#revised recollection
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Recess week!!! Whooo recess week!!!!
#umbry says stuff#will i alive again#think im getting another code recollection cos i was playing the demo and its right up my alley :3#finished most of my revision and most of my assignments so im on track!!!!!!#do have interviews tho so will be prepping
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Band of Silver, Remember my Vow [Teaser]
Based on and inspired by the Sanskrit play, Sakuntala; or The Ring of Recollection, by Kālidāsa, which dramatizes the story of Sakuntala as told in the epic, the Mahābhārata
genres: romance, angst, past civilization au (set in a made up land inspired by joseon and influenced by other asian (and hints of european :/) cultures), subtle magic, not e2l just people who annoy each other at the start to people hopelessly in love w each other
pairing: healer reader x lord scoups. platonic reader & soldier dino
teaser word count: 2.2k
estimated fic word count: ~15k
teaser warnings: injury by weapon to an animal (hunting). animal attack.
estimated fic warnings: descriptions of blood, injury, and illness. (possibly) sex but not smut. animal gore.
notes: this was meant to be for caratlibrary's fall collaboration, but I flubbed it on the deadline (no surprise there!). I'm still not done, but I wanted to post this to see if people are as interested in the story as I am! I will not be making a requestable taglist, however I will be tagging people who comment/show interest in the tags of reblogs
In the story of Sakuntala, the king Dusyanta ends a hunting trip before he comes across the beautiful Sakuntala in a nearby hermitage. He is immediately captivated by her, courts her, and marries her soon after. However, he must return to his royal duties in the capital. He leaves his signet ring with her, promising to return.
While distracted with her love for Dusyanta, Sakuntala forgets to greet a visiting and easily irritated sage. Angered by her disrespect, he curses her by making Dusyanta forget her existence. He is later convinced to lighten her punishment, and revises the curse so that the king will remember everything upon seeing the ring he left behind.
teaser under the cut!
The bowstring pulls taut as Seungcheol draws his arm back. His aim is unwavering— it better be, with all the years of training his breath to even at will, all those days spent shooting arrows at dyed targets and skittering rabbits. He kneels in the grass, still as a corpse, and waits for the stag to lift its head from where it’s dipped at the base of a tree.
Wait. Patience. That’s what he was taught.
Patience. Wait. Wait. Breathe.
But — air huffs through Seungcheol’s nose — why isn’t it lifting its damn head? The entire forest surrounding him is quiet. Nothing is here to disturb this perfect moment. This almost perfect moment.
Seungcheol fills his chest with air again, even and silent.
Wait. Patience. Breathe. Lift your damn—
“What are you doing?”
Startling at the sudden whisper in his ear, Seungcheol swerves to the side, his fingers slipping and releasing his arrow into the air. It slams into a tree, right where the stag’s neck would have been had it lifted its head. The sound echoes through the forest, and it spooks the stag. It dashes off out of sight, and Seungcheol curses under his breath.
“Why would you—” He whips his head around and finds you crouching next to him, a woven basket resting on your hip, held there by one hand. For only a moment, he is distracted by your face, and the way the sunlight, broken through the leaves of the forest, dances on your cheeks. He clears his throat. “Do you know what you’ve just done?”
You blink and tilt your head. “What have I done?”
Abruptly, Seungcheol stands, gesturing his bow towards where the stag disappeared. “My— you…” He huffs, then looks away, returning the bow to its spot on his back and tearing off his gloves in muted frustration.
He came here for a distraction, but you are closer to an annoyance, albeit a not unattractive one. He prefers to lose himself in the concentration of the hunt.
As he moves to follow the deer, your voice stops him.
“Where are you from?”
When he turns, you’ve already stood up, and you regard him with slightly furrowed brows.
“You must be from rather far,” you say without giving him much chance to respond. “Were you planning on shooting him?”
“Him?” Seungcheol echoes. “You’re referring to that animal?”
You hum, nodding to yourself. “Rather far indeed. He may very well have been the patron spirit of these woods.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It’s a terrible dishonour to harm an antlered one in this forest. A dishonour to what this place provides, and the vast life within it,” you explain, though the words mean nothing to Seungcheol. You step closer to him, tilting your body to peer at the quiver of arrows on his back. “You’d be a fool to attempt to kill one, and invite grand misfortune by doing so.”
His jaw clenches, and air comes out of his nose hot. “Who are you to call me a fool? Do you know who I am?”
You straighten. “Am I supposed to? You’re quite far from home.”
“I am Lord Choi Seungcheol,” he announces with pride, though it tastes of the arrogance his mother always tutted at on his tongue. “General of the Four Peak Soldiers, and— and future ruler of the Eastern District.”
You make a face, and it only makes the anger in Seungcheol burn hotter.
“A lord, huh?” you taunt. “Or a general. Which one is it? Or does it not matter?” Leaning back slightly, you study his face. “Certainly, it doesn’t matter to me. I am neither a Four Peak soldier, nor a citizen of the Eastern District, so I will say as I please. A fool is a fool.”
Seungcheol raises his hand, and you flinch, but only slightly. Your eyes remain firm on his.
He lowers his hand, tired of your presence and of having to listen. If he and you were in his district, you’d have serious punishment awaiting your next sunrise. However, he was out on his own, alone on a rogue, spontaneous hunting trip far away from home because he wanted some space to get his thoughts together. It’s something he’s done before, two or three or nine times. His mother shows contempt for this habit of his, but she does not try to stop him. All she asks is that he not bring home trouble.
You seem like trouble.
How was he supposed to know that the woods he ventured into had such trivial myths to abide by?
He is Choi Seungcheol, damn it. Your silly fairy tales won’t deter him.
Deciding to spare you this time, Seungcheol breathes out and turns away, walking now in the direction of where he tied his horse. Perhaps this trip was a failure. To expect to clear his head the same way he has done before was foolish — though he would never admit that. What is on his mind now is much heavier, much more inevitable than the other things he would run away from in his youth.
A marriage to the country’s princess.
His marriage to her.
Seungcheol’s hands twitch, and he yearns to draw his bow again.
“Lord General,” you call out, the tone of your voice itself a warning. “Don’t be a fool.”
He ignores you.
=
Ricecake seems to have had a much better experience in this forest than Seungcheol. He finds her munching on the lush, untrodden grass, and he almost feels bad for interrupting her meal. However, that feeling lessens when he remembers that if he were successful in his hunt, she'd have to carry the spoils all the way home. At least she has that.
Seungcheol rides for not half an hour, following the river, before another stag dashes alongside his path. He spends no time thinking. Pulling his bow from his shoulder, he notches an arrow and lets it fly. A second arrow leaves his fingers before he blinks.
The stag rears on its hind legs, one arrow in its thick neck and one pierced directly through its eye. It shrieks, haunted and low.
But it does not fall.
Seungcheol dismounts from his horse and draws another arrow, aiming again for its neck so it cannot escape far before it dies. He expects it to run in the opposite direction.
Its hooves dig into the dirt beneath it, and the stag charges towards Seungcheol.
He has no time to react, his arms moving instinctually to protect his head, before pain blooms fiery red from his torso. An icy cold engulfs him, and everything goes dark.
=
Pain is what wakes him up, dull and aching, but when he attempts to right himself, Seungcheol winces. A fierce pang rings in his body from his stomach to his right ear, which sparks a jolt of pain throughout his head. He falls back again, though his head doesn’t hit the hard earth. Instead, a steady hand catches his head, and another gently touches the front of his shoulder, as if to calm him.
“Easy there, Lord General.”
Your voice, and the way you patronise his titles again, make Seungcheol frown. It hurts to breathe, but he can’t help the annoyance that refills within him. What the hell are you doing here? Did you follow him? Why are your hands so gentle?
Though his headache may worsen with sunlight, Seungcheol pries his eyes open. His eyelids are heavy, and for a moment, he thinks he must not have opened them fully. He can barely see you, even though it was midday when he’d been knocked unconscious. It then registers that he is no longer outside, in the woods, but in a room, lowly lit with sparsely strewn candles.
The realisation makes him want to jump up again, but the pain in his torso forces a groan from him, and he falls back onto the support of your hand. He strains his head to assess his surroundings. “Where am I?” he grits out. It hurts to speak.
“Be careful,” you say, concern sewn into your brows. “You may have broken your ribs.”
He demands, though perhaps sounding weaker than he likes, “Answer the question.”
Your lips settle into a straight line, and you breathe out through your nose. “You’re in my home.”
“Why?”
“I found you nearby,” you begin to explain, pulling your hand out from under him to cross your arms. He feels a thin layer of folded cloth under his head. “You were washed up on the riverbank, unconscious. Bloody…bruised…” You tilt your head. “Perhaps even more bruised now, since I practically had to drag you here, though the balm should help with the scrapes.”
“Balm?” Seungcheol echoes. Now that he thinks about it, there is a strange warmth seeping through the skin on his face. “You’re a healer,” he concludes.
You nod, and for the first time, Seungcheol sees a smile on your lips. In the candlelight, it only adds to the warmth.
“You’re lucky it was me who found you. Who knows how long you were lying in the cold water.” You sit back, eyes thoughtfully gazing over Seungcheol’s blanket-covered body. They pause around where Seungcheol’s left hand is. “I was able to save almost all your fingers.”
Seungcheol’s eyes widen, and he jerks his hands out from under the blanket to hold above his face. The pain this causes is in the background compared to his panic, but that fades soon after he sees all ten fingers, wiggles them, then glares at you.
