#something in the dirt 2022

[cybercityoedo808]

Something in the Dirt, 2022, dir. Justin Benson & Aaron Moorehead

[demisexualnathanvuornos]

Canon Aces 239/?: Levi Danube (Justin Benson) Something in the Dirt (2022)

[oocstephenkingtv]

Something in the Dirt (2022)

[herewithinthevoid]

Thirty-one days of my favorite horror movies in no particular order. Late again, but it kind of works out in the end because I get to smack these two together in a single post.

Day Ten - Resolution (2012)

Day Eleven - The Endless (2017)

Cosmic horror holds this lovely little warm corner in my heart, and these reside there with other books and movies and whatnot. Honorable mention to the rest of these directors' works below the cut, too, since they're all worth seeing at least once, imho.

Spring (2014)

Synchronic (2019)

Something in the Dirt (2022)

[haveyouseenthishorrormovie]

SUMMARY: When neighbours John and Levi witness shocking supernatural events in their Los Angeles apartment building, they realise documenting the paranormal could inject some much-needed fame and fortune into their humdrum lives.

[batterknowsbetter]

Something in the Dirt/The Endