking for the right person is overrated, sometimes it’s better to stop and let them come to you.”
“Oh because I should take dating advice from a guy who’s been in what, 6 dates his entire life?” you tease, smiling at Charles after he returns a knowing look.
For a while, his gaze fixates on you, a small smile painted on your face and the moonlight reflecting in your eyes, somehow making them sparkle.
Right then and there he finds the answer as to why he’s only ever been in six dates. And had no desire on going to more.
“Hey,” you speak up, cutting Charles’ trail of thought.
“At least when I don’t find the right person, I won’t be husbandless. I have you to marry, right?” you joke, hoping it jogs Charles’ memory of a dumb promise he made when he was a child.
“Yeah, you do.”
You entered the Leclerc household while it was in complete chaos. His brothers were occupied setting up a big table in the backyard and meticulously arranging the plates and centerpieces as to how Pascale, his mom, would like it. His aunts and mainly his mother were in the kitchen, surrounded by pots, pans, and cut-up ingredients for whatever they were cooking. Undoubtedly, Charles had a fairly big family if you include the extended ones. It was his 21st birthday after all, so it makes sense why he was a big deal for today.
“Y/N! You’re here early, dinner isn’t for another 3 hours.” Pascale smiles upon seeing you, walking over to give you a kiss on the cheek.
“I wanted to help you guys set up, looks like it’s a busy day today.”
You soon made rounds in their house, taking turns in helping in the kitchen, and backyard, and visiting Charles in his bedroom because he was apparently ordered to not move a finger until it was time to eat.
Soon after, the long table set up beautifully in the backyard of Charles’ house was filled. Close friends, family, and everyone he held dear were present to celebrate his special day. Various dishes were laid out on the table as well as a cake baked by his mom herself had candles sticking out of it, along with a cake topper that said ‘21’. You sat beside Charles like you normally do, which was never an issue to anyone. Thankfully enough, despite the long tradition of having meals together with your and Charles’ family, no one ever posed the question of when the two of you are getting together or telling you two how much you looked good together.
Which benefitted the two of you. Now, you weren’t really sure if you’d call each other best friends, not when you two had lingering feelings you keep hidden from one another. It’s better that no one imposes anything so you and Charles can avoid any awkward conversation that may arise after.
The dinner was definitely delightful. It was nice that Charles was able to fly back home after his races to celebrate with family and you could tell how happy he was as he sat at the head of the table, providing him a clear view of everyone present to celebrate him. The rest of the night was nothing but hearty conversations, light-hearted jokes, and sangrias that were made by a proud Lorenzo.
“Speaking of Lorenzo, I bumped into your girlfriend at the market the other day,” Pascale speaks up, everyone instantly shifting their attention to her.
“You should have brought her here, Enzo. She seems really nice.”
“Noted for next time, Mama,” Lorenzo laughs, continuing to sip his sangria.
Granted, Lorenzo did explain they’ve been together only for several months and he didn’t want to put his girlfriend under extreme pressure by bringing her to a dinner surrounded by his entire family.
“How about you, Charles? Anyone your mom might be bumping into here in the city?” his aunt turns his head to Charles, who was pleasantly surprised by the question.
“Oh no, not at the moment,” he chuckles, in hopes that would be the end of it.
“I don’t think Charles is the ‘dating’ type as of now, tante,” Lorenzo adds, replying to his aunt.
“Hey, I’ve been on dates!” Charles puts his hands up in defense as everyone erupted in laughter. “Really, I’ve just been focusing on my racing career.”
“Plus, I don’t think I’ve met the right person yet.” he adds, adding a low laugh at the end.
You shift in your seat as something in your heart drops, like your oxygen levels were dropping and your heart rate was slowing down. Whatever confirmation you were waiting for from the universe that what you felt for Charles remained stagnant, you were sure this was it. Hearing about how he’s in pursuit of the destined person for him sent shivers down your spine, yet you’re certain you had no spine at all, considering you chose to hide your true feelings for him for God knows how long now.
“Mama won’t have to worry about daughters-in-law anyway, Y/N’s practically one,” Arthur quips, making the whole table laugh once again, except you and Charles, who knew the gravity of the word wedding or marriage held for the two of you.
But the two of you manage to let out light, slightly forced laughs anyway, for each other’s benefit mostly.
“Ah yes, Charles did promise to marry me when the time is right.” you say, in a somehow witty and humorous tone, raising a brow as you look at Charles.
“I intend to keep that promise, Y/N, don’t dare me.” Charles taunts jokingly.
And for the irony and heartbreak of it all, that would wind up being the last time Charles ever mentions the only promise he’s kept this long.
If anyone ever writes a biography about the untold love story you and Charles had, the author would probably call you cowards. For several years, decades even, the both of you never tried to see what it would be like on the other side of the door. Swearing you loved each other more than life itself yet never brave enough to jump and take the risk. You only ever convince yourselves that what you two have cost more and is more than finally having what you two really desired since you were both thirteen. So you both decide it’s better to let what you felt die down when you both get tired of waiting and hoping that someday, time would finally pencil you in on a schedule and things would finally work out.
The shadow of being best friends your whole life mostly served as a justification for the hidden affection you had for one another. Whenever you questioned the motive as to why it only takes one call for Charles to come running over to wherever you are, you tell yourself he’s your best friend, that’s why he cares so much. And every time Charles’ heartbeat skips when your skin touches whether in a hug or a kiss on the cheek, he ignores and tells himself the two of you have been close ever since. The two of you never thought to question it, always afraid of what comes after.