You’re smiling wider now. “That was a joke, Lord General.” At his glare sharpening, you let out a small laugh. “Your fingers are fine. They might be stiff for a few days, though.” Your expression shifts to a more serious one. “Your ribs, on the other hand… You’re severely bruised. I suspect they may be fractured.
Breathing in again, Seungcheol watches the way you eye his chest as it rises and falls. It hurts like a bonfire has sparked in his lungs.
“What happened?” you ask, no residual hint of playfulness in the simple question.
“I…” In the back of his mind, Seungcheol sees the stag again, sees the blood rivering from its eye and neck, sees its antlers as they bouldered into him. He sees you, and how you spoke to him in the forest. An enchantingly bright bad omen.
Don’t be a fool.
Yet here he is, under your care in your home, for doing the very thing you warned him not to.
"...I fell," he says after a moment of quiet. It’s only a half-lie. He did fall, even if that wasn’t how he sustained the injuries to his ribs.
One of your eyebrows rises up your forehead. “You fell.”
“...Yes.”
You hum, doubtful. “Off your horse, I assume. I’ve seen similar bruising and fractures when people are kicked. It happens to someone around here at least once a year; there’s no shame in getting unsaddled.”
He’s never fallen off Ricecake — she’s the perfect companion, but Seungcheol grits his teeth and says, “I suppose there’s not.”
A triumphant grin appears on your face, and you turn slightly to reach for a small notebook. “Well, Lord General—”
“That is not my title,” he interrupts on principle, though he instantly regrets it with the waking pain in his chest. Still, he cannot stop himself from correcting you. “You will address me as Lord Choi, or ‘my Lord’.”
Your eyes don’t leave your notes. “Alright Lord General, it—”
“You can’t—”
“—is my professional opinion that you should be on bed rest for three days, though your full recovery could take two to three moons. I’ll need to monitor your breathing until it regulates.” You speak as if Seungcheol is just anyone, not someone with power or higher standing. To you, he is just a patient.
Why does that thought not continue to anger him?
“I need to find my horse,” he tells you. “There are healers in the Four Peak fortress that can oversee my recovery.”
You shake your head. “Riding is out of the question. It will only worsen your condition.”
“I can’t stay here. I am needed as their leader.” And his mother is going to kill him for being gone more than a few days without a word.
“Do you have a palanquin?”
Seungcheol frowns. “Do I look like I have a palanquin with me?”
“Could you send for one?” you rephrase.
He ponders on that. It is rare for him to ride a palanquin, even back home. The cart is used more decoratively these days, reserved for events like longevity parades through the city, and no longer for extended trips over uneven ground like the forests he travelled through to find himself on your land.
Still, he can’t stay here. Certainly not for three moons. “I’ll write a missive.”
“Alright,” you say with a nod. “There’s a merchant group that travels every two weeks between here and a city in the Eastern District. You can send it with one of them.”
“When are they travelling next?”
“You’re lucky, Lord General. They leave for the east in five days.”
Not as soon as he’d like, but at least the merchants hadn’t just left. Then he would have to stay here for one full moon before he’d even be able to send for help.
“For now,” you continue, “you should rest. It’s late, and your body needs time to recover.”
do not send an ask/reply just asking to be on a taglist!! I will only be tagging people who reblog and comment in the tags!!
#caratlibrary#seventeen scenarios#seventeen imagines#seventeen x reader#kpop scenarios#kpop imagines#svt scenarios#svt imagines#svt x reader#s.coups x reader#s.coups imagines#s.coups scenarios#scoups scenarios#scoups imagines#scoups x reader#seungcheol scenarios#choi seungcheol imagines#choi seungcheol scenarios#choi seungcheol x reader#seungcheol x reader#seungcheol imagines
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down the aisle 💍
pairing: charles leclerc/fem!reader
type: written imagine (fluff, angst)
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.
---------------
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
#writtenbyrae#charles leclerc#charles leclerc x reader#charles leclerc x female reader#charles leclerc oneshot#charles leclerc imagine#charles leclerc fanfic#charles leclerc angst#charles leclerc fluff#formula 1#f1#formula 1 imagine#formula 1 fanfic#f1 imagine#f1 fanfic#f1 oneshot#f1 angst#f1 fluff#formula 1 oneshot
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let the rain sing. 3 (a.a)
OHHHHH WHO UP FR😨😨
wc;cw: 3.7k, dadsbestfriend!abby, lawstudent!oc, large age gap (oc is 25, abby is mid 40s), abby is bi<3, weed, alcohol, dubcon, footsie lol, angst :(
You haven’t seen or spoken to Abby in a month, and you were dying.
It wasn’t even due to your insomnia, which came as a shock to you in the beginning. Your exhaustion was overcrowded by shame since your last encounter with her. A self-loathing deep in your gut that nearly puts you in the ground when you recollect on your aloofness.
You forced yourself to neglect everything but coursework to wither your desire to call her and beg for forgiveness. It was December, and you were scavenging to get most of your revisions for your thesis complete before February. You were almost forty pages deep, but you couldn’t even relish your successes due to your overworked brain conjuring up visions of a dripping wet, crying Abby.
Your short minutes of sleep were dominated by images of her: laughing, smiling, crying in pleasure under you, but none of the enjoyment lasted. Even in the heavy moments you two shared in your subconscious, you were always jolted awake by her screaming about how much she hated you, how you used her because you're selfish and controlling and mean.
She never said those things to you outwardly, but you knew she felt it whenever she saw you during the late hours of the night, even more so now after your last fight. You felt like a terrible person; you are a terrible person. And you looked the part.
The dark, heavy bags under your eyes returned, skin dry and wrinkly from frowning, crying, and stressing from school. You were glued to your laptop, clinging it to your side everywhere you went like your life depended on it. Like you would completely lose all connection to reality if it parted from you. You couldn’t separate from it.
Even when your parents would come knocking on your door asking why you didn’t eat dinner with them, your eyes bored into the bright screen, the sound of your mom’s cheery voice almost sounding like blaring alarms in your head.
Your dad made your favorite, baby! Come eat!
Your father.
You could barely bring yourself to look him in the eye anymore. You make sure to avoid eye contact when he speaks to you, turning your head down when he holds you close. You missed his laugh lines and gentle smile, but you just… couldn’t. Every time you slipped up and met his delicate eyes, you saw Abby’s.
So full of affection and softness: their eyes felt like a warm embrace, constant and comforting. Your father always got more affectionate during the holiday season.
Your heart hurts whenever you think about Abby during this time of year.
Was she lonely during the holidays? Is she close with her family? You were embarrassed how little you knew about her personal life. Her attempts to bond were always stopped by hot kisses, wandering hands, your desperate pleas for shut eye. How could you be so heartless to someone as kind as her? She invited you into her home, expressed her trauma, provided you with an outlet to release your tensions, and you stole from her with greed.
You brought your hands up to your burning eyes to rub them before grabbing your phone. You unlocked it and scrolled down to you and Abby’s abandoned messages. Remorse slammed into your gut, the slew of abby i need you please and her replies of Okay. Come over anytime :) made nausea stir in your gut.
You should leave her be. Leave her alone. Leave her alone, leave her alone, leave her alone—
But your selfishness was too strong, and your efforts to avoid her couldn’t hold any longer. Your fingers moved before your brain could stop them, the sounds of your unclipped nails tapping against your screen. Your eyes hurt so badly.
You sent your message before you neglected it completely.
i’m so sorry Abigail.
Regret sat heavy in your chest like an anchor.
You hoped she would forgive you someday.
Mariah Carey interrupted your hour of slumber. Fuck her and your life.
You angrily threw your blanket off your body and dug your palms into your eyes. Sometimes, the purity of your dad aggravates your soul.
He always loved Christmas Eve more than Christmas day. You still remember when he went behind your mom’s back and snuck your Bratz Doll set into your devious, stubby hands after Eve dinner when you were seven.
Mama’s gonna be so mad at you!
Meh. She’ll never know if you don’t snitch!
Your irritated inhales were swarmed with the smell of savory meats and sweet pies. You were going to eat well later, at least.
You reached over to your nightstand and grabbed your phone off the charger. Abby never replied to you, but she did open it. Your heartbeat sped up; She must’ve really despised you, and you couldn’t blame her.
You hoped she has a great Christm—
“ALL I WANT FOR CHRIIISTMAAAS IS YOUU— “
Your father’s joyous shouts interrupted your wishful thoughts of seeing his close friend again.
The irony of it all.
You tiredly hobbled downstairs after brushing your teeth.
You admired your parents' decorative abilities: the stair railings were wrapped in green and red ribbons; they hung up stockings and fairy lights over the small fireplace and covered the small tree in the corner of the living room in their DIY ornaments.
You followed the sounds of pots and pans clanging together in the kitchen as your parents sang along to the lyrics booming from the speakers. Their backs were turned to you, but you could see them taste-testing soups and the corners of desserts as they shared small kisses. Your heart fluttered at the sight; they’re so in love.
You made yourself known, calling out over the tunes, “Y’all are up early.”
Both their heads whipped around to face you, instantly brightening at your disheveled sight.
“Girl, it’s noon,” your mom called out as she returned to her stirring of the large pot. Your dad trotted over to engulf you in his arms and planted kisses to your head. You made sure to keep your eyes on the wall in front of you.
“Merry Christmas, babygirl,” he said into your ear. You were overcome with warmth, then swiftly blinded by guilt. Tears jerked in your eyes, but you blinked them away with urgency.
You cleared your throat and huffed a laugh, “It’s not Christmas yet, bonehead.”
You felt a playful pinch at the back of your neck as he laughed, “Keep talkin’ trash and you’re not eating.”
You shook your head and pulled away from him, catching a small glimpse of his mischievous grin. You would’ve broken at the sight, but you swiftly brushed past him and into the kitchen to make you a quick bowl of microwaveable oatmeal. You heard your dad bolt up the stairs with a shout of BRB!
“And what are you doing.”
You turned to look at your mom, who was watching you grab a bowl from the cabinet with her hands on her hips, soupy spoon in hand.
Your brows creased, “What, mom?”
She looked at you like you had two heads. “You’re gonna ruin your appetite, baby. We’re all eating soon.”
You blinked blankly, “… So I can’t have oatmeal?”
“No, you can’t have oatmeal. Did your dad not tell you the plans?”
“Uhh… no?”
“That man, I tell you," She shook her head in exasperation, “We’re having a little Christmas party. Everyone’s bringing stuff and we need to eat everything!”
Your heart stopped in your chest at the mention of a party. You almost dropped the ceramic bowl on the floor when your arms lost strength. You tried to hide the anxiety on your face, but your mom’s gaze felt like it was piercing through you.
No. No, please—
You set the bowl on the counter harder than you should have, “W-Who’s… Who’s coming?”
She furrowed her brows at you and spoke in an obvious tone, “… All our family? Me’n dad’s work friends, some neighbors. The usual.”
You nodded and turned towards the cupboards with a pounding heart. You felt lightheaded and your mouth went dry, your throat closing at the thought of seeing Abby. You knew she was coming; You've never seen her say no to your dad. She never even denied you and you were practically strangers.
You were certain you were going to pass out—
“What’s the matter, baby?”
You flinched at your mom’s gentle hand on your shoulder. You looked at her, and she looked just as confused, just as concerned as you would expect. You noticed a glint of intensity in her gaze, and your breath caught in your throat.
… Did she know? There’s no way she knew. She couldn’t know. She didn’t, she didn’t—
“I… I just feel faint. I don’t know what happened.”
Her eyes widened in shock, “Maybe you did need that damn oatmeal. Come here, baby. Come sit.”
You could barely get words out, but your mom guided you to the dining table and ushered you to sit before running to get some water
“One bowl of oatmeal wouldn’t hurt, I guess,” She said with a sigh, handing you an ice-cold bottle from the fridge. You never choked down water that quickly in your entire life. “Cinnamon apple or maple?”
You gulped and garbled apple before getting more water in.
You weren’t thinking about fucking oatmeal. The thought of eating suddenly made you sick.
You were seeing Abby much quicker than you expected, and there was nothing you could do about it.
Your quiet neighborhood was bustling.
You were peeping out the window from the living room couch to distract yourself from your oncoming doom. Bundled-up families were making their way through the snow and onto lit-up porches, children were smiling and jumping in piles of white ice, and everyone had ugly sweaters under their coats.
The sight was precious, but all you could think about was Abby, the image of her at your parents' front door making you want to flee.
… Your parents were busy all day. Maybe they wouldn’t notice if you stole your keys from the kitchen counter and drove off until the guests drunkenly laughed home—
“Girl, why aren’t you dressed! Everyone will be here soon!”
Your eyes shut in nervousness at your mom’s tone. You released the hold you had on the blinds and got up off the couch. You caught a glimpse of the ugly Christmas sweater she wanted to match with you, holding yours up in both hands. You grabbed it and moved to walk up the stairs, flinching at the playful slap she gave your ass. You ignored her as she ridiculed you for being late, your heartbeat rattling your ribcage.
… Here goes nothing.
The sun was setting as you nervously sipped your second glass of wine, watching your family and friends prance all over your home with joy.
After greeting all your guests, you took a seat on the couch next to the door, completely on guard as you poured more maroon liquid into your glass. You assumed sipping would calm your anxiety, but your tipsiness only added to your stress. You were thankful that your family respected your observance so you could isolate during these gatherings.
Ugly Christmas sweaters were a theme for your block evidently. Everyone was decked in garb that had corny punchlines and ridiculously bright green and red sleeves. Your favorite cousin even had the nerve to show up in a Merry Litmas sweater riddled with marijuana leaves. Your mom, aunt, and uncle tag-teamed cursing him out at the front door.
Your friends loved coming over when your pothead cousin was present; They never missed an opportunity to hotbox in his car. You want to join them so badly.
Your youngest aunt had gotten tired of hearing songs about Santa, propping your youngest cousin on her hip and queuing the entirety of Tina Snow. Your mom smirked deviously as your father grabbed the shot glasses and Tequila from the cupboards.
Your home was jumping an hour later. Everyone had migrated towards the kitchen, rotating between pouring up and sneaking tastes of your mom’s homemade sweet potato pies on the table.
Your dad’s work friends trickled in one by one, but there was still no sign of Abby. A hole opened in your heart, and you accepted that she wasn’t coming. That your apology wouldn’t be enough to amend your relationship.
You caught a glimpse of your remarkably high cousin waltz into the snowy backyard, and you moved on autopilot. You made your way through the dancing crowd, avoiding the scene of your dad grinding on your mom and grabbing your coat off the rack. You pushed the back door open and shivered at the cold, catching the sight of your cousin rolling up at the patio table.
“Yo.”
He jumped and turned to face you, his eyes light pink and a lazy smile appearing on his face at the sight.
“Don’t sneak up on me like that. What’s up.”
You shrugged and grabbed a seat in front of him, sighing heavily as you sat. “It’s crowded in there.”
He nodded along with you, sealing his blunt with a smirk on his face, “Your new friend’s fine as hell. With the red antlers— “
You cut him off with a sharp glare, “Don’t you fucking dare. Leave her alone.”
He furrowed his brows at your tone, “Damn, my bad. I didn’t even say shit.”
“You don’t have to. Whore.”
He let out a loud laugh, his Santa hat covered head flying back as he pulled his lighter out his pocket. You watched him spark the end of his blunt before puffing from it, exhaling the smoke in a spherical cloud that floated near your face.
He wordlessly passed the blunt to you, and you accepted it, bringing it to your lips and pulling from it for a while. You felt the dull burn in your lungs as smoke filled your mouth before exhaling.
“You got better at that. Shit.”
You looked up at him and shrugged again, “I’ve been practicing, I guess.”
You puffed from the lit blunt again before passing it back to your cousin, watching him mimic your previous actions as you breathed out the carbon.
He exhaled the smoke as he spoke, “How come? Is that why you look like trash?”
You glared at him, but he didn’t care, continuing, “Have you been sleepin’?”
You hesitated before quietly denying.
His eyes widened at you. “Bro, what the fuck. Do your parents know?”
You shrugged sheepishly as you looked down at the frosted glass table, reaching for the blunt.
He passed it to you as he shook his head, “You need to go to the fuckin’ doctor and get that checked. Have you been using aids?”
You couldn’t help the huffed laugh that escaped you, Abby’s ribbed dick and blushing face popping into your mind.
“Somethin’ like that.”
You took one last good pull from the blunt before passing it back to him, your body relaxing into the cushioned chair. You watched your cousin shake his head as he pulled from the blunt.
You two caught up as darkness consumed you, giggling at the nonsensical ramblings about his new job as a Uber driver and how much he hated living near a university.
You couldn’t stop fucking laughing. You didn’t know how much time passed or what your cousin was talking about, but you felt light. Like the frigid wind surrounding the two of you would send you flying; You haven’t felt this joyous in months. The twinkling lights that surrounded the back door shined like stars; Everything looked so pretty. Maybe you should start smoking again—
The back door was pulled open, and it snapped you out of your colorful trance, your youngest aunt’s head poking out.
She whispered harshly to the two of you, nodding towards your cousin's roach in his hand, “Can y’all put that shit out so we can eat?! Hurry the fuck up!”
She turned back inside with an aggravated eye roll, leaving the door open so that you could both follow her back into warmth. Your cousin stubbed his blunt out on the floor as you stood from your seat, making your way inside as you watched everyone line up for their plates in the kitchen.
Your heart stopped and your gut swirled with nerves and want when you saw the familiar form standing by the speakers, talking to your dad. You should’ve never fucking smoked, why the fuck did you smoke—
Your head was rushing as you took in Abby: hair in two braids that were covered by a pink Santa hat, and a black and white ugly sweater covered with reindeers pooping. She was smiling as she listened to your father’s tipsy rambles, laughing as he waved his arms around in excitement. Her laugh swallowed you in slow motion, sounding like jingle bells and filling your heart with… something heavy and unfamiliar. You always thought her laugh was cute and she has the prettiest smile—
“You good?”
You jumped and gasped harshly as your cousin's voice came from behind you. You nodded in a rush, halting your gawking before scurrying over to the dining table and grabbing a paper plate.
Try not to look fucking high! You’re not even high! Abby came, Abby came, Abby came.
Your mind was racing as you filled your plate with baked mac and cheese, nearly dropping the large scooping spoon on the floor when your aunt asked why you were taking so long.
You look high, you idiot! Don’t look high—
Your nose was filled with the familiar scent of roses, and you whipped your head around to see Abby retreating back to the dining table with a filled plate and wine glass in her hand. She smelled so fucking good—
“Bruh, you’re tweaking. Go sit the hell down.”
You looked over and saw your cousin with a plate that was nearly identical to yours: a giant pile of fucking mac and cheese with some wings next to it. You want fucking chicken, too!
You walked past him and grabbed you some from the foil serving tin before making your way over to the table and Abby was fucking looking at you and there was an open seat in front of her, oh fuck—
You probably looked so fucking high when you plopped down in the vacant seat, tearing into your macaroni.
You kept your head down, face deep in your plate.
Every time you looked up, Abby caught your gaze.
The table was filled with drunken converse, your parents and uncles arguing over who would die in the Hunger Games first… you think. What the fuck did you smoke?
… Abby is so gorgeous. Have you ever told her that? Probably not.
You’ve been studying her face for what felt like hours as you chowed down your food, watching her sip her wine, watching her watch you. It made your heart race and your fingers twitch as they rested on the table.
You were hyper aware of every move she made: every shuffle in her seat, every fiddle with her fork, every minuscule response to your dad from across the table before her eyes flickered towards you again. You couldn’t read her expressions, but there was something in her eye that terrified you. Maybe your assumptions about her hatred towards you were true. Your behavior ruined everything. You were never going to see her smile or laugh or sleep again—
The brush against your leg made you stiffen.
Your eyes immediately flickered towards Abby: she was conversing with a work friend that you didn’t recognize, chuckling into her glass as she beamed with excitement as she listened to the tale. Another brush against you, nearly pressing into your limb. Your nipples hardened.
You shuddered with a heavy sigh, and you felt a foot slowly glide up your knee before traveling back down to your ankle, catching on your sock. Your tummy was in knots.
Abby finally paid you some attention, reconnecting your eyes. The sparkle in her eyes sent a tight twist in your gut. It was playful and mischievous and full of want. You shuddered again when she wet her lips, her tongue peeping out of her mouth and brushing against the glass.
“You okay?”
You jumped at your aunt's voice from next to you, and you nodded stiffly. Abby's foot traveled up your leg again as she watched the interaction between you and her.
“You sure, babe? You look sick— “
You shook your head and turned to look at your aunt’s concerned face, “M’okay. I’m just tired.”
“You look it.”
You could see Abby adjust in her seat, her feet going up your knee and inching up your thigh. Your legs closed around her fuzzy sock covered foot on instinct, your core clenching as your aunt palmed your forehead.
“You feel hot, babe. Maybe you should lay down for a bit?”
You could see Abby smirking behind her glass. You hate her, you hate her, you hate her—
You exhaled sharply, “Okay— “
A sharp gasp cut you off when her foot shoved between your shut legs, the bottom of it pushing into your clothed, drippy cunt. Your clit jerked with need as you shot up out of your seat, almost tripping as your chair clattered to the floor. Everyone’s conversation stopped, eyeing you with concern as they asked what was wrong. Abby was still smirking, sipping in silence.
“Sorry, m’good. I’m gonna… gonna lay down for a sec.”
You turned away before you could hear your family’s arguments, your youngest aunt asking your cousin what the fuck he put in that blunt. You bolted up the stairs and shut your door, trying to ignore the wetness between your legs.
You’re horny as fuck. You’re never getting high again.
You heard the party pick up after some minutes before a ding came from your pocket as you paced around your room.
You clumsily pulled it out and read the message from Abby, the coil in your gut reigniting as guilt filled your chest.
You’re not forgiven. :)
damn this took forever my fault yall
next part gon b up quick omg abby backstory purr
omg first post in the middle of the night who up fr
taglistttt love yall smooches @ohlawdthebirds @fibrogirlie @unangelic-thoughts @chrry1ovr @uraesthete @gravygranules @digit4lslut @machetegirl109 @letsreadsomesins-shallwe @macaroni676 @sillygooselit @nil-eena @elliesgirlll @hi2647
prologue. part one. part two. interlude. part four.
#abby anderson x you#abby anderson au#abby anderson smut#abby x you#abby anderson#abby the last of us#abby tlou#works 𖧧࣪#dbf!abby#𓈒∘☁︎let the rain sing☁︎∘𓈒
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The Events at Poroth Farm (1990) was T.E.D. Klein's debut short story (first published in 1972) that formed the basis for his excellent novel The Ceremonies (1984). Despite being included in a couple of Year’s Best Horror anthologies, the story was difficult to find prior to this Necronomicon Press version (which boasts some minor revisions and corrections by the author). It’s one of my favorite horror stories ever and I think there is a solid argument for it being one of the best horror stories written in the second half of the 20th century (and it is, at least to my recollection, free of the controversial themes that mars some of Klein’s later work).
It sees a writer preparing for a course on Gothic literature by spending the summer in a rented room on a remote farm in South Jersey owned by a couple who practice an unnamed Amish-like religion that proscribes modern technology. The isolation is right there from the start, as is a light (an entirely unrealized) sexual tension between the young couple and their lodger. It almost feels like a different kind of story entirely, but then something crawls out of the woods and into one of the couple’s cats, then into more human lodging. Whatever it is does a good job of impersonating people, but it often forgets to blink. The result is catastrophic without ever losing the sense of intimacy and isolation (something the larger novel doesn’t succeed so well at, thought it’s still a banger).
Jason Eckhardt’s stipple-full illustrations really sold the story for me, now and in 1992. That one of the night sky is just beyond perfect. You might be familiar with Eckhardt’s name because I think his work on Chaosium’s Lovecraft Country sourcebooks is so excellently atmospheric. His work for Necronomicon Press is on the same level.
#roleplaying game#tabletop rpg#dungeons & dragons#rpg#d&d#ttrpg#TED Klein#Events At Poroth Farm#Necronomicon Press#noimport
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I was gonna hold out a little longer - but I buckled and started reading So You Want To Be A Wizard to my (smart, book-devouring) almost-7 year old. I think I was 9 or 10 but she's definitely beyond my sophistication, and besides I can manage a few tiny abridgements and, er, historical contexts.
I'm adoring it, the whole thing. The details, the pacing, the recollection...
But then I remembered! You revised them! And you're here, in the actual internet, talking to your lifelong fans and readers...
So my question is, should I "update"? I know there's a few anachronisms in my old paper edition, but is it worth switching a few chapters in? I'm presuming that of course you'd recommend your new edition over the old all things being equal, but is it important enough to recommend a switch?
Thank you! I mean, for everything!
Well, you're very welcome!
About your question : Yeah, it's a fair bet that I'd say I think the new revised editions, across the board, are superior to the older ones. :)
But I'm not going to say that just for the sake of a sale. I laid out my thinking on the subject in this post, twelve years ago... and in the decade-and-a-bit since then, my feelings on the improvements (and my reasons for them) haven't changed at all. So you should, I think, read that first, and then make up your own mind.
Maybe people who've read both versions will feel like discussing their own reactions to the new editions in the comments...?
Anyway: thanks for asking.
And if anybody wants to pick up the set of the first nine revised/updated books: they're over here at Ebooks.Direct, and on sale (like everything else in the store).
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I is for immortality, which for some poets is a necessary compensation. Presumably miserable in this life, they will be remembered when the rest of us are long forgotten. None of them asks about the quality of that remembrance--what it will be like to crouch in the dim hallways of somebody's mind until the moment of recollection occurs, or to be lifted off suddenly and forever into the pastures of obscurity. Most poets know better than to concern themselves with such things. They know the chances are better than good that their poems will die when they do and never be heard of again, that they'll be replaced by poems sporting a new look in a language more current. They also know that even if individual poems die, though in some cases slowly, poetry will continue: that its subjects, it constant themes, are less liable to change than fashions in language, and that this is where an alternate, less lustrous immortality might be. We all know that a poem can influence other poems, remain alive in them, just as previous poems are alive in it. Could we not say, therefore, that individual poems succeed most by encouraging revisions of themselves and inducing their own erasure? Yes, but is this immortality, or simply a purposeful way of being dead?
Mark Strand, The Weather of Words: Poetic Inventions
#quotes#Mark Strand#The Weather of Words: Poetic Inventions#thepersonalwords#literature#life quotes#prose#lit#spilled ink#poetry-craft#poetry-quotes#poets
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you’ve said before that aziraphale must be aware of how painful the fall was for crowley, or even must have seen it happen, but where are you getting that assumption? /genq i thought the only thing we know aziraphale knows about the fall is the “sauntered vaguely downwards” thing crowley told him, which was a downplay but yea
We don't know much about the fall but we do know that
the angels/heaven were divided into two factions and later armies, the now fallen vs. the ones that remained angels
those two groups had one or more direct confrontations during which people got hurt (cause that's how war works)
the rebellion lost and they fell into hell
Now, Crowley does not know much about his fall because he fell and it was a deeply traumatic experience for him; in order to protect itself, our brain tends to take those memories and hide them behind dissociative barriers. The negative effects are still there and fucking you up, but your recollection of the events is foggy or hazy or completely blacked-out (or a mix).
But Aziraphale? The angels that did not fall?
The probably watched it happen. I'm no bible expert, but I know in some version the fall is a direct consequences of the war in heaven, so everyone would have been present for that. Even if for some reason Aziraphale was somewhere entirely else, heaven has a big interest in making sure everyone who remains is aware of how terrible falling is—they need that fear to control them.
Angels are terrified of being punished by heaven, even the Archangels are a shaking mess when the Metatron shows up and they realise how badly they might have fucked up.
When/If canon ever gives us more details or explanations I will gladly revise my thoughts on it, but until then this is my personal best guess based on what we've seen and what makes the most sense narratively.
Crowley's specific fall—Crowley himself does not remember it well if at all, and Aziraphale probably does not know specific things about HIS fall, but I am 100% he does have a good idea of what falling was/is like, otherwise he himself wouldn't be terrified.
Still, his view was and is an external one, so it's presumably a "I saw it happen and it looked very painful but I don't know about anything that comes after except that it's hell and hell is bad".
It's half canon interpretation, half headcanon because we're lacking information.
