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#fic: forever we said
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Shovel Talk(s) Final Part
Part One 🦇Part Two🦇Part Three🦇Part Four
Steve starts with Dustin. Not for any particular reason. Dustin is just the first person he ends up seeing after an entire weekend spent at Eddie's house. They'd redone their date in Indy on Saturday, getting back into Hawkins late, so Steve stayed the night. He had a morning shift at Family Video but it was Robin's day off so he didn't see her.
Dustin called at 11:00am on Monday to ask for Steve's assistance with his bike's flat tire. He needs a ride to Melvald's for a new tire tube and pump, and since Steve's shift doesn't start until 2:00pm he agrees.
Steve picks him up and listens to him ramble about his weekend and how he the tube got a hole in it. He stays in the car while Dustin runs inside to make his purchases, and then they're back at Dustin's house. Dustin knows how to change out the tube on his bike; he's been raised by a single mother for longer than Steve's known him so he's pretty self-sufficient, but Steve still offers to do it and Dustin lets him.
It's little moments like these that really let Steve feel like Dustin's brother. Which is what makes it easier for Steve to say, as he is peeling the tube from inside the tire out, "hey, do you remember a week or so ago, when you said we were happy for Eddie and me?"
"Yeah," Dustin says as he's ripping open the package the new tube is in.
"You also told me to not hurt him. I- why'd you say that?" Steve halts his progress on peeling the tube out to look up at Dustin.
He watches as Dustin turns sheepish, "I. Well, mostly I said it so that when I talk to Eddie, I might feel less bad about threatening him."
"What? Why did you threaten him?"
Dustin finishes freeing the new tube from its prison before finally looking back at Steve, "I haven't yet. Mike was talking about how Nancy gave you a shovel talk a while ago, as Eddie's 'best friend'," he makes air quotes around the words, "and I'm your best friend, so I have to give Eddie one. But Eddie's also my friend, so I had to say something to you, too."
"That's so-" Steve cuts off, because he was going to say that's so childish but Dustin should be allowed to be childish just a little longer. Part of his childhood was stolen by monsters and Steve can give him a little bit back, "that's a nice thought but please don't shovel talk Eddie. Besides, Erica beat you to it."
"Shit!"
"Language."
"Well, since Erica did it there's really no point in me doing it. She's terrifying when she wants to be."
Steve laughs because Erica can be terrifying. "Give me the tube, or do you want to finish this?"
"No, continue," Dustin thrusts the tube at Steve, who takes it with a grin and gets back to work.
Robin and he are closing on a Wednesday night, so it's been slow all day, and while Steve wants to talk to Robin, he doesn't want to be interrupted. So, they go about their shift like normal and it's only once he's locked the door and flipped the open sign to closed that he seeks out Robin in the back room, where she's counting down the till.
"Can you pause after that? I need to talk," Steve says and feels his stomach churn. He's never.... he and Robin have never had a fight, never really had any issues that required a talk. Not about anything between them anyway. Robin's always just understood him, in the same way he's understood Robin. They've never been the source of each other's pains until now.
"Yeah, of course," Robin finished the coins, marking down the amounts on a piece of paper before shifting to give Steve her full attention. "Are you ready to talk about it?"
"It?"
"Whatever's hurting you," she says. "I don't know what it is, but I knew you'd come to me when you were ready."
"It's been heard to try and talk about," Steve confesses, "because it's never. It was never you that I've been- I still don't know what to say but I know I don't want to be..." he trails off, waving his hands as he grapples for the words he wants.
"Oh," Robin whispers, standing from the desk to approach. "I hurt you. Tell me what I did, so I can properly apologize."
"When you told me to be careful with Eddie," Steve says, "after I told you about our first date. I don't understand why you'd say that me."
Robin looks pained and swallows before she says, "I'm so sorry, Steve. I shouldn't have said that. And I don't- I don't even have a good reason why I did. I know you'd never hurt Eddie. I know you and what I said wasn't even about you. Not the real you, anyway."
"So, why'd you say it, then?"
Robin frowns and looks away from him, shuffling her feet before she says to a point at the wall, "I was friends, or friendly, with a lot of the girls you were with in high school. A lot of one and done dates that I had to hear about, while they cried in the bathroom or on their bedroom floors, wondering what they'd done wrong, why you didn't stay or-" Steve winces as the reminder of who he'd been in high school comes easily out of Robin, but not for the usual reason he winces. It's not because Robin's reminding him he used to be a douche; she's reminding him of all the people he hurt and never cared that he'd done it. He never apologized, and now it's far too late even if all those girls deserve to hear it.
Robin is still speaking, "or whatever. But that doesn't matter now. You aren't that guy anymore; haven't been the entire time I've actually known you and it wasn't fair for me to say what I said. I just- you took Eddie out, and the part of me that spent years of high school consoling friends who felt used by you just spoke. I-I need to work on filtering the words that come out of my mouth, because if I'd waited like, four more seconds to process your words and settle in the fact you went on a date we both thought you'd never be brave enough to ask for, then I never would have said it. I'm so sorry, Steve. I know you and I should have known better."
Steve swallows thickly, because it hurt to hear but he also knows she's sorry and that's enough. He steps forward and sweeps her into a hug, crushing her against him. She squeezes back just as hard.
Steve has never felt really hurt about Wayne's shovel talk. It was the first, and the only one he'd say he deserved. Not because Steve deserved to have a shovel talk given to him, but because Wayne should get to have the honor of giving one. Eddie's never had a boyfriend before, and Wayne had spent so long worried about how this town would treat Eddie if they knew he was gay.
So, when Steve sees Wayne again, he just smiles at the man, and gets a genuine smile back. He and Wayne are ok.
He and Jeff apologize to each other next time they cross paths on a Hellfire night. Steve apologizes for being snappy and rude. Jeff apologizes for automatically assuming the worst of Steve. They agree to a truce and a start over.
Steve's convinced he can win over Eddie's friends eventually.
Steve can't talk to Nancy. There's too much left unsaid between them for him to feel comfortable with telling her she hurt him. But it's okay. He and Nancy aren't close friends, and she's leaving for Boston in a few weeks for college. He's sure that the distance, and not seeing her weekly for Lunch Date Day, will help.
So, he's a bit surprised to answer the knocking on his front door to see Nancy. It's an exact recreation of the day she shovel talked him and immediately Steve tenses.
"Uh, hi," he says.
Nancy takes a deep breath and says, "I'm sorry. I thought I was being funny when I gave you that shovel talk, but I- someone made it clear to me that we aren't friends enough to be able to make jokes like that. That's my fault, too. For everything I've done and never apologized for. So, I want to say that I'm sorry."
Steve's a little stumped, a bit perplexed even, so he speaks on autopilot, "It's fine, Nance. We're good."
Nancy squares her jaw and narrows her eyes and says, "no."
"No?"
"No. Don't forgive me. Not yet. Make me earn it."
Steve don't respond right away. He wants to just forgive Nancy, but when he thinks about it, he just wants to do that so Nancy will quit looking so defensive. He's not sure he does forgive her. "You're right. I- we'll work on that, then. Being friends one day."
"Good. Good," Nancy nods. "I'll see you are Lunch Date day, yeah? Or... or would you like me to stop coming?"
He shakes his head. "No, please keep coming. There's, what, three more before you're off to college? We can work towards friends in that time, yeah?"
"Yeah," Nancy gives him a small smile, "see you then, Steve."
"See you," Steve replies and shuts the door as she heads down the walkway back towards her car.
He wants to know if Eddie or Robin gave her the dressing down that brought her here to say sorry.
(It wasn't Robin or Eddie. It was Mike, learning what Nancy had done and telling her it wasn't her place to do that.)
There is one final shovel talk for the remainder of their relationship.
It's the final day in Steve's room at his parents house. He's moving in with Eddie and Wayne, at least until the kid's all graduate. Then he and Eddie might go off somewhere on their own.
He's finished packing up his things from the bathroom, and looks up in the mirror. He sees himself, and almost doesn't recognize the reflection staring back. He looks happy. Actually, really happy.
Eddie appears behind him in the mirror, leaning himself against the doorjam, smiling softly at Steve through the mirror.
"All done, sweetheart?"
"Yeah, babe," Steve says. "Just one more thing."
"Oh?"
Steve slides his eyes away from Eddie in the mirror, back to himself. He lifts a finger and points one accusingly finger at himself and says, "if you fuck this up, Harrington, I'll kick your ass myself."
Eddie's full belly laughter rings loudly in the bathroom and Steve just smiles.
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skitskatdacat63 · 6 months
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Hey do you remember all those videos of Fernando smelling flowers? Haha yeah....