Soon enough the extended pining for each other would blur at least a little bit. You and Charles will eventually grow tired of being surrounded by the what-if’s you’ve been holding back for years. So neither of you can really blame each other when one takes a step forward - it’s general knowledge that any longer of whatever situation this was would just harm the two of you and could potentially ruin your friendship, the thing you’ve been protecting so ceaselessly over the years.
At 24, you and Charles are at the peak of your careers. He was now racing for his dream team, and you finally got the promotion you’d been busting your behind for for several years. But despite the busy schedules that you have mounted on your calendars, you manage to still have time for each other no matter how tough it got.
19 years later, nothing had changed - exactly the way you and Charles wanted it to be. A small price to pay for broken hearts because of words left unspoken.
But the question remains, would your hearts stay broken for so long? Maybe not, maybe the long game is what you’re supposed to play.
Charles always wanted his wedding to be private and intimate. He wasn’t one for big weddings where he invites people he’s only seen several times in his life, and probably won’t see for a long time after the wedding. He preferred it to just be close friends and family, in a private chapel, and he’s damn lucky his bride shared the same philosophy.
The villa Charles had chosen was exclusive and very private, even the planners of the wedding itself can be counted by hand. The villa was rented for the entire weekend and he pats himself on the shoulder for doing a good job of picking out the place.
The sun was starting to set and you could only stare at the golden hues that painted the sky. The breeze was warm but not too hot it makes you sweat. Tables and chairs were set up, beautiful centerpieces on top of it. Everyone was already well-dressed following the theme, all prepared for the ceremony. Even the piano player was seated down, in a tuxedo, all ready to play probably the most haunting music you will ever hear. You smile lightly as you play with the hem of your dress, closing your eyes and hoping your heart won’t pop out of your chest.
“Your vows, please,” the officiant says, as Charles brings out a paper from his coat pocket, tears already forming in his eyes.
You could only look at him longingly, chest pounding, waiting for the words written on the piece of paper he held tightly.
“Mon amour, 7 years ago, my family thought I was never the dating type. Sure it was a joke, partly, but I wondered what it would be like to actually be with the right person, with my soulmate. I was too caught up in my career and in the whirlwind of chasing my dreams. But there you stood, in the middle of the chaos and you have managed to keep me grounded. You have served as my anchor all these years and I honestly don’t know what my life could have been if you weren’t in it.” He continues, tears falling down as he proceeds to use his index finger to wipe his eyes.
“With you, I finally know how it feels to be with their soulmate. In you, I found the best friend, the greatest teammate, and the most amazing woman. You have no idea how thankful I am that I found you in this lifetime, and I will spend the rest of my life loving you and reminding you just how much.”
It wasn’t long before a tear rolled down your cheek and it feels like you couldn’t breathe. Of all the places you could be, this was the last place you ever thought you’d be in - the wedding of the only man you have ever loved.
You sat in the audience, beside Arthur and Joris, who you hope was too occupied to see the tears you were shedding. You sat in the audience in your cream-colored dress, watching Charles promise to love another woman for the rest of his life, like your own personal execution, like you had done an unforgivable crime and this was the world’s way of punishing you for it.
Maybe it was your fault you even went. But your best friend for more than two decades asking you to be there for his wedding seems like something you can’t decline. It was the happiest day of his life, one of the most important days he was ever going to have - it would seem off that you weren’t there, but it was barbaric of you to torture yourself.
You were happy for Charles, you know in your heart you were. But it was a shame you never knew how he felt and it was a missed opportunity you spent years hiding your heart from him. But here you sat, surrounded by the desolating what-ifs, just like when you were thirteen and you realized you liked Charles more than a friend.
For the first time in his life, Charles has finally broken a promise.
For the first time in your life, you realize just how crushing heartbreaks can be.
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tagging: @slytherheign, @honethatty12, @siovhanroy, @fdl305, @iloveyou3000morgan, @cxcewg, @sassyheroneckgiant, @ang3licho3, @pitlanebabe, @riverdalexvixens, @msliz, @boherahpsody (if anyone else wants to be a part of my taglist or if i forgot anyone that asked to be tagged, pls lmk by replying or sending me a message hehe)
notes: been ia since the hungarian gp bc my tooth was hurting so bad i was practically glued to my bed, also my classes start in less than three weeks and i am now more anxious than ever ANYWAY thank u so much for reading <3
“you’ve developed something for him. something pure. something that we are not allowed to feel.”
the black-haired girl kept silent. her legs dangling over the school’s rooftop. her pointer finger twirling a piece of her hair.
the girl behind scoffed, before walking up close behind nanno.
“you may be smart when planting seeds for the humans, but not smart enough to hide your feelings for this boy.”
with a step closer, nannos back was against the girls chest and the girl moved the dark hair from the side of nannos face and whispered in her ear - that action alone sent shivers down nannos spine, and hairs prickle up, “pathetic feelings for an equally pathetic boy.” and with a kiss on the cheek, she walked away from nanno.
no. she didn’t hold such adoration for the boy. she only felt it for the girl that left her behind with a smile and butterflies in her stomach.
feelings.
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writers note: my nanno post still gaining likes and reblogs, along with comments agreeing with me (rightfully so). decided to make a lil something for us nanno-lovers!