#alex answers asks#alex talks good omens#good omens#crowley#aziraphale#good omens season 2#go2#aziracrow#crowley x aziraphale#ineffable husbands#ineffable wives#ineffable spouses#ineffable divorce#good omens meta
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catch me if u can
been under-rock sleeping,
out-of-touch keeping either silent or else with
naught worth repeating
could have been dreaming,
every recollection fogged, clouded,
mirrors shrouded out of stupid superstition -
every chapter under revision,
irreverently rewritten
cross-out scribbles black-barred admissions
been poised under scrutiny,
whole crew contemplating mutiny if I said
that I was scared,
sacred, scarred and scared
would you forgive me?
quiver spent and shield bent and
my sword chipped, languishing
with all my other worldly laurels
on the mantel of a mightier man
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Sorry, I've read meta about jc, jyl, lxc, etc names. There's a meta to do about wen qing's name too? I love her
Okay so I took some time to get back to you about this nonny sorry! The thing about Wen Qing's name is that.... as far as I know it's not actually all that complex?
The 温 (Wen) of Wen Qing is often translated as 'lukewarm' but as a noun means 'temperature' and is loosely related to 瘟 which has to do with 'pestilence, acute infectious disease' and as a verb can also mean 'to recollect, to recall' or 'to review, to revise.'
The 情 (Qing) of Wen Qing is often translated as 'feelings' or 'sentiment' but can also mean 'love' or 'favor, kindness' as well as 'condition, situation, circumstance.'
However, 温情 together tends to mean 'soft hearted, tender, compassionate.' There's no particular line of poetry this is harkening back to, or specific seminal text that this is linked to. I suspect the reason she's called Wen Qing is because in the novel, she's introduced in the scene where WN has brought WWX and JC back to the supervisory office in Yiling and she leads with a pretty blunt, chiding manner there, and the fact that her name is 'Wen Qing' is meant to clue the reader into her kindness, compassion, and overall tenderness despite being introduced to her in a slightly more antagonistic scene.
I suspect that this is why you haven't seen much meta about her name previously, nonny! It's interesting, but pretty straightforward.
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˗ˋˏ shiori novella id pack ˎˊ˗
(names, pronouns, titles)
names: adeline, agnes, alice, ambrose, anastasia, antoinette, arwenn, beatrix, blair, caspia, celeste, cordelia, diane, divinelle, drucilla, emilia, epiloguette, evelyn, fable, freya, galilea, ginevra, irene, lorelei, lucillia, novelily, penrose, quinn, rosali, rosepip, roxanne, sabrina, storelle, sylvie, verity, violet
pronouns: book/books, memo/memories, mental/mentals, re/recall, rem/remember, memoir/memoria, save/saves, unlock/unlocks, revise/revises, record/records, novel/novels,
titles: *prn* with permanent bookmarks, *prn* who craves an enchanting story, *prn* with enthralling memories, *prn* who captures treasured recollections, *prn* with a desire to know everything special, the archiver of mystifying experiences, the artist with a book for a muse, the librarian who reads memories, the preserver of special memoirs
artist credits - https://twitter.com/LeleHitam1/status/1685544507595739136
#shiori novella#hololive#hololive english#holoen#hololive en#advent#hololive advent#advent en#shiori hololive#shiori advent#names pronouns titles#npts#id pack#identity pack#npt pack#npt list#npt ideas
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Federation Employee and Persons of Interest Statistics List
Notice: "Federation Employee and Persons of Interest Statistic List" is subject to revisions and editing upon further inspection and/or upon gathering new and incoming information. "Official Server Member Federation Employees" statistics list does not include freelance services taken on by members of the island, such as Philza Minecraft or IronMouse, nor will it include Federation NPC server members. Only officially hired jobs given to players applied and approved by the Federation shall be recorded.
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Official Server Member Federation Employees
---Cellbit---
Occupation: Private Investigator
Background: Joined as a double agent hoping to gain intel on the Federation. Accidentally signed a contract to work for them and dedicated months of research funneling them information believing he was working against them. Despises the Federation for their imprisonment of him and the island members, among other factors [see "Felps: Reason for Interest"], and dislikes that he is working under them. Continues to keep up appearances that he is at the very least neutral about his situation.
Additional Details: Currently Employee of the Month
---Jaiden Animations---
Occupation: N/A
Background: Harbored a soft spot for Cucurucho that gained her their trust and landed her a job in the Federation. Was revealed by Cucurucho to have helped the Federation at a prior point in time that she has no recollection of. She maintains the lie that the Federation kidnapped her and that she distrusts them to keep secret the fact that she actually works for them.
Additional Details: Currently the only one (besides Foolish, who she told of this) that definitively knows there are multiple Cucuruchos
---Foolish Gamers---
Occupation: Detective, Potential Law Enforcement
Background: Begged Asked the Federation for a job in order to obtain benefits and rewards (mainly a shiny badge and a controllable corporeal cloud that functions as an automobile). Officially became part of the Federation upon taking on the task of arresting Tazercraft for the supposed kidnapping of Mr. Mustard the capybara, whom he shares a close relationship with. He continues to work for the benefits, and keeps up the search for Mr. Mustard.
Additional Details: Is jealous that Cellbit has more notoriety within Cucurucho's favor and the Federation than he does [see "Cellbit: Additional Details"]. Frequently goes out of his way to gain Cucurucho's favor, in whatever way that may be
---FitMC---
Occupation: Janitor, Plumber
Background: Obtained a job at the Federation as a standard janitor/plumber, a seemingly unobtrusive and out-of-the-way occupation, with the objective to gain player data from the Federation in order to deliver it to an outside source. Secretly anti-Federation but acts friendly towards them and keeps from doing anything overtly anarchist in order to maintain his cover.
Additional Details: Close with Tazercraft, who are staunch anti-Federationists/anarchists, and has aided them in multiple missions from acquiring classified Federation intel to escaping Federation prisons. Has also received a hug from Cucurucho and is the only one to do so.
---AyPierre---
Occupation: Wine Supplier, Wine Vineyard Operator
Background: Was originally a freelance wine maker and distributor (alongside his co-worker Richarlyson) who sold wine to the Federation for the election dinner event. Was later approached by Cucurucho to become a personal wine supplier under the Federation, presumably for future hosted events. The construction of a vineyard was established for Pierre to use for his production, as well as to manage over as the official vineyard operator.
Additional Details: Dreamed of a white bear performing brain surgery on him before the plane crash where he supposedly arrived for the first time. Has also committed countless illegal acts against the Federation of which he is rarely held accountable, such as acquiring a piece of a Luzu computer [see "Luzu/Arin: Reason for Interest"]
---El Quackity---
Occupation: Live Show Announcer, N/A
Background: Assigned to host the live show announcing the winner of the presidential election behind closed doors. Ran for this election before he was eliminated via assassination. Server members heavily speculated that El Quackity ran as president as a Federation pawn, though this has yet to be proven. Is part of the Federation's experiments regarding specimen eggs, and maintains access to player data most other members are not aware exists [see "FitMC: Background"].
Additional Details: Speculated to have been a clone of Quackity put into the server by the Federation after their abduction of Quackity, as he acts differently, held gaps in memories that Quackity should have known, had strange skin textures around the frame of his face, and had "El" in his name.
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Additional Persons of Interest
---Forever Player---
Reason for Interest: Current President of Quesadilla Island. Works with Cucurucho to utilize all powers granted to the role of presidency by the Federation. Yet to see the full extent in which this role will provide in terms of power to the president and his relationship with the Federation. Currently, the President is working on an animal conservatory on behalf of the Federation, and has already established certain mods such as the Cosmetics Mod.
Additional Details: Suspected of having a closer relationship to Cucurucho than a simply professional one by certain island members; unclear of the accuracy of this claim. Has plans to build a prison and establish an active voting system.
---Tazercraft---
Reason for Interest: Guilty of frequently committing illegal acts (destroying Federation projects using the C.A.R.L.A. world eater, illegally traveling into the Nether using a previously inactive Federation-owned Nether portal, etc.) Tazercraft were arrested by Detective Gamers on behalf of the Federation [see "Foolish Gamers: Background"] and imprisoned in the official Federation jail, of which they escaped along with Federation employee "Walter Bob" after killing one of the prison guards.
Additional Details: The surviving prison guard abducted "Walter Bob" after the escape, as well as Pac of Tazercraft. Though fellow Tazercraftian Mike was able to free him, the status of "Walter Bob" remains unknown. Unclear if the actions of the guard were carried out on official Federation orders or as a personal vendetta against Tazercraft for the loss of their coworker at Mike's hands.
---Maximus---
Reason for Interest: Underwent a medical examination by Cucurucho following a belief of pregnancy; was found to have been infected with a deadly parasitic entity. Following this discovery, subject was given emergency surgery to have the parasite removed, of which was proclaimed to be a success by the head surgeon (Cucurucho). However, subject later found a code infection in his leg, of which only his surgeon is aware of currently.
Additional Details: Co-founder and co-leader of the Ordo Theoritas, an anti-Federation conspiracy group of which the Federation has been made aware of in terms of the subject's involvement. Previously arrested and imprisoned for one day by the Federation after committing illegal acts. Also involved in an incident where he sought out the Angel in order to revive his dead egg Trump, before he was given an ultimatum by the Federation that ceased him from receiving the Angel's help.
---Roier---
Reason for Interest: One of the first persons to befriend Cucurucho. Proof of Cucurucho's incompetency revealed by their relationship to Roier, and since measures have been taken to ensure Cucurucho has and will always achieve absolute perfection.
Additional Details: Continues to summon Cucurucho, and is determined to understand their nature as well as the changes made to them.