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#posting this both while im asleep and after whatever bee event ends up happening#so who knows what will happen! will we get nothing? will we get eye contact? will we possibly get an interaction? its a surprise!!#anyways this is basically me hearing about seb's bee event and he said the drivers will be there#me deep in my vettonso brainrot: OH MY GOD THEY'RE GONNA BE IN THE SAME VICINITY#will be so funny for me if when i wake up i find out fernando didnt even go 😭#but we remain hopeful 🙏#also this is just very funny to me bcs like both seb and fernando have very specifc quirks#and what are two of their specific quirks? seb and his bee thing. fernando and his flower thing from this season#so this fanart is perfect y'know 🥰🥰🥰#also screeching over how this is the first canon au drawing ive ever drawn. ive literally never drawn non-au until now 💀💀💀#okay and now some horrible jokes thay happened during the process of this:#thesis of this drawing: whats Fernando gonna do? Pollinate him? 😏#C. why did you have to make me think of bees that produce sex pollen 😭😭 this is gonna haunt me forever. but also vettonso post-japan fic-#and then also the barry benson thing. im like what do humanized bees look like and then realized 'oh no....oh no.'#fernando to seb at the bee event: 'ya like samurais...?' SORRY 😭#also having to pick the colors from one of my historical au drawings was haunting. just the sheer difference btwn them yknow......#anyways please take my old men yaoi. took a break from historical yaoi to draw this 😭😭😭😭#this is my peak vettonso fanart cannot improve from here. also a fever dream#vettonso#f1#formula 1#sebastian vettel#fernando alonso#catie.art.#*not gonna edit the tags bcs i like the time capsule of it all but like. yeah. we were fed.#*catie from 2 hours prior(atm its 3 am) would be so pleased right now i think
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charlie-pippin-faraday · 11 months
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You know I don’t think we make big enough of a deal about in the pilot episode when Patricia is talking about how Joy’s disappeared and hasn’t called her, and Jerome says to her, “Patricia, you’ve disappeared more than enough times.”
What does that mean????? Has she run away from school a bunch before??? Not shown up to dinners?? Dodged her friends’ calls?? Jerome just says this pretty casually without any additional explanation and it’s never addressed again. Bro literally what does he mean that Patricia’s disappeared a bunch of times?? That feels like something significant that there’s a story behind. What does this mean. What happened. I need answers!!!
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zarophod · 8 months
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this past week i’ve hit a new low.
- i’ve read my first ever vampire au fanfic
- i ENJOYED the vampire au fanfic
- i am now about to watch a film about male ice skaters (?) before i read a Blades of Glory au fic
Red Dwarfers you know what fics i’m on about.
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i love how 13 feels like just a vat of contradictions. she aims for joyful and hopeful and comes out vicious and bloodthirsty. she starts off talking more intimately about regeneration than we’ve ever heard and continues by not telling her new friends her species or what planet shes from for an entire year, longer if she hadnt been forced.
shes the most closed off doctor ive seen but tHE THINGS SHE SAYS, when she says them, are so careful and fragile and closer to the bone than i feel like any other doctor has been.
her anger and her love feel so entangled i cant tell if theyre not actually the same entity and probably neither can she.
and maybe this is just my blorbo brain talking - it probably is - but i feel like this is the most the doctor has been like what i imagine theta sigma was like. the wonder about everything, the curiosity, the excitement, the joy, her most pure wish to just travel with friends around the universe, not be anybody but a traveller. ‘i get to learn something fun about a cool new part of the universe i havent heard of before and in return i fix your problem for you!’ the ux! the anti-matter drive! no way the solitract?!
“youre like a kid sometimes”
and the violence. the violence in defense of other people. as long as you dont threaten her friends you will probably be okay, you wont be targeted at least, you might get in some crossfire but that’d be on you then wouldnt it. and if you threaten her friends, anyone she has befriended, anyone she thinks deserves her protection, you will die. if you threaten her friends directly, she’ll make it hurt. and she will feel justified, she wont spare you a second thought.
shes terrified half the time but shes got a lot to say even when she is. i dont think she cries but the way she deals with emotions is very go sit on a rock alone for a couple hours and then pretend you havent been crying when your friends arrive.
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[id: Rallon, Magnus and MIllennia found the Doctor a few hours later. He was sitting on a rock at the base of a mountain not far from his ancestral home, Lungbarrow.
He was still wearing his dark, one-piece Academy suit, its pockets packed with pens and data pad. He clearly had not been home. He also looked as if he had been crying although none of them opted to mention this.]
she went to gallifrey enough times she might have actually sat on that same fucking rock
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asjjohnson · 1 year
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Part 6 of my poll adventure fic. Links: the beginning, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5.
It's mid-day Wednesday (at least for my time), which means a new part of my poll adventure fic, because I've been here for over a year and still don't know how to use this site effectively. :D (Oh wait, here, I made a poll about tumblr timing.)
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Valerie walked toward Vlad through the rubble, hugging a hissing and clawing Maddie against her armor. "Found him," she said proudly, smiling up at Vlad. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"
"Actually, there is. There's a malevolent ghost loose in Amity Park, posing a serious risk to my health, as well as to the city. I need him contained and brought to me."
Oh, cheese sticks with marinara dipping sauce! He had meant to do the responsible thing here—not ask a fourteen-year-old child who couldn't even hold a cat properly to risk her life in his stead.
...He really had become too accustomed to avoiding anything unpleasant.
"Sure thing, Mayor Masters!"
Maddie squirmed out of Valerie's hold with an angry yowl and ran off.
Well, he could still work with Valerie. ...If he truly wanted to. He was unlikely to succeed on his own, anyhow, if this older version of Daniel actually was as powerful as he'd heard.
But did he truly want to be a part of this endeavor? He was already dreading it, with only the thought.
He recalled what the older Daniel had said—that he let his emotions hold too much sway, and that in turn caused his plans to fail.
Which had been exactly the case when he'd felt some level of compassion for that ghost.
Thinking purely objectively, Vlad could still use the ghost if he could get him back under his control. And if Vlad were to have some part in the ghost's capture—in saving Amity Park—it would boost his ratings. He did need to keep his position as mayor of Amity Park for his contingency plans.
"Valerie, dear. Why don't we work together? I'm sure it's just misplaced guilt, but I can't help but feel somehow responsible for this situation. Ridiculous, I know. However, working with you on his capture would ease my poor conscience."
"Oh... uh, you've never suggested this before," Valerie said uncertainly, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, as though she was trying to think of some way that poor old 'Mayor Masters' could work with her. "But if that's what you want."
'Cheerleader' isn't, ah, a literal cheerleader. (Don't make me dress him up in a skirt.) It just means... like, advertising and cheering her on. More of a cheer-leader (...which is probably an even more literal meaning actually).
---
"Alert me when there's an update" list:
@charlietheepic7, @chrysanthemum9484, @mymadmedleyw, @dp-marvel94, @aikoiya, @whydouwantmyname, @cinturon-cadena, @freakofyournature, @satanicrutialspecialist, @danphantom80
(if you want on the list, specifically ask to be alerted for updates in a tag or comment. Ask again if I forget! If I can't tag you, I'll send a Message.)
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straykats · 10 months
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screaming crying throwing up bc online friends are so weird like why cant i hug u guys this is so stupid
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Thank you to q!Jaiden for your valiant sacrifice, it gave me the motivation to actually bust through the block I had writing this fic
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slvrarrwswrites · 1 year
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We Said Friends Forever, But I Made Myself a Stranger
Rating: Teen Fandom: Formula 1 Individuals: Pierre Gasly, Charles Leclerc, Christian Horner, Max Verstappen Tags: alternate universe, angst, self-doubt/imposter syndrome, working too hard to escape your problems and as a form of self-punishment, somewhat self-destructive behavior, depression probably, 2019 F1 Season, 2020 F1 season, Piarles if you squint, mentions of covid quarantine Word Count: 11,672 Playlist: Spotify Summary: Pierre and Charles have been best friends for almost as long as either of them can remember, but as time goes on, Pierre feels them slipping further and further apart as Charles’ stars continue to rise as his own remains the same. Notes: This fic very loosely follows the early part of Charles' time with Ferrari but instead of being a Toro Rosso and Red Bull driver, Pierre is a sim and reserve driver for RBR. 
At the end, there’s mentions of covid as it pertains to the 2020 season (delay to the start of the season, quarantine, mask wearing, no fans at races etc.), so just a heads up!
Read on Ao3 Instead
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September 2019 Italian Grand Prix; Monza, Italy
Pierre watched from the crowded Monza pit lane as, for the second time in two races, Charles stood proudly on the middle step of the podium, his eyes shining brightly as he hoisted his first place trophy up in the air, the Tifosi in the stands screaming and setting off cans of red colored smoke in celebration, flags emblazoned with the prancing horse waving freely. His heart ached, the pride he felt for his best friend unable to outweigh the wish that he was the one up there celebrating, that he was the one Hamilton and Bottas were soaking with champagne. Instead, Pierre was the lone Red Bull employee standing behind a pack of Mercedes staff who were cheering for their drivers as they relished in the satisfying feeling of a job well done.
As the drivers traipsed off the podium and their assembled teams began to disperse, Pierre made his way back to the Red Bull garage, head down. He knew that some kind of lecture from Horner to the rest of the team was imminent, especially after such a mixed result, but being able to see his best friend celebrate a victory in person was more than worth it.
As a sim driver for Red Bull, Pierre spent most race weekends at the factory, where he tested various setups in various scenarios and relayed his feedback to the team, but it meant that he was rarely able to spend a weekend at the track. As such, he'd missed Charles' maiden victory, having watched the celebration from the race day command center with the other factory employees who provided support to the onsite staff. But despite the separation, as soon as the on screen celebrations had concluded, Pierre was on the first flight to Nice, not caring about the cost of the ticket or the cab ride to Charles' Monaco apartment where he waited patiently on the doorstep until his best friend returned.
The pair had celebrated into the early morning, finishing off the bottle of champagne Pierre had picked up at the airport and a bottle of wine from Charles' kitchen as they chatted about the race until the sun had risen, the light reflecting brightly off the water as they made their way to bed. It was only as Pierre was grabbing his stuff to drag into the guest room did Charles say the words that still echoed in Pierre's mind, haunting him weeks later. "It'll be you up there one day, Calamar."
Pierre and Charles had grown up together, two kids with bad haircuts and the same dream. Although they were fierce competitors on track, they were even better friends off it and they rose through the ranks together, trading wins in karting races, before making their way through F3 and F2 together, always by each other's side, always inseparable.
But, in 2017, things began to change. Charles got the call that he would be joining Sauber's F1 Team for the following year with the unspoken promise that if he performed well, one day he could find himself in one of the coveted Ferrari seats, the bright red iconic even to those who knew nothing about racing. For Pierre, his only chance to drive an F1 car came from his stint as a test driver during pre-season testing before heading off to Japan to compete in Super Formula.
However, even after a successful season in the lower category, the call that came wasn’t the one Pierre wanted. He did his best to hide his disappointment when Helmut had told him that there weren’t enough seats and Pierre would be sidelined yet again, and instead they wanted him to move to Milton Keynes to work as a sim driver. Despite being worried that the new role would be detrimental to his career long term, he accepted after a week of weighing the pros and cons, praying that a close connection to the F1 team would pay off in the long run.
By 2018, Charles had moved to a top team and was the rising star for Ferrari, their Il predestinato, bringing with it the promise of Ferrari's return to dominance after so many years spent behind Mercedes and Red Bull. And Pierre, well, it seemed like his dreams of even getting back on track were slipping away. 
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F1 celebrations were something Pierre hoped he never got used to, but he wouldn’t deny how awkward he’d felt arriving at the venue Charles had invited him to a few hours before. Ferrari’s staff and guests had taken over the VIP section of the club, the more secluded area somehow noisier than the crowded dance floor as the alcohol flowed freely. Winning was always fun, but winning at your home race with a promising young talent like Charles, who was poised to become the new face of Ferrari, meant the team was in high spirits and celebrating hard.
Charles had greeted Pierre loudly when he’d seen him, the young man extracting himself from a conversation with a small group to hug his best friend, a drunk Charles clinging tightly to Pierre as he chattered about how happy he was Pierre was there and how excited he was to celebrate together. But soon enough, Charles was swept away by members of his team who wanted to celebrate with their race winner and Pierre was left alone, watching from a distance.
Pierre left the club just after midnight, leaving behind a drunk Charles who was still surrounded by a handful of members of his team and an assortment of admirers who were willing to do whatever it took to get close enough to bask in Charles’ aura.  He opted to walk back to the hotel Red Bull were staying at instead of taking an Uber, the cool night air pushing away the last hazy remnants of a night of celebration. He hadn’t really partaken in the bottles of champagne and shots of various liquors that had been in steady supply that night and had remained fairly sober despite the fact that everyone around him was happy to drink in honor of Charles’ victory. As a result, his mind was clear as he walked through the quiet streets of Monza, the stillness of the night only interrupted by passing groups of people, their laughter fading away as Pierre continued through the city.
His room was quiet, lights from the street below softly illuminating the furniture, the faint light guiding Pierre as he made his way over to the bed, the Frenchman not bothering to turn on the bedside lamp. He was exhausted, but knew with how his mind was racing that sleep was going to evade him again. It had felt good to celebrate with his friend, but the selfish part of him had wished that Charles had finished in any place other than first. The fact that it was Charles’ second win, one of many that was expected to come, meant that the veneer of winning hadn’t worn off just yet; couple that with the fact that it was his second win in two races and that it was Ferrari’s home race meant that the post-race celebration was wilder that usual, even by F1 standards.
The rational part of Pierre’s mind knew that Charles deserved this, that Charles deserved everything, but to witness his best friend accomplishing everything they’d ever dreamed of first hand made Pierre’s heart ache with a jealousy that had no place in the midst of such a joyous occasion. But jealousy was a nasty thing and instead of continuing the celebration into the early morning, Pierre was sitting at the edge of his bed, head in his hands, once again lost in thoughts of what could have been.
Twenty-three wasn’t old by any means, but with every passing season, the chances of Pierre getting a chance at an F1 drive were getting slimmer and slimmer. Rookies were getting younger every year, teams were putting their faith in younger drivers thanks to the success of drivers like Max and Charles, and Pierre knew that there was a promising group of Red Bull Academy drivers who were gunning for the same seat Pierre sought. His chances at a seat with another team were even slimmer, most had their own driver academies and even if a seat became available, it was doubtful any team would take their chance on an unproven talent without serious scrutiny.
Pierre told himself that he just needed to keep working hard, needed to prove his worth and that eventually an opportunity would come. But late at night, when self-doubt had firmly settled into the furthest corners of Pierre’s mind, he knew that he wasn’t good enough for Red Bull, he wasn’t good enough for Formula 1.  
He wasn’t good enough for Charles.
And here, alone in a hotel room in Milan with the weight of his dream threatening to tear him apart from the inside, he wondered whether it was time to find something else.
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The rest of the season continued to pass with little deviation from Pierre’s regular routine. Races came and went with him doing whatever he could from behind the scenes to help the team be successful, but as it became clearer and clearer that there was little hope for Red Bull to catch Ferrari in the Constructors Championship, he spent less time testing various setups for Max and Alex to use during race weekends and switched his focus to testing concepts for next season’s car.
Long hours in the simulator left Pierre exhausted. Sim work wasn’t nearly as exhilarating as throwing a real car around tight corners or sending the car hurtling down impossibly long straights despite the ever evolving technology that made the experience more and more realistic and the nature of the work meant he went through more set up changes in a few hours than any driver experienced during a weekend, leaving him mentally drained by the time he left the factory for his Milton Keynes flat.
With every passing day, the self-doubt that had intensified after Monza threatened to consume him and the rare compliment from Christian or Max’s praise for his work during meetings did little to reassure him that he did belong here, that he was worthy of some kind of role within the team, even if it wasn’t the one, he so desperately wanted.
Subconsciously, he began to withdraw, throwing himself into work, into doing whatever he could to prove his worth. Weekdays were spent working to get everything perfect, running scenarios over and over again until he was able to pull whatever he could from the car, while off weekends found Pierre in the gym or running along Caldecotte Lake until his lungs burned and his muscles felt like jelly. By night, he was too tired to do anything more than throw together a quick dinner before collapsing in bed with exhaustion, only to wake up and do it all again.
His mother expressed concern one day over the phone, mentioning to Pierre that one of his brothers had told her that he hadn’t reached out lately, unusual for Pierre as his family was the most important thing, but he brushed her off, using the excuse that he was being worked harder than ever (true) and once the season was over, he’d have a chance to take a break (half true). The excuse had worked for now and she’d bid Pierre good bye with a plea that he not work himself too hard and he agreed with no intention to keep his promise.
Texts from Charles went mostly unanswered, his best friend sending him photos from various circuits or funny memes that encapsulated their relationship perfectly. In return, Pierre only responded when necessary to ensure that Charles wouldn’t get suspicious and ask if something was up; Pierre had always been a bad liar, especially when it came to Charles, so it was easier to pretend like everything was fine when in reality, for the first time, Pierre just wanted Charles to leave him alone.
Maintaining the charade was easier than it should have been, the success Charles had had all year continuing as the season began to wind down, making him a hotter and hotter commodity with little time for his mostly anonymous best friend. While Charles was out basking in the glory of success with one of the top teams in Formula 1, Pierre was struggling to not drown in his own self-doubt and while his motives for keeping Charles at arm’s length were selfish, he also didn’t want to bring down his best friend when he was deservedly relishing in everything life had to offer.
But despite how well Pierre was able to keep his issues under wraps, it all threatened to fall apart at the last race of the season. Aside from the usual race weekend prep work, there was little that needed to be done that couldn’t be pushed back until after the season’s end, which meant that as soon as the week was over, Pierre was on a flight to Abu Dhabi. There was little at stake that weekend, Mercedes had taken both the Drivers and Constructors Championship a few races before and so long as Max finished ahead of Charles in the race, he’d be guaranteed 3rd place in the Drivers’ standings, achieving his best finish of his career. Things had been so bad lately that Pierre had considered skipping the last race all together, but despite all his personal problems, he was still a racecar driver at heart and didn't want to pass up the opportunity to watch the race from the garage.
It was hard to quiet the voice in the back of his head that whispered that this might be his last race as an F1 employee. The team was happy with his work and even if it were a mere facsimile of what he wanted to be doing, he was still a valuable resource that wasn't easily replaced. Rationally he knew that there was little chance he’d be let go at the end of the season, but even the most straightforward logic was no match against one’s own self-doubt, and Pierre rationalized his thinking by convincing himself that being surprised was better than hoping for something and ending up disappointed. 