---Felps---
Reason for Interest: One of the first persons to befriend Cucurucho. Initially taken by them and kept in cryogenic containment for roughly one month as part of a potential deal to gain lives for his son Richarlyson. Was awakened and rescued by the other island members alongside family member Cellbit, who had also been abducted in his search for Felps. Upon rescue, both subject and his companion were found to have strange markings on their body, Felps having one on his arm. No overt effects have come from these physical changes as of yet.
Additional Details: After his abduction, subject has harbored resentment towards Cucurucho and the Federation
---Quackity---
Reason for Interest: Subject to unknown experimentation by the Federation that resulted in a severe loss of memory (short and long term), an inability to properly recognize the physical appearance of the eggs, and an inability to recognize or create proper writing. Upon release, has since only spoken in Spanish (despite being bilingual) and has been given writing lessons by Cucurucho, who carried out the initial experimentation.
Additional Details: Previously attempted to establish deals with Cucurucho in order to revive his deceased egg Tilín; unclear if these talks yielded any results.
---Baghera Jones---
Reason for Interest: Former subject of experimentation and torture at the hands of the Federation. Was under Federation custody since childhood until she escaped using a presumably make-shift boat. Holds no memory of her past regarding the Federation, and has only vague memories of knowing her fellow French-speakers before arrival on the island. Current status unknown.
Additional Details: Was made aware of this knowledge by following a trail leading to an abandoned building with a diary signed by herself sometime prior.
---The Angel and the Demon---
Reason for Interest: Divine entities descended by the gods known for producing and distributing illegal items to the islanders. Holds the ability to perform resurrections on deceased eggs. Currently unable to be contained or withheld by the Federation. More information is needed before actions may be taken.
Additional Details: The Angel was once involved in an indirect conflict regarding the Federation and the resurrection of the deceased egg Trump [see "Maximus: Additional Details"] in which it was made clear the Federation wished for the Angel and Demon to have as little involvement as possible with the Federation's plans.
---Luzu/Arin---
Reason for Interest: AI entity residing within the body of Luzu. Fronts Luzu's body during moments of Luzu being unconscious (sleep, fainting, etc.) Source behind "Luzu computers" that occasionally appear around the server. Federation has dubbed it illegal to desecrate and/or steal resources from these computers as they contain illegal Create items. Full extent of the relationship between the Federation and the Luzu computers is unknown.
Additional Details: Arin occasionally interacts with the island inhabitants via chat message to leave cryptic messages in binary, of which is their only supposed way of written communication. They have warned of "a door opening" among other concerning matters.
---Binary Codes---
Reason for Interest: Rogue AI entities that target the island inhabitants and their eggs. Held a predominant focus on attacking any egg with two lives until they were down to one. Have been proven to be capable of learning from past instances, as well as cloaking their appearance into that of an egg. Federation continues to ignore their existence.
Additional Details: Rumors have declared the Binary codes to have been creations of the Federation that went rogue and now attack supposed other Federation creations (the eggs). Contained powerful weaponry in the form of the CPV2 Shield, which has infinite durability and is the only known item immune to the Code Breaker Sword, as well as the pieces of the aforementioned Code Breaker; these items were taken from certain Binary Codes after a loss in combat to Etoiles, the current only island resident to wield such equipment.
#Report Pending...#mcyt#qsmp#cellbit#jaiden animations#foolish gamers#fitmc#aypierre#antoine daniel#el quackity#forever player#tazercraft#maximus#agent maxo#roier#felps#quackity#baghera jones#rubius#luzu
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Hello everyone, big news! After much deliberation me and my dear partner have decided that the current timeline is simply too bloated. There is too much fat so we have decided to streamline it a bit by trimming said fat. That way we get to the main story a lot quicker. Please note that as a result of these changes, certain posts related to the previous Unforeseen will be labeled as outdated!
Unforeseen Timeline (Revised)
Once Upon A Time In The Wild West
1856 (Birth)
Pedro Madrigal and Alma cross paths in the American West. Pedro, a bottom-feeding bandit, and Alma, a painted lady (prostitute), are both Colombian immigrants who have found themselves in difficult positions. They marry and have three children: Julieta, Pepa, and Bruno.
Soon after their children are born, Pedro goes on a heist with his gang—which he betrays—stealing the loot to give his new family a better life. In the hopes of evading reprisal, the Madrigals move towards Mexico. They join a group of travelers who are also attempting to cross the border. However, as they cross the Rio Grande River, Pedro's former gang members follow and attack them. Pedro makes the ultimate sacrifice to give the party ample time to depart. His death and Alma's anguish imbue the Miracle Candle with magic, repelling the intruders before building Encanto, a mystical haven reminiscent of their home country of Colombia bordered by high mountains.
Alma is left with a strong urge to safeguard their magic above everything else in the aftermath of Pedro's death.
1861 (Age 5)
Julieta, Pepa, and Bruno are given wonderful gifts from the Miracle Candle when they reach the age of five. Bruno's gift of foresight is revealed when he has a vision of an evil figure appearing in their home years in the future.
Alma instills in her children the importance of using their Gifts for the community. But, while Julieta and Pepa are adored and appreciated, Bruno is gradually vilified and scapegoated.
Small families have found their way to Encanto throughout time. It's an occurrence that no one can explain. They claim to have been guided there by golden butterflies. The residents of Encanto, on the other hand, come to accept these newcomers because they, too, are looking for a safe haven to live away from the cruelty and anarchy of the Wild West. Alma feels the magic is responsible, and while they may not understand it, they should have faith in it.
Beginning (and End) of El Ojos Diablos
1871-1877 (Age 15-21)
By the age of 15, the triplets' responsibilities considerably increase. The locals continue to dread and detest Bruno for his Gift, blaming their misfortunes on him rather than doing anything to change or prepare for it. He also struggles to live up to Alma's expectations of him. Expectations based on his mother's idealized recollection of Pedro. She hasn't told her children about the more shameful details of their lives before Encanto.
In an attempt to assist her son, Alma requests that he perform a vision for their Familia. This attempt fails when all it reveals is a future of destruction for Encanto, with an unknown spectacled girl standing in front of a broken Casita.
Alma's relationship with Bruno suffers as a result of the vision experience. He seeks sanctuary within the walls of Casita, where he creates his own private haven. There he finds camaraderie with the rats through their mutual ostracization by everyone else in Encanto.
Julieta discovers and discloses Bruno's secret hiding location to her mother out of worry for his well-being. This escalated to an argument in which Alma physically strikes Bruno before demanding that the hideaway be sealed. Bruno yells angrily at his sisters to leave, then trashes the place in a fit of rage.
Later, a minor tremor occurs, opening a small path through the mountains. Bruno, distraught and emotional, claws his way through the tunnel, the entrance falling behind him. Alma, Julieta, and Pepa soon learn Bruno has gone missing.
Bruno struggles to survive in the Wild West. His Gift of Foresight turns out to be an essential survival tool in this hostile and lawless world. After a period of barely scraping by, a dejected and disheveled Bruno wanders into the declining town of Nuevo Fortuna where he enters a saloon owned by former mercenary and killer Clarence LeRoy. Old LeRoy takes the young Madrigal boy in.
After a few weeks of working in the saloon, Bruno gets into a fight with two cowboys, Mad Mucci and Crazy Campbell. Mucci, who is inebriated, accuses Bruno of stealing and physically beats him, with Campbell assisting in the assault. During the altercation, Bruno inadvertently stabs Campbell in the gut, fatally wounding the cowboy, who dies a slow, agonizing death asking for his mama. The young man is obviously upset by this situation. Mucci swears vengeance before Clarence dispatches him.
Mucci returns with four other cowboys on a dark and stormy night. Clarence fights them off as best he can, but the assailants do manage to set the saloon on fire with molotov cocktails. A wounded Mucci flees to the town outhouse, where he is discovered by Bruno, who shoots him three times with the cowboys own firearm. Bruno, feeling horrible and unwilling to burden Clarence any further, departs of his own accord, taking a horse from the town stables and riding off into the desert.
Clarence and Bruno are reunited two years later, in 1873, in the mining boomtown of Silver Lining, Arizona. Bruno currently lives among immigrants, led by Herr Rissmann and Madame Brancusi, camped just outside of town, the majority of whom work as cheap labor for the Silver Lining Mining Company. Given his reputation, Clarence is hired as a security guard at a local gambling institution, where he keeps the rowdiest clientele in line. Everything goes smoothly... For a while.
A group of riders raids the camp, resulting in multiple deaths. Clarence encourages Bruno to help identify the murderers so that Carey Jr., the local lawman, may deal with them lawfully. However, Carey Jr. recognizes the gang's commander as notorious gunfighter Bullseye Biehn, who is accompanied by Lapdog Lang, Cutthroat Church, Pistol Philbin, and Badmouth Burke. Carey Jr. is intimidated and refuses to arrest them. Bruno is provoked by Biehn's taunting and shoots him with the late Mucci's revolver, which he had retained since departing Nuevo Fortuna. His actions trigger a brief but intense gunfight in which Church, Philbin, and Burke are killed, with Lang fleeing and Clarence injured. Herr Rissmann ends up dead after getting caught in the crossfire.
People in town seem to want to hang Bruno. In their eyes, a goddamn Mexican runt committed cold-blooded murder. Carey Jr. attempts to arrest Bruno, but the teen is emboldened by his deeds and holds the sheriff at gunpoint. He rips off the sheriff's badge in contempt at his cowardice before fleeing with Clarence, the mob too afraid to intervene. Clarence reprimands the lad for his actions once they get outside of town. Bruno gets enraged by the old man’s scolding, wondering why everyone else does what he just did, but when he does the same thing, it's bad.
An incensed Bruno rejoins his camp, who are not delighted to see him. They explain that, as a result of his activities in Cosmatos, they must all relocate or suffer retaliation. As a result, he is exiled from the group. This causes him to have a vision in which he sees the camp being assaulted by bandits as they migrate. Rather than trying to warn them, Bruno abandons them to their fate, viewing them as no better than the people back in Encanto.
Following the Silver Lining Shootout, rumors circulate about a gunfighter with the devil's eyes and disposition. A killer who will out-draw and shoot anyone foolish enough to provoke him. No one knows his name or where he came from. Witness evidence was unreliable, and descriptions of this outlaw proved to be exaggerated. The only constants were that he was Mexican, wore an unusual green poncho, and had eyes that shone an unholy green. Such tall tales earned him the name El Ojos Diablos (Butchered Spanish for The Devil's Eyes).
Pieces of information about El Ojos Diablos’ deeds are carried on unnatural winds to Encanto. Alma, Julieta, and Pepa are shaken by the outlaws' fanciful but sparse accounts because they sound suspiciously similar to someone they know all too well.
In 1875, cattleman McGraw employed Clarence as a cowhand to join him, his wife Audrey, and their daughter, May on a cross-country cattle drive from Tennessee to Wyoming Territory. Cattle rustlers ambush the group halfway through their journey. McGraw is killed, while Old LeRoy is wounded. Bruno is revealed to be one of the rustlers. Upon seeing Clarence’s injured state, Bruno turns on his gang and executes them all with cold frightening ease before personally slaying the head rustler.
Bruno resolves to assist Clarence, Audrey, and May in completing their journey. His seemingly innate capacity to predict danger makes him crucial to their survival. Everyone is oblivious of his Gift and the suffering it brings him. He copes with his pain by occasionally sipping booze. Bruno also shows off his revolver, Memento, which is Mucci's revolver that has been customized to the boy's specifications.
When they arrive at their location in Bullhead, Wyoming, Bruno invites Clarence to the saloon for drinks. When Old LeRoy insists on the Madrigal lad returning home, what appears to be a typical night of companionship between them devolves into an argument. Bruno bitterly refuses and attempts to retire for the evening. Unfortunately, May, who holds Bruno responsible for her father's murder, dares him to a duel, which he accepts once she provokes him. Knowing May will not win, Clarence knocks Bruno out with a bottle of whiskey before handing him over to the law. This "betrayal" stings Bruno. Bruno escapes custody one night, killing two deputies on his way out. Clarence aims to shoot the youngster with his rifle as he rides away, but realizes he lacks the nerve to do so.
In 1877, Clarence settled down as a rancher in New Mexico Territory. Sutherland, Phillips, Sheen, Mulroney, and Siemaszko, his hired workers, look up to him as a mentor figure.
Felix Freeman, a former Caribbean Island plantation slave, is apprehended while attempting to steal from the LeRoy Ranch. Felix's disheveled, downtrodden state is reminiscent of Bruno. Clarence chooses to take Felix in, intending to place him on a better path. Felix's sharp eye and attention have earned him the nickname Halcon Eye.
Rosemary, Clarence’s estranged sister, brings her son Emilio Agustin Estevez Jr. to work for him in an attempt to straighten him out. Emilio Senior, the boy's father, was a jerk who left a long time ago. Clarence finds Agustin's behavior reminiscent of Bruno. He agrees to help the boy so he does not go down the same terrible road.
Agustin is initially at odds with the other hired hands due to his near-sightedness and refusal to wear spectacles, causing him to screw up on more than one occasion. He earns himself the unflattering nickname Squinty.
Over the past two years, El Ojos Diablos' exploits have become more erratic and violent. He’s developed a bad habit of escalating situations out of sheer intemperance. As a result, every gang he rode with never lasted very long, not that he cared. Said gangs were unaware that El Ojos Diablos rode amongst them until shit went south on account of his explosive temper. From then on, even other outlaws grew weary of his name.
El Ojos Diablos suffered from frequent mood swings and terrible visions, which did little to improve his already sour demeanor. Alcohol relieved his agony, while bullets put an end to any grievances he had—as bitter and selfish as he was. Bullets delivered tthrough his two trusty shooting irons, Memento and Mori. This devil's actions gained a $5,000 bounty on his head, attracting a wide range of people eager to make their fortune. Those poor fools never found any fortune. They only found a bullet between their eyes.
El Ojos Diablos' terrible tales spread far and wide. Tales that eventually reached Encanto. This was too much for the Madrigals. So much so that Alma forbids any mention of her son’s existence. Alma, Julieta, and Pepa all deal with their sadness privately in different ways.
The LeRoy Ranch Boys eventually bond over their mutual interest in Wild West Dime Novels. When a terrible drought strikes Old LeRoy's ranch, the boys advise going after El Ojos Diablos, who is said to be lurking around Texas. Clarence quickly refuses such an undertaking upon seeing El Ojos Diablos’ poster illustration, albeit he does not explain why.
The boys decide to pursue El Ojos Diablos on their own. They buy a bunch of guns (on Clarence's tab) before riding off to Texas. On the way, they choose to call themselves the Young Guns. They arrive at the town of Rest’N’Peace and spend the night drinking, boasting, and celebrating their future prosperity. An inebriated El Ojos Diablos turns up and slaughters the novice Young Guns, killing Sutherland, Phillips, Sheen, Mulroney, and Siemaszko with eyes flashing a horrible green. Only Agustin and Felix remain, with the latter fleeing in terror while the former is left injured and at the mercy of the killer.
Clarence arrives right before El Ojos Diablos is about to execute Agustin. Their conversation reveals that El Ojos Diablos is actually Bruno: Alcohol, stress, and a lack of personal care have turned him into a bitter, resentful ghoul. Old LeRoy sees his boys dead and what the young Madrigal kid has become. Both draw on the other, with El Ojos Diablos emerging victorious. Bruno, visibly distraught by what he has done, retreats into the night, leaving Agustin with Clarence, who gives some final words of wisdom as he dies.
Felix conceals himself in a dark alleyway. He sees Bruno escaping and moves to shoot him with his Spencer 1860 Rifle. However, Freeman's nerve weakens, allowing Bruno to flee.
Agustin and Felix lay to rest their mentor and companions in the Rest'N'Peace Cemetery. Rosemary, bereaved, disowns Agustin. Egger, the village undertaker, sympathizes with the kids and advises them to make a fresh start south of the Rio Grande. Both Estevez and Freeman choose to heed the undertaker's advice.
El Ojos Diablos vents his grief over Clarence's death elsewhere. He's hiding away among rats and empty booze bottles in a run-down homestead. The weight of everything he has done buries him under immense guilt.
Agustin and Felix reach the Rio Grande. From there they are led into Encanto by a golden butterfly. Both are taken aback by everything around them. So amazed, in fact, that Agustin becomes sidetracked and has an accident, injuring his leg. Julieta heals him, displaying their magic. She and Pepa offer to assist them in becoming acquainted with the town, which he accepts. Alma eventually meets and talks with the two about their circumstances, considering the fact they both arrived alone. Agustin gives Alma the bare bones of what happened before their arrival. Hearing that they both lost their companions as a result of an unlawful slaughter is enough for the Madrigal Matriarch. She welcomes them as new members of the community.
Out of Sight, Out of Mind
1877-1888 (Age 21-32)
Agustin makes frequent visits to Julieta since his accident-prone activities get him hurt all the time. This helps them get more intimate. Agustin discusses the incident at Rest’N’Peace, but he is too ashamed and guilty to continue.
Felix and Pepa become infatuated at the same time. He understands her emotional struggles and how they affect her Gift. They develop a mutual affection for one other.
Alma receives no additional word about El Ojos Diablos. She now knows nothing about her son other than the romanticized fabrications his deeds inspired.
Both couples got married in 1885. Felix and Pepa’s wedding day proved to be unforgettable when a man in a flying contraption crashes into the town church. Agustin and Julieta's daughter Isabela is born the same year, while Felix and Pepa's firstborn daughter Dolores arrives a few months later.
Agustin and Julieta’s second daughter Luisa was born in 1887.
Do Something Right
1889-1891 (Age 33-35)
La Famiglia Morricone secured a bank loan to purchase land in the autumn of 1889. They plan to establish a horse stable near the town of Second Chance, Oklahoma Territory. When they arrive at their lot, they discover a dilapidated shack inhabited by a single squatter… A now 33-year-old Bruno.
Bruno is a recluse who lives by himself. He lives off the land and avoids people. Solitude has partially improved his disposition, but he is a considerably more weary and somber man, tormented by his past mistakes.
The squatter agrees to leave for the benefit of the Morricones. He doesn't want to burden or trouble anyone else. Signore and Signora Morricone's daughter, Maria Morricone, understands Bruno's circumstance. She offers him the opportunity to reside on their property in exchange for working as a hired hand. Bruno hesitantly accepted this offer. Alonzo Morricone, Maria's brother, is suspicious of Bruno.
By December 1889, the Morricone Stables were operational. However, winter arrives early when a terrible blizzard sweeps through the territory, causing great hardship for the town of Second Chance and everything that surrounds it. Signore Morricone contracts tuberculosis and dies from overexertion. Signora Morricone dies soon after of heartbreak. Maria and Alonzo are left to pay off their remaining debts or lose their home.
Bruno develops a fever. Whilst being brought over to the main house, Bruno has a vision of Maria's future in which she has a child. This astounds the Morricone Siblings. Bruno ends up being confined to the main house due to his failing health and the harsh winter conditions.