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December 2019 Abu Dhabi Grand Prix; Yas Island, Abu Dhabi
Pierre arrived late enough in the evening that all there was time for was a quick check in with Christian before heading up to his room. Max had sent him a message asking him if he wanted to play FIFA when he got in, but Pierre had declined, giving the excuse that he didn’t want to disrupt Max’s pre-race routine despite knowing that Max didn’t strictly prescribe to such measures like most of the other drivers. For the same reasons, Pierre didn’t bother to text Charles to let him know that he was also in Abu Dhabi, knowing that his own presence would probably be a distraction. There would be plenty of time after the race for them to catch up. 
The lead up to lights out was uneventful for Pierre, who spent most of the afternoon chatting with Alex and Max during their downtime between meetings and press obligations before they had to retreat to get ready for the race.  
The race itself was fairly uneventful, but there was a buzz in the garage after the podium ceremony, the energy distinctly distinguishable from the normal post race chatter. Max’s second place finish secured his third place finish in the Driver’s standings, the highest finish for a Red Bull driver since Daniel three seasons prior. That success coupled with the relief that the long season was finally over was palpable as the mechanics and pit crew chatted about their off seasons plans as they packed up the garage. 
Once the last of the post race photos had been taken, Pierre made his way back to Red Bull Energy Station, weaving his way around various members of the paddock and carts of equipment, not in any hurry to get out of there and end up in the post race traffic that flooded the area as fans made their way away from the circuit. On a normal day, most of the crowds and cars would have dissipated by the time Pierre was ready to leave, the lengthy post race debriefs every team conducted ensuring that even the most dedicated fans would have made their way home by the time their favorite drivers left. But today, there was little need for such a meeting, not when it was the end of the season and the new year would bring a new car and new challenges. No, instead, Pierre was all but dragging his feet not wanting to be alone with his thoughts.
He almost didn’t hear the shouting of his name until he was almost to the glass doors that were the only thing separating him from the chaos of the paddock and temporary salvation. “Pierre, wait!”
A hand closed around his elbow and he looked up to see Charles standing next to him, face still sticky with champagne from the podium celebration, red race suit mostly unzipped, the upper half hanging off his body, the only salvation he could find in the hot Abu Dhabi air.
Charles looked as exhausted as Pierre felt, but there was a relaxed look of satisfaction on his face. Pierre knew that he wasn’t satisfied knowing that third place in the standings had been in his grasp, he also knew that Charles could also see the big picture and would find his overall result at the end of the season a kind of victory itself. He’d proven that his promotion to Ferrari wasn’t premature and that he deserved to represent the future of the team.
“I didn’t know that you would be here this weekend,” he said, voice louder than usual as to be heard over the elevated noise of the paddock.  
“I got in last night,” Pierre shrugged, glancing at Charles’ hand that was still wrapped around his elbow.
Charles let him go, frowning now, a look of hurt flashing in his eyes.
Normally the wounded look would have made Pierre’s heart lurch, he hated hurting Charles, his best friend had experienced too much pain for someone his age that he never wanted to be the one to ever add to Charles’ burden in anyway, but after the year he’d had, Pierre was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to sleep for the next week, even if it meant ditching his best friend. 
“But you didn’t say anything,” Charles repeated earnestly, as if wanting to believe that Pierre wouldn’t have intentionally left him in the dark, not when it had been months since they’d seen each other and even longer since they’d had a proper conversation.
“I’m here for the team,” Pierre shrugged, for Max and Alex, hanging unsaid in the air between them and Charles took a step back, the look of hurt now reflected on his face, no longer fleeting but permanent.
Pierre knew that the rivalry between Charles and Max had fizzled out a long time ago, that the intense hatred that they felt for each other as kids, as rivals going head-to-head in go karts had turned into mutual respect as they had grown and matured as both drivers and people. But at the same time, hearing that your best friend had chosen someone other than you still stung and upon hearing this, Charles looked away, his hand nervously running through his hair. 
Despite everything, Pierre still wasn’t that cruel and even in his exhausted state he didn’t want to permanently damage his relationship with Charles even if, in the moment, it would have given him some satisfaction to hurt Charles, to make him feel the pain that Pierre had been carrying around with him for months. But logic won out and he did his best to bury the feelings of inadequacy that had been plaguing him, instead, trying to convince himself that it wasn’t Charles’ fault that Pierre felt like a failure.
“I was going to text you after the race.” A lie, but not one so outrageous that would give Charles a reason to doubt him. His mother always told him that he had an honest face; maybe it was the product of being the youngest, the baby of the family, or maybe it was part of the endless optimism he used to have— a quality that he seems to have lost as he’d grown older, more jaded. “You wouldn’t have been able to see me until later anyway.”
That part was true. Between final strategy meetings, race prep, and the chaos of it being the last race of the season, coupled with the fact that Charles still had his final place in the standings to fight for, there was no way the two of them would have been able to spend any significant amount of time together; and even if they could, there’s no way either of their teams would have appreciated them hanging out, not with Charles and Max being so close in the championship.
Charles nodded, the look of hurt still on his face, but seemingly willing to accept Pierre’s excuse. “We must go out then,” he said, stepping back to make his leave. “Later of course.”
“Of course,” Pierre echoed despite the bone deep exhaustion weighing heavily on his shoulders. There was the end of season party that Red Bull would be hosting too, but that would be so busy that he’d only need to make an appearance if he wanted to; be seen by all the right people before sneaking off to crash in his hotel room for a few hours before flying back to the UK. Most of the Red Bull staff would be so drunk that it really didn’t matter if he was there or not. He could sleep on the plane, use the time between Christmas and the new year to catch up on all the rest he’d missed out on over the last few months. He wouldn’t have much to do then, it would just be him alone with his thoughts.
Despite the bitterness and jealousy that had made a home in Pierre’s chest, Charles was still his best friend and he missed him. Missed the ease that came with knowing someone better than you knew yourself, the ease of being able to talk about anything or to sit in silence, both equally as comfortable. He missed the feeling of being known, of being understood, of being loved and appreciated unconditionally knowing that he didn’t need to keep proving over and over that he was worthy of that love and appreciation. But most of all, Pierre missed the silence that came with being with someone who knew you as well as Pierre and Charles knew each other. The thoughts of self-doubt, of uncertainty, it all went away when they were together because none of that was important so long as they were friends. Pierre wanted that feeling back, he just wasn’t sure if he was worthy of it.
“Dinner?” Charles suggested, briefly glancing over his shoulder at the chaos of the paddock behind him. He’ll be all but required to meet up with the rest of the team later to celebrate the end of the season; Pierre could come along if he wanted, but they both knew that he shouldn't if he wanted to remain in Horner and Marko's good graces.
Pierre nodded. “And drinks.”
Charles scoffed. “But of course, mate. That is a given.”
A genuine smile tugged at the corners of Pierre’s lips, the first in who knows how long, and the sensation made his cheeks burn at the exertion. “Text me when you’re finished.” He gestured generally at the paddock around them knowing that even though the season was now over, Charles probably had a million and one things to do before he left the track.
“Of course,” Charles repeated with a grin of his own before heading back toward the Ferrari motorhome.
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Late December 2019 Red Bull Racing HQ; Milton Keynes, UK
Pierre was no stranger to Horner's office; he'd spent many days sitting in the brightly lit room with its big windows and photos of historic Red Bull moments hanging from the walls. The man behind the desk didn't have a commanding presence when you first looked at him, but looks were deceiving and in Pierre's experience, it never did anyone well to underestimate Christian Horner. He wasn’t as scary as dealing with a post race phone call from Helmut, Horner dealt with drivers on too regular of a basis to ever be an effective boss with such a domineering personality, but that didn’t mean he was a pushover. Not in the slightest.
No, this man could make or break Pierre’s career and he knew better than to cross him.
"We've been looking at the data," Horner began, sliding a tablet across his desk for Pierre to look at. Displayed on the screen was telemetry data that compared his sim times with the actual times of the two Toro Rosso drivers. He flipped through the graphs as Horner continued, "and you've done an excellent job in the sim, we'd like to give you the chance to prove yourself."
Pierre's head shot up, waiting for the other shoe to drop, but Horner said nothing, instead watching Pierre with that intense look, his hands folded neatly in front of him. Once he was sure he had Pierre's undecided attention, he continued. “A spot has opened up, and as part of Toro Rosso’s rebrand into Alpha Tauri, and we want to promote you into that seat.”    
Horner was smiling at him as Pierre hesitated, waiting for the other shoe to drop. It was the end of December and all of the driver lineups had been confirmed for months at this point, including Red Bull and the newly named AlphaTauri. Objectively, Pierre knew that there probably wasn’t anyone as qualified as he to fill in the role on short notice; as far as he knew, none of the rookie drivers had enough license points to qualify and none had logged nearly as many hours in the sim as he had, but that didn’t explain why a seat was suddenly open and who he’d be replacing.
When neither of them spoke, Pierre half shocked into silence, half waiting for further explanation, he finally said, “You’re joking. You’re pulling my leg.”
His reaction made Horner laugh, but even with the ease that his boss was demonstrating, Pierre was still on edge, not sure what to expect or how to respond. Recognizing that Pierre was in a state of disbelief, Horner opened a drawer and pulled out a file folder and set it on the desk in front of Pierre. "This is the initial offer, take it to your team and we can schedule a date to discuss the full terms and details. Welcome to Formula 1, Pierre." 
Pierre took the folder, not daring to open it just yet, his grip so tight on the shiny Red Bull Racing folder that he was probably creasing the pages within, his fingerprints smudging the otherwise pristine navy-blue surface. “Was there anything else that you wanted to discuss?” he asked, still not believing what was happening, certain that there were other reasons why he had been summoned to Horner’s office.
But in response, his boss shook his head, a knowing smile on his face, the look of a man who had given the same news to several drivers before Pierre and knew that sometimes it took some time to sink in. “Go home and take the rest of the year off, Pierre. Call your family, get spectacularly drunk, do whatever it is you want to do to celebrate. Come back in the new year ready to work.”
He nodded and stood, Horner following suit and offering Pierre his hand in congratulations, which Pierre shook, still a little dazed by the news. “We’ll set up a meeting for you to meet with Franz and the two of you can make plans for you to meet the rest of the team.”
Nodding again, he cleared his throat, not quite trusting his voice, but pressed on. “Thank you so much, this is a dream come true.”
Horner smiled, not quite as unnerving as Marko’s, but there was still something behind it, something shark-like that even after all this time as part of the Red Bull program, Pierre wasn’t sure what to make of it. “Enjoy your holiday, Pierre.”
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He waited until the lead up to Christmas to tell his family, he and his brothers and their families all crammed under his parent’s roof to celebrate the holiday, accidentally elbowing each other at the dinner table, his youngest nephew screaming with delight at something only he could comprehend.
His family had been elated at the news, all of them jockeying to try and hug him, maneuvering around the dining room table difficult with so many people, their voices growing louder and louder as they all tried to make their congratulations heard. Some of his younger niblings didn’t quite understand what was going on, but they cheered and screamed too, wanting to be part of the celebrations, their shrill voices rising above everything else.  
The reaction of his family made everything feel real, like the volume of the rest of the world had been on mute while Pierre glided through it, unsure of where he was or what he was doing; but now, now it was like the knob had been turned up to eleven, the joy and praise of the people he loved most, of the people who would love him unconditionally breaking through the fog that he’d been lost in for the last several months. His family who had given everything up for him to chase this dream, the ones who would cheer him on on victory and would console him in defeat and yet would love the all the same no matter where he finished, these were the people he raced for.
His dad joked that Pierre better get him and his mom paddock passes for his first race, his brother teasing him, asking Pierre if he’d be able to steal the keys to his new F1 car to take it for a spin, fully knowing that formula cars didn’t use keys. Across the table, one of his sister-in-law’s and his mother were asking another of Pierre’s brother’s about AlphaTauri, how well they did last season and how well they could expect Pierre to do in the car they’d developed.
It was overwhelming, their reaction, and for as much as he loved them, for as much as he wanted to celebrate this accomplishment with them, the people who had seen how hard he’d worked, who’d seen where he came from and where he was going, but looking at the table at all of them, there was still something that had settled in Pierre’s chest long ago that even all the love and support of his family couldn’t quite shake it. As much as he wanted to relish in their praise, to selfishly be the center of attention even if just for a night, what he wanted more was to make his escape to his old room and curl up in the small twin bed he’d long outgrown, seeking out the silence and the loneliness that he’d grown accustomed to.
When things had settled down and dinner had been consumed, he helped his mother clear the table and clean up the kitchen as his brothers and their families went into the family room, using the time to get the kids settled, the anticipation of opening presents was so exciting that it threatened to overwhelm them and evolve into a full-on meltdown if not handled properly. As he diligently scraped the plates clean and arranged them neatly in the dishwasher, his mother paused to look at him.
“What did Charles say when you told him? He must have been elated.”
Pierre looked down at the plate in his hands under the guise of continuing to clean as to avoid his mother’s eyes. Charles had been the second person he’d wanted to tell as soon as he’d gotten out of sight of Horner’s office, the first being his parents, but he’d waited, rationalizing that it would be better to break the news in person. Waiting the extra week plus to see the pride and excitement his parents and the rest of his family had been more than worth it and, in his mind, he rationalized that waiting to tell Charles would be the same.
Continuing to look down, he told his mother this, missing the sad but knowing smile she gave him.
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Charles had mentioned hanging out during the winter break before things got too busy with car launches and testing, the time between the end of the season and the start of the next getting shorter and shorter as more and more races were added to the calendar. He had initially mentioned the time between Christmas and New Year’s when things were as busy; most of the factory staff was taking a much needed break before the ramp up to the new season and the drivers were scattered to the four corners of the earth, some at home, some with family, some on vacation relaxing before they were expected to get back into the car and do it all over again.
Except there was no all over again for Pierre. It was going to be a brand new experience and he was equal parts excited and terrified that he’d mess everything up. When he took to the track in Barcelona in a couple months, it wouldn’t be his first time in an F1 car, but he knew that this was his chance to prove himself, to prove to Red Bull, the people in the paddock and to the fans that he belonged in F1. He knew that Red Bull could be a little ruthless with it came to drivers, even in a sport as competitive as F1, the organization had a reputation for tossing drivers aside when it looked like they weren’t getting up to speed quickly enough, and he was determined that he wasn’t going to be another driver who was talented, but not talented enough for F1. No, once he got that seat, he was going to keep it.
With that in mind, he threw everything he had into prepping for the new season. He studied track layouts until they were committed to memory, practicing every track on next year’s calendar on his home sim until he could drive them with his eyes closed, his dreams filled with visions speeding down the main straight at Paul Ricard, the home crowd cheering for him, distinguishable even over the sound of the engine. He worked out even more than he did before, now under the careful eye of a performance coach, his shoulders getting broader, arms thicker with corded muscle.
He pushed himself more than he had before, but instead of spending countless hours at the factory testing setups and running simulated runs for the benefit of other drivers, he was doing it for himself, ensuring that when the season started, he would be ready for anything.
But with all this extra work, it meant that he didn’t have time to hang out with Charles. This season's other new drivers, Pierre’s former friend turned rival Esteban Ocon returning after a season without a seat, and newcomer Nicholas Latifi had a head start of several months to prepare for the upcoming season while Pierre was stuck playing catch up. Every time that Charles texted, asking if Pierre could fly out to Monaco to escape the rain and fog of the UK in favor of a slightly warmer climate and the weak winter Mediterranean sun— even if just for a weekend— Pierre always declined, worried that a day he wasn’t working on racing would be a day he’d fall even further behind. 
Pierre hated to blow off one of his best friends like this, and he suspected that now that Charles wasn’t dealing with sponsors and flying off the new countries several times a month, he was starting to catch on that Pierre was disengaged from their friendship, but even the knowing that his friend was no longer buying his excuses, Pierre was still making them. He rationalized his behavior by telling himself that they’d have more time to catch up this season when they be at the same place almost every weekend, but the voice inside his head kept telling him that if he kept blowing Charles off like this, he might not have a friend to hang out with come the start of the season.
All of this could be avoided if Pierre were honest and told Charles why he was busy, but for some reason, he hadn’t yet told him about his promotion to F1. Rationally, he knew that he should tell him sooner rather than later; AlphaTauri and Red Bull had yet to announce anything and as far as the press were concerned, AlphaTauri’s line up was still the same one that was announced part way through last season. There was no reason not to tell Charles, the deal was already complete, modifications to the original offer had only taken a few days to negotiate and the ink on the contract had been dry before the holidays. Pierre knew that his best friend wouldn’t have wanted to hear it from anyone but him, but there was something about admitting it before it was announced, like there was the possibility that it could all be taken away before it was put into the world.
Telling his family had been one thing, but telling someone who knew you better than you knew yourself? Telling someone with whom you’d shared your hopes and dreams with since you were small children? For some reason that was far scarier.
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His introduction as one of the drivers for the newly branded AlphaTauri had been announced at the launch of the new car, the press immediately running to be the first tweet out the news, journalist speculation fueling fan theories as to why things had changed in a matter of months. Immediately after the brand new white and navy livery was revealed, the press was all over him, asking questions about the upcoming season, looking for any clue as to why he would be in the car instead of who the team had originally announced.
Pierre wasn't used to the media wanting to talk to him. Sure, he'd given an interview here or there after winning the GP2 championship, had appeared once or twice on the French broadcast to promote the team and talk about the drivers, but other than those short stints, no one really cared about the mostly anonymous driver who had been sidelined for the last few seasons. The experience was overwhelming, the crowd of reporters jockeying for position as they swarmed him, the number of people and cameras so packed together that he couldn't see the room beyond.
He gave prepared, measured answers, careful to not reveal more than what the team wanted him to say, the media strategy having been carefully crafted by the team of PR specialists that Pierre had never needed to interact with until now. Daniil had been helpful, they had similar senses of humor and used it to their advantage, much to the amusement of the various journalists who were covering the event, but even their improv and off the cuff statements didn’t give away too much. 
After what seemed like an eternity later, Pierre was free, the weight on his chest finally lifting as he escaped to the green room, finally able to change out of his race suit, the methodical, familiar motion of separating the Velcro at his neck then pulling the zipper down until he could shuck off the fabric was a comforting feeling that he hadn’t realized he’d missed until now. It wasn’t the same as peeling out of the suit like it was a second skin, the light fabric drenched in sweat after a good, hard race, but that was coming, all Pierre had to do was be patient.