The former outlaw opens up to Maria while in her care. He finds her easy to talk to, and she listens in genuine silence, offering her own words of empathy. Her compassion and understanding soothe the lonely, bitter boy buried deep within.
Bruno recovers and helps the Morricone Siblings pay back their debt. A mutual attraction develops between Bruno and Maria. The two do eventually marry with Bruno choosing to take on Maria's maiden name.
That same year, Isabela and Dolores both receive their own wonderful Gifts. Isabela is endowed with the ability to conjure and control plants, while Dolores gains super-hearing. Alma is especially proud of Isabela's Gift, but she is concerned when Dolores' Gift becomes too much for her. Her reaction reminds her of He Who Must Not Be Mentioned. Alma, concerned about what her granddaughters might become, shows them both a book with articles and scraplets describing Bruno's numerous crimes. This serves as a warning to both granddaughters to always be grateful for their Gifts and to never be hesitant to serve the community, lest they end up like their cold-blooded uncle.
Bruno Morricone became well-regarded by the town of Second Chance. Everyone recognises him for his abilities and patience with animals. Because of their love and concern for Maria, he and Alonzo have created a strong brotherly bond.
Maria develops morning sickness. A trip to the town doctor reveals that she is pregnant. When Maria breaks the news to Bruno, he panics and has a vision. He envisions their child, revealed to be a girl, killing someone with a double-barreled shotgun. Maria quickly reassures her husband, telling him that instead of fearing the worst, they should focus on raising their daughter to be a decent person. This calms Bruno down a little, but he's still nervous.
On her fifth birthday, Luisa Madrigal receives her gift of super-strength. Alma shows her the book of El Ojos Diablos. Has about the same effect it had on Isabela and Dolores.
Richie Spait, a wounded and on-the-run bandit, bursts into the Morricone home one night and takes a visibly pregnant Maria hostage. He demands everything valuable in their home, as well as a horse. Richie has no idea whose house he broke into. The house rats divert his attention long enough for Maria to flee and Bruno to strike. Spait tries to flee, but Bruno shoots him with a shotgun. The outraged husband and soon-to-be father strangles Richie to death before flinging his body to Alonzo’s hogs. The experience disturbs him because of how swiftly he reverted to his old ways. Alonzo consoles him with the fact he had acted in defense of those he loved. Something anyone else in the same position would do.
Mirabel Morricone was born in the month of March, 1891. Camilo Madrigal, Felix and Pepa's second child, is born around the same time.
A sinister force stirs within Bruno's sealed tower.
1896 (Age 40)
Bruno has kept his distance from Mirabel for the previous five years due to his anxieties about the prophecy he had regarding her. He believes that being around her will bring about the future he predicted. Mirabel spends most of her time with her mother, but she longs for her father's attention as well.
Mirabel is nicknamed Mira-Boo by Alonzo. She responds by referring to him as Bud Bear, a nickname bestowed upon him by a Native American Shaman and which Maria teased him about in their youth, much to his dismay.
In the days leading up to Mirabel's fifth birthday, Bruno worries about whether or not his child will receive a Gift like he did.
Mirabel witnesses her Papa having an uncontrollable vision. She inquires if he is a witch. Bruno reluctantly informs her about his Gift. Naturally, the little girl becomes very excited. Her father does not share this sentiment.
Mirabel receives no Gift on her fifth birthday. Her door, unbeknownst to the Morricones, appears within Casita. The Madrigals are reasonably perplexed by this, considering the door shows a spectacled girl and the doorknob has a 'M' on it. Eventually, the door vanishes without a trace. Nonetheless, the Madrigals are left wondering who that child was.
Mirabel spends the next few days looking for her "Gift." She tries to fly off the roof. Bruno saves and then shouts at her, telling Mirabel she'd be better off without one. Maria consoles her daughter before gently discussing the matter with Bruno. Mrs. Morricone suggests that Mirabel may have desired a Gift in order to be closer to her Papa. A Papa who has been largely absent from his daughter's life.
Bruno gives his daughter her own horse in order to make amends with Mirabel and find a way for them to spend time together. Specifically, Maria’s mare Marmalade's newborn foal who was conceived after an unfortunate overnight incident involving a customer's stud whilst Marmalade had been in heat. Mirabel names the foal Pedro. Bruno and Mirabel raise Pedro together, with the Morricone Daughter displaying her talent for animals.
Camilo receives the ability to shape-shift on his fifth birthday. Alma shows him the El Ojos Diablos book. However, due to the numerous exaggerations of Bruno's exploits as an outlaw, young Camilo is left with the sense that his Tio was an anti-heroic gunfighter.
1899 (Age 43)
Maria becomes bedridden after contracting pneumonia. Bruno considers taking her to Encanto or traveling there himself to have Julieta heal her. The local doctor, on the other hand, makes it obvious that she is in no condition to be relocated and does not have much time. Bruno Morricone can't bear the prospect of leaving just to find his sweetheart dead when he returns. Maria requests that he spend the remaining time with her, Mirabel, and Alonzo as a full family.
Maria dies shortly after Mirabel's eighth birthday. Bruno leaves Mirabel with Alonzo while he buries her privately. Despite his wishes to be alone, Mirabel joins him, resulting in both father and daughter supporting each other in their grief over Maria's death.
Following Maria's death, Bruno has a serious discussion with his daughter. He informs Mirabel that everything Maria left is hers to inherit. It is merely his duty as her father to manage the place until she is ready.
1901 (Age 45)
Pepa gives birth to her and Felix’s third child, Antonio.
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Milestone Monday
On this day, July 10 in 1871, French novelist Marcel Proust (Valentin Louis Georges Eugène Marcel Proust, to be exact) was born to an upper-class family in the Paris Borough of Auteuil. Born at a time of great change for French society, with the decline of the aristocracy and the rise of the middle class, Proust's most well-known publication, the monumental, 7-volume novel À la recherche du temps perdu (currently translated as In Search of Lost Time, but previously translated as Remembrance of Things Past) explores the effects of these changes in personal and intimate ways.
Proust began work on this novel in 1909 and continued to work on it until his final illness in the autumn of 1922 forced him to stop. It was published in France between 1913 and 1927, and has become one of the hallmarks of world literature from the 20th century. The novel unfolds as a series of memories initiated by the sensation of a sip of tea in which he had dipped a madeleine cake. The sensation sparks dormant recollections of experiences from childhood to adulthood in fin de siècle France society.
The first six volumes of the novel were first translated into English by the Scottish author and translator C. K. Scott Moncrieff from 1922 to 1930, with the final volume translated by British novelist and translator Stephen Hudson in 1931. Terence Kilmartin revised the Scott Moncrieff translation in 1981 (with the final volume translated by Andreas Mayor) using the new French edition of 1954. The copy shown here is a revision of that revision by British academic D. J. Enright, based on the French Bibliothèque de la Pléiade edition of 1987-1989, published in six volumes by the Modern Library in New York (and by Chatto and Windus in London) in 1992. It is the first edition to use the more current translation of the title, In Search of Lost Time.
View other Milestone Monday posts.
#Milestone Monday#milestones#Marcel Proust#birthdays#French authors#In Search of Lost Time#Rememberance of Things Past#À la recherche du temps perdu#C. K. Scott Moncrieff#Terence Kilmartin#D. J. Enright#Modern Library
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Hello. other students taking GCSEs
I was wondering if it would be helpful for anyone if I posted some in-depth notes? I'd explain the topic like it's a lesson, as this is helpful for my own revision and might help other people understand it
It'd mostly be for biology and chemistry, probably, as that's super fact-recollection based. Idk, I see a lot of aesthetic studyblr blogs and I've never seen anyone actually post explanations of subjects or original material here, links to resources being the closest thing
You could also send in requests as long as it's clear with everyone that I'm not a teacher, just a teenager on the internet, I have no qualifications. also I'll be using online resources, textbooks and stuff to find the information - if everyone responds to this with yeah no why would you do that, that's a horrible idea, then I'll probably post some other studying-related stuff here anyway, even if studyblr is kind of...deceased lol I think it'll help me with my own revision
ok uh. like/rb or something if you think that'd be helpful thx bye
#gcse#gcses#gcse student#gcse studyblr#studyblr#autistic studyblr#<- because i am in fact autistic and i know firsthand that school can be suffering for nd people ._.#chemistry gcse#biology gcse#studying#gcses 2024#neurodivergent#please can this not end up putting my whole identity on the internet in a stupid chain of events thx.#oh i'd probably queue posts for like. two or three posts a day. the schedule would be regular even if the content was. cough sporadic#not up to me what i suddenly realise i don't understand 20 mins before the mock exam and have to speedrun
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"Owlin" Ranger, Beast Master (revised)
(Sybil is sort of a weird case in terms of D&D species, I'm just using the Owlin species as a jumping-off point for her gameplay.)
Sybil has little recollection of where she came from. She simply appeared on an artificer's doorstep as a baby one night, half-blind and terribly injured. The artificer raised her and nursed her back to health, helping her retain the mobility and senses she otherwise would have lost from her injuries. With reinforced bones, improved sight, and a bit of telepathy to assist her speech, Sybil uses her augments to safeguard the forest surrounding her mentor's workshop. Occasionally, though, she likes to fly to nearby towns and socialize. Everybody likes Sybil. She's a good-natured prankster and leads a surprisingly tumultuous love life. The townspeople are all just thankful that the guns hidden inside her legs only come out for monsters.
#bat girl#ranger#my art#artist on tumblr#digital art#my oc#oc#my oc art#dnd art#character art#dnd character#dnd character design#dnd character art#dnd oc#dungeons and dragons art#dungeons and drawings#dungeons and dragons#monster girl#dnd ranger
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