There was a short media debrief that he needed to attend before he could head home and take care of the mass of notifications that no doubt had flooded his phone over the course of the last several hours, but first he wanted to post something to social media, his official announcement to the fans who had stuck by him as he’d waited for this opportunity. The dizzying number of WhatsApp messages, texts, and Twitter notifications coupled with a handful of missed calls and voicemails were all ignored as he opened up Instagram.
“FORMULA 1!!!!!!!” he typed out quickly, a photo of him standing proudly next to the new AT01 having been sent to him by someone from the PR team specifically for this purpose. “So excited to represent @AlphaTauriF1 this season! Thank you to the team and to @RedBullRacing for making a dream come true! #LetsGetToWork”
It was a pretty standard post as far as announcements went, it didn’t express even a fraction of how excited and nervous he was, but even if he had thousands of words to convey how he was feeling, he’d never be able to put into words the elation at finally achieving he’d been working toward for most of his life.
He sighed, remembering that this hadn’t been just his dream and that Formula 1 had been a dream he’d shared with others, including Charles with whom he still hadn’t told about his promotion. The guilty side of him wanted to wait until after the debrief, until after he’d gotten home and eaten to give him the chance to soak it all in, but that was a lie.
Pierre was still hiding from Charles, was still doing whatever he could to avoid him and had been doing so since Monza the previous year. The fact was that he’d been lying to himself for nearly half a year, pushing one of his best friends aside as he buried himself deeper and deeper into working, using his job and ambition as an excuse to avoid taking a step back and reflecting on how much he’d lost himself in the past year.
He was punishing himself, there was no denying it, but what was a little more pain at this point? He’d probably hurt Charles more than enough lately, so maybe he deserved it. The sooner confessed and let Charles be mad at him, the sooner he could apologize and beg Charles for forgiveness. His friend had a gentle heart and while mad, would probably forgive Pierre, but Pierre wasn’t sure if he deserved it.
Against his better judgment, he swiped down on his phone, scrolling through notifications until found what he was looking for.
Missed Call Calamar 🦑(5)
Pierre shook his head and swiped away the missed call notification. It was just like Charles to call him multiple times and not leave him a voicemail despite knowing that Pierre was probably talking to the media, but usually when Charles was excited or upset, logic often went out the window. 
Knowing that there was no escaping it now, he switched over to his texts, ignoring the notifications with messages of congratulations from other drivers and colleagues, seeking out his thread with Charles.
From Calamar 🦑: ???????!!!!!!! From Calamar 🦑: What the fuck Pierre, I had to hear the news from Arthur???? From Calamar 🦑: How long have you been keeping this a secret??
His fingers hovered over the keys, not quite sure how he should respond. Pierre couldn’t deny that he’d been avoiding talking to Charles about anything, not just the fact that he’d be on the grid this upcoming season. He’d been relying on the fact that AlphaTauri had waited until just before the car launch to announce that there had been changes to their diver duo, not revealing who would be in the car until everything was announced, the new team, new branding, and new driver combining to hopefully be the most exciting reveal leading up to testing in a few weeks.
Theoretically, he could justify not telling Charles because he had been afraid that any leak would have jeopardized his seat. It seemed more often than not that the rumors that seemed to come out of the paddock were true— or at the very least, had some basis in fact— and Red Bull had wanted to avoid the PR disaster of having the fact that they had to replace one of the drivers on their junior team during the offseason.
Without racing as the focus, any minor scandal that occurred in the off season could have the potential to blow wildly out of proportion as journalists and fans have little to talk about or discuss, resulting in wild speculation fueled by conspiracy theories and the barest of facts to back up their claims.
While Pierre could make up such an excuse, doing so would mean telling Charles— albeit indirectly— that he hadn’t trusted him to keep his promotion a secret, which couldn’t be further from the truth.
The truth was Pierre hadn’t wanted to tell Charles. At first, he didn’t know how to, but then he came to the realization that the prospect of telling Charles about his promotion filled him with a dread that he couldn’t describe or pinpoint the reason behind. He wasn’t excited to tell him that the dream they had shared as kids was becoming a reality and it made him feel like a horrible person. Pierre knew he couldn’t tell Charles all of  that without his best friend demanding they immediately meet face to face to work things out, so instead, he’d done what he’d gotten good at in the last year: throw himself into work to escape his problems.
Choosing on taking the cowards way out once again, Pierre fumbled to write a quick response, hoping that Charles was so happy for him that he didn’t dig too deep into Pierre’s reasoning.
To Calamar 🦑: I signed the contract a little over a month ago and have been drowning in pre-season prep ever since 🤣🤣🤣 To Calamar 🦑: I feel like I haven’t had any time to think let alone do anything else 🤪
It was a feeble excuse, although not entirely untrue, but it would have to do.
It was strange, facing the fact that you’d been running from something, but even with acknowledging that he wasn’t fine, it wasn’t something that Pierre wanted to examine too closely right now. He was on the verge of being able to call himself a Formula 1 driver, something that he’d been working toward since he was a kid, and he didn’t want to taint the memory of finally making it by spending too much time examining his behavior the past few months.
No, his dreams were finally starting to come true, and he knew that if he just waited a little longer, everything was going to be fine.
How could they not be?
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February 2020 Testing; Barcelona, Spain
The bright Spanish sunshine did little to warm Pierre up as he jogged from the garage back to the joint Alpha Tauri/Red Bull hospitality building, the sleeves of his race suit swinging freely from his hips as the click of a camera’s shutter followed him as he exited the garage.  
His first session in the car had gone better than expected with him ending up in the top five for the day— at one point even taking the fastest lap of the session— a feat he hadn’t expected when he got in the car that morning, but there was still work to be done. He’d spun early on, not quite to grips with being back in a racecar, but overall, the team had been pleased with what he had shown in the morning session and he was excited to get back out on track.  
“Pierre!”
Max was heading toward him with his hand raised in greeting, dressed in his Red Bull polo, his racing gear not necessary today with Alex taking over driving duties for both sessions. He stopped, waiting for the other driver to catch up to him so they could walk inside the motorhome together, but Max didn’t seem to be in a rush to get inside just yet, choosing to lean against the railing that separated the hospitality building from the rest of the paddock despite the chill that hadn’t quite abated in the late afternoon sunshine.
“You looked good out there. How did it feel, being in the car for the first time?”
Pierre shrugged with a laugh, “I think my arms are going to fall off and my shoulders and neck are killing me.” Max joined in on the laughter as Pierre rolled his shoulders and neck with a grimace to emphasize his point, his muscles protesting at the movement, but for now it was the good kind of pain, the kind that hit you after a long workout. “All the working out I did over the break doesn’t seem to have helped me in any way.” 
“It doesn’t matter how often you work out, I think,” Max explained. “You can do all the exercises in the world, but nothing compares to the actual G-Forces in the car and it takes actually driving to get used to it.”
Max trailed off and raised his hand high in greeting, focused on someone walking through the paddock. Pierre half expected it to be Daniel who was often by Max’s side during the weekend despite the pair no longer being teammates, but Pierre followed Max’s gaze and saw Charles leaving the Ferrari garage with Sebastian and several members of their team, his eyes locked on Pierre and Max not listening to what looked like a lively conversation between Sebastian and one of their mechanics. Pierre tried to work up the courage to call out to Charles, to do something familiar, but as soon as he realized Pierre was looking at him, Charles looked away and continued following his teammate into the Ferrari motorhome.
Guilt swirled in the pit of Pierre’s stomach, but he did his best to try and push it away. It was his fault that he and Charles weren’t talking, but he couldn’t worry about it now, he had a job to do. 
Next to him, Max’s forehead furrowed in confusion, trying to take in what was happening. “What’s wrong with him? Is Ferrari’s car shit again?”
There were times, even after he’d known Max for as long as he had, that Pierre wasn’t sure if Max was joking or not. He wasn’t sure if it was a Dutch thing or a Max thing, but despite having a great sense of humor, his jokes and criticisms were often said in the same blunt tone and this was just another occasion where Pierre wasn’t sure if he should laugh, not that he was able to.
Charles hadn’t reached out after Pierre had texted him his excuse as to why he hadn’t told him that he’d been given a seat, and Pierre was beginning to suspect that Charles had started to put the pieces together and had realized that Pierre had been purposefully avoiding him.
He wanted nothing more than to have his best friend by his side, to be able to share this experience together, but Pierre was so deep in his self-loathing it consumed him, and at this point, he was more afraid of Charles' rejection than anything. He'd rather have his best friend mad at him than not be a passing thought in Charles' mind, so he kept to himself and didn't offer an explanation. 
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By the time Pierre was free to leave, the sun had set and a chill had settled over the shadowy paddock, the yellowish light coming from the lights mounted on the sides of the garages casting long shadows along the pavement. He shivered, wishing that he had his sweatshirt but it was probably stashed away somewhere in his driver’s room with Pyry who was waiting for him so they could drive back to the hotel and go over tomorrow’s schedule.
He started jogging in that direction, wanting to be out of the cold and hoping that by getting his blood flowing he could get some feeling back into his fingers, but as he rounded around a tire cart, he ran into someone, sending them both to the ground.
“Oh my god, are you alright?” a familiar voice said and Pierre looked up to see Charles pushing himself up off the ground, unaware of whom he’d just run into.
“I— yeah,” Pierre mumbled, wanting nothing more in that moment to disappear. Of all the people, it had to be Charles. He debated on not getting up, on staying on the ground, waiting to be swallowed up, but he couldn’t, so instead he sighed to himself and slowly got to his feet. He sensed rather than saw the moment Charles realized who he’d run into, his body stiffening as he recognized Pierre.  
“Sorry,” was all Pierre could offer, still not looking at Charles, instead checking his hands for any scrapes or bruises, flexing his arms and rotating his wrists to see if he’d hurt anything as he’d fallen.
“So you do know how to apologize,” Charles said bitterly, his tone making Pierre look up at him in shock. “I’d thought you had forgotten.”
Pierre had dealt with a moody Charles before, knew that there were times that Charles could be petulant, more like a spoiled child than the twenty-something man he’d grown to be, but he had never been on the receiving end of his anger. And more than anything, he knew that this time Charles’ anger was justified, that he deserved Pierre dropping to his knees and groveling, begging for Charles’ forgiveness, but Pierre was too much of a coward to give him what he deserved.
Instead, he mumbled a quick “See you later, Charles,” and turned away, heading back toward the joint Red Bull/Alpha Tauri hospitality building, unable to see the anger and betrayal in Charles’ eyes any longer.
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September 2020 Italian Grand Prix; Monza, Italy
Pierre was sticky with champagne, his race suit heavy, soaked with his sweat and the remainder of the podium celebration that he’d participated in from the top step mere minutes before. The crowd below in the pitlane had dispersed, mechanics going to pack up the garage— cargo needing to be shipped to the next track before they could head off and enjoy what little was left of their weekend— drivers having disappeared to clean up before having to endure yet another race debrief where every detail was picked over as the team of strategists and engineers tried to figure out where they could make up time, even a tenth of a second meaning the difference between a good result and a disastrous one.
He knew that he too would need to join them, to leave the podium behind, trophy in one hand, magnum bottle of champagne in the other, the black and gold hat crowning him the race winner fit snugly around his head, but he couldn't make himself do it, not yet. He needed a shower, needed to pluck off the confetti that clung to his clothing, needed to replace the mask that smelled like champagne and stuck to his face like a second skin, but he continued to sit, soaking it all in.
Footsteps approached him, probably someone from F1 or track management here to tell him that he needed to leave the podium and return to the team, but they didn’t. Whoever it was took a seat next to him on the top step and waited silently.
He looked up to see Charles, dressed in his Ferrari polo and a pair of jeans, looking at the empty grandstands and the main straight where a year ago fans cheered as he stood on this very step and hoisted his trophy high into the air, confetti raining down around him— the King of Monza, the Ferrari Prince, il Predestinato. There had been no cheering fans this time, not for Pierre, just what seemed like the entire paddock in the pitlane below, everyone seemingly excited for him and in many ways, Pierre preferred it that way. It was the people he worked with or alongside who knew what struggles he’d gone through while waiting in the wings, waiting for his chance to prove what he was made of, and it was those people who understood best what it meant to him. With no fans in attendance, he was able to relish the moment a little longer, able to soak it in and finally start letting go of all of the stress that had been weighing him down. He wouldn’t have any other way. 
Part of him wondered what Charles was doing here next to him. They hadn’t spoken to each other that weekend and hadn’t been speaking much at all, not since their awkward encounter in Barcelona several months prior. Even when they had been forced to quarantine in their homes, when Pierre couldn’t go home to be with his family and was left alone in his small Bologna apartment they hadn’t bothered making up, both drivers stubbornly choosing silence in what had to be one of the most isolating times of their lives. Charles had filled up his time by streaming with some of the other drives, namely George, Alex, and Lando, the four of them forming a little F1 streaming gang while Pierre opted to keep his gaming away from the prying eyes of fans, only a few old friends and former GP2 rivals he was still close to as witnesses to his inability to pick up shooting games.
“I was cheering for you,” Charles said after a long stretch of silence, his voice barely audible over music blasting in one of the garages, loud enough to be audible from the podium platform. “Seb and I both asked to delay the briefing so we could watch you win.”
Sebastian was the only other winner in the Toro Rosso/Alpha Tauri team’s history, and like Pierre, he had claimed his first victory at Monza some twelve seasons earlier, back when Pierre and Charles were still in karts and could only dream about racing in Formula One. Pierre had looked up to Sebastian as a child, had watched him claim his four Championships and had dreamed of doing the same; maybe it was too early to hope to follow in his footsteps, to hope that his career could reach a fraction of the success Sebastian had achieved, but Pierre hadn’t gotten here by dreaming small.
But for now, it was enough to know that Sebastian had been rooting for him.     
Guilt twinged Pierre’s stomach when he realized that he should be happy that Charles had been rooting for him to, that even after Pierre had pushed him away, Charles still cared enough to want Pierre to win, that he still wanted Pierre to fulfill their childhood dream, F1 Drivers, race winners, World Champions. Despite what countless people had told them, despite the kids at school that had bullied Pierre and had told him that he was wasting his time, that he wasn’t good enough, the two of them had managed the improbable and achieved the first two. They were here, together, both winners at Monza.
“You shouldn’t have,” Pierre said stubbornly, “I don’t deserve your support, not after everything.”
Charles huffed, “Yeah, maybe, but I did it anyway and you can’t do anything about it now.”
Pierre didn’t have a response to that, so he continued to sit in silence. He knew that if he didn’t take advantage of this, of the olive branch Charles was offering, then their friendship was probably as good as dead. But despite knowing that this was his last chance, there were so many things that he wanted to say that he didn’t know where to start; he was frozen, terrified of saying the wrong thing. So, he continued to sit there, soaking in the moment.
“I don’t understand, why didn’t you tell me you’d been offered a seat?” Charles said, breaking the silence again.
Pierre had asked himself this same question countless times over the past few months, particularly on the nights he had been alone and unable to fall asleep, his only company being the thoughts that still swirled around in his head, the ones that hadn’t been silenced when he had finally achieved his lifelong dream.
“I—” Pierre hesitated and licked his lips, not sure where to start, but where was a better place and the beginning? “Last year,” he said finally. “You won here, do you remember?”
Charles looked at him, confused, and Pierre continued. Of course, Charles remembered winning at Monza, they both did. “I stood in the pit lane, watching you get your trophy.” He gestured to the long straight below them, remembering what it had been like to look up Charles, to see the red, white, and green confetti raining from the sky as the loyal Ferrari fans sang along as the Italian anthem played, flags waving widely as the sea of supporters cheered for Charles, their future champion.
“I was jealous.”
There were a million words that he could say, countless ways to explain why he had acted the way he had, but when it came down to it, the root of why he had distanced himself from Charles was because he had been jealous.
Jealous that his best friend had achieved his dream of racing in F1 and that he had found success, that he had made it to a top team that believed him, who was willing to favor him over a proven race winner and champion, that he had not only made it, but that it was more than possible that he could add his name and signature to the Championship Trophy, that his legacy would be cemented alongside the greats of the sport.
“Watching you up here, lifting up the trophy above your head. I wanted that for myself.” Pierre looked down at his feet, knowing how selfish it sounded, but if he wanted things with Charles to return to some kind of normal, he needed to be honest, needed to be willing to have the difficult conversation that he’d been avoiding for a year. If Charles still hated him after Pierre bared his soul, then so be it, but now that they were here, he wasn’t going to allow himself to leave the podium without knowing one way or another.
“I was happy for you too, of course, and I hated myself for being jealous because you deserve all the success in the world.”
Pierre felt fingers wrap around his wrist and he looked up to see Charles watching him, eyes wide with concern. Knowing that maybe, just maybe Charles didn’t hate him gave Pierre the courage to keep going.
“I guess it probably started before Monza, jealousy doesn’t come out of nowhere, no? But that weekend was when I first realized. I went home after and didn’t want to feel anything. I kept pushing myself, working longer hours, doing more at the factory because I didn’t want to be alone, or have enough time to stop and think about how miserable I was.
“I didn’t want to bother you with my problems because you were so happy, deservedly so, so I kept it to myself thinking that it would go away and I guess it never really did.”
“But we hung out in Abu Dhabi, you seemed okay then,” Charles frowned, brows furrowed in confusion. “A little tired maybe, but we all were.”
Pierre smiled ruefully and shook his head, remembering what had ended up being the last time he and Charles hung out together. There were times that night that he had been able to forget that it felt like he was drowning in his own emotions— and in those brief moments of respite, things with Charles had felt normal— but when the conversation lulled, and especially after the two had gone their separate ways at the end of the night, remembering the moments of peace made Pierre feel even worse. It was like he was punishing himself for his brief moments of happiness and whatever good feelings the night had left him with had quickly dissipated.
“I never thought I was that good of an actor,” he chuckled, “but maybe if racing doesn't work out, I should give that a try next, no? I never thought I was good at keeping secrets from you.”
Charles’s frown deepened. “Don’t joke like that.”
His tone surprised Pierre, who wasn’t used to Charles speaking with this much force. Charles was usually more easy going, assertive at times when he knew what he wanted, but never sharp, not even when he was angry; at times he could be petulant, more like the youngest sibling rather than the middle child that he was, but even with all their years of friendship, Pierre had never heard Charles sound so defiant.
“You belong here, with us,” Charles gestured aimlessly around them, at the podium, down toward the paddock below, then finally at the trophy still clutched in his hands, the twin of the one Charles had lifted high above his head the year before as Pierre had watched him, jealousy curling in the pit of his stomach as confetti rained down and the crowd cheered for their hero. “That is proof.
“You won a Formula 1 race, Pierre, only about a hundred people can say that they’ve achieved that in like 70 years of racing. No matter what happens after today, you’re a part of history and they can’t take that away from you. Our names are forever tied to this sport; we made it together, just like we planned. You deserve this, you earned this through hard work and determination and never giving up. I’m proud of you.”
The look on Charles’ face— the fierce determination in his eyes, the stubbornness of his pout— reminded Pierre of when they were kids, dreaming about making it to Formula 1, of the times they stayed up while on vacation together and dreamed about racing alongside each other. As they had grown older, those dreams never wavered. When Pierre had been told that he’d never amount to anything, that it would be better if he just gave up, Charles had reassured him that they were going to make it, they were going to be the ones who defied the odds.
And he had been right.
Despite setbacks and hardships, despite the timing not being quite right at first, they had made it. It may have taken Pierre a little longer than it had taken Charles, but they were here, together, competing at the highest level of motorsport just like they had dreamed.
Pierre didn’t have the words to express to Charles how much he meant to Pierre in that moment, how grateful he was for Charles’ unwavering support, even in the wake of Pierre’s treatment of him over the past year. He knew that he’d have to work to feel like he’d truly earned the forgiveness Charles had given him so easily, but the fear that Charles hated him was easing knowing that after everything, his best friend was still by his side.
“You’re beginning to sound a lot like Sebastian,” Pierre said instead of what he was feeling. “Rattling off all those statistics, I think he’s rubbed off on you.”
Charles scoffed, but the way his eyes lit up betrayed his attempt at looking annoyed; Pierre knew that Charles idolized Sebastian, and that any comparison would be taken as a compliment and that this time was no different. “Mate, come on. He makes fun of me for knowing nothing about this sport, but anything is nothing compared to him.”
Pierre laughed for what felt like the first time in ages, head tipping back as he felt his chest expanding— not just from the gasping breaths that he was taking as Charles grinned next to him, proud that the joke had landed— but from the weight of jealousy and bitterness that had made a home there in the past few months starting to melt away. He knew that things weren’t going to get better immediately, that winning a race and more importantly, the knowledge that Charles was right there fighting with him, for him wasn’t going to fix all his problems, but it was a light at the end of the tunnel, a lifeline that he could cling onto when things were rough and it was more than what he’d thought he’d had when he had felt so alone.
But the laughter, as good as it had felt, was short lived; Pierre’s mask was still soaked with champagne and the damp fabric was sticking to his face as he inhaled, making breathing more difficult.
“We should do something to celebrate,” he said, cheeks still wide with a smile. “Not go out obviously, but—”
“Dinner,” Charles said firmly, cutting him off. “We can order room service and catch up.” That determined look was back in Charles' eyes, and even if he had wanted to, there was no way Pierre could have said no to him. When Charles got his mind set on something, there was no convincing him otherwise.
“I’ll text you,” Pierre promised, standing from the podium, his trophy clutched in one hand, champagne in the other.
“Mate, you better, or else I’m going to come find you.”
Charles stood too and wrapped an arm around Pierre’s shoulders, hip checking him as the pair of them walked off the podium. 
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musical-chick-13 · 9 months
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My God I am so tired of people only talking about mental illness and/or disability in fiction/as a literary theme when they can use it to back up their terrible male faves by saying that they Weren't That Bad, Actually and They Belong To A Marginalized/Unfairly Demonized Group, So You Need To Be On Their Side.
#it's like the 'oh this female character is a lesbian' thing that people do to get her ''''out of the way'''' of a given m/m pairing#in the sense that they put this idea/headcanon/etc. out there and then never actually DO anything with it#there's no meaningful engagement with that idea and it's so often only done in service of the men#and is so clearly not rooted in any kind of actual understanding of what that life experience is or a genuine desire to see it explored or#represented. like I know. I KNOW. that I talk about this ad nauseum I /KNOW/ okay.#but I will never know peace until we can ascribe these headcanons/identities/life experiences to characters in a way that#doesn't just involve defending or propping up the (frequently horrible) widely-considered-attractive fictional man du jour#I will forever be discontent if we keep doing this thing where we only bring up mental illness/disability when a popular fictional man#is mean and unpleasant as a way of ''''explaining'''' that behavior#(don't get me started on the way people ACTUALLY treat male characters who are CANONICALLY mentally ill/disabled and DEFINITELY#don't get me started on how they treat ANY woman in fiction-or irl let's be honest-who even shows POTENTIAL HINTS of being these things)#...sorry I said that once I saw irl people I'd probably have less of an Urge to Complain but I guess I was wrong#In the Vents#mc13 once again gets frustrated with how mental illness/disability is treated in fandom spaces#(and everywhere)#my fucking god remember when people tried to keep saying that [redacted] was a neurodivergent/mentally ill icon truly I lost#at least half my braincells over that#*sigh* I gotta get over these Symptoms™ so that I can finish my River Has O/C/D fic
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how’s your fic going for the event? You said you haven’t written for it? Have you made progress?
I also remember you saying you’ve sent in asks to the board too about it right?
.
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seek--rest · 2 years
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what’s this about a breakdown I hear? I absolutely do not have time but I absolutely want in.
join the party bestie it’s a PeterMJ breakdown here always for all of time
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You ever think about how depending on how much of a time skip we get in the next movie, MJ will have forgotten Peter for longer than they ever dated?
Like this is arguably good for them, GOOD FOR THEM, because Peter and MJ are endgame and I’m sorry to the tomdaya teenagers younger fans but being endgame with the (1) person you dated for four months and staying “”””faithful””””” to them for x amount of years is just not realistic lov.
(Not to mention how bizarre that is from MJ’s perspective you’re telling me you want MJ, a whole person who shouldn’t be defined by her romance to anyone, to still be madly in love with a boy she dated when she was a teenager who DID NOT keep his promise? If this is YEARS later? rip I have critical thinking skills + actually love MJ as a person and not just as a shipping projection fantasy but I digress)
This is true in life but especially for Peter Parker and MJ. I can’t believe I’m saying this considering how much I HATED for MONTHS the idea of a OMD type of ending but!!!!! This could be a good thing!!!!!!!!!
We can finally get an /actual/ relationship for the two of them and not just subtext / off screen / we care about them because of their names.
BUT UNTIL THEN I WILL CRY. BREAKDOWN IN THE CHAT TONIGHT.
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vulvader · 2 years
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It is honestly still shocking to me that we're expected to think Will loves Mike and that it's unrequited, all because we actually got to see his personal perspective outside of other characters— this SEASON. (Forget the first two seasons that are just Mike with Will on the brain.)
Meanwhile, the amount of staring, the intensity of the gazes, the flirty tones, the suggestive commentary, the repeated lip glances that Mike served this season— it's something Season 4 Will can't even hope to compete with. How many times did Will glance at Mike's lips this season?
Seriously, this is 14-year-old-trying-to-figure-out-if-their-crush-likes-them-back Psychology 101-level stuff. You can't convince me the showrunners weren't approving of it. The writers are writing a love triangle for a show with a 30-million-dollar budget per episode this season, and the character in question is the person who "needs to choose," and we have nothing on his perspective other than these longing looks and flirty comments and lip glances, and the insane subtext in what they're saying, and the way his relationship with the other person in the love triangle is falling apart. And it's all with the Netflix-approved profit-incentive of drumming up speculation and interest to boost ratings for the final reveal in the final season, estimated to bring in the most dollars.
Like, wake up, America.
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chasingfictions · 2 years
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can you hear me? (there’s no one left to sing to)
Fandom: Yellowjackets
Pairing: Laura Lee x Lottie
Words: 5k
Rating: T
They’re on the banks of the lake, Lottie’s head in Laura Lee’s lap. Both of them lying on their backs, toes sprawled out into the steady lap of the freshwater.
(Or: The only thing Lottie’s still sure of is Laura Lee.)
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Lottie Lee sadfic-established couple fluff fic combo pack. loosely based on me listening to "cassandra" by florence + the machine and having unspeakable emotions. anyway i love them a lot.
read on AO3!!!
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emotionalcadaver · 1 year
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I once again have to go out of town, this time to an entirely different time zone and for much longer than normal; about a week and a half. I don’t normally do well being away from home for very long (or at all, really) and my anxiety/germaphobia has literally convinced me that when I am going to catch COVID from someone on the airplane and die. So. This probably isn’t going to be very much fun.
Anyway if I’m not online very much and posts/chapter updates are slow, that’s why. Please feel free to still send me asks and messages, just know it may take me a bit longer than usual to get to them. Also if I’m posting or responding at weird times, I’m gonna be in a completely different time zone than normal, so that’s why.  
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finally got the fic ive been working on for 3 weeks almost done, tried to save the draft, and none of it was kept so i have to redo the whole thing 🙃 metaphor for my life right now
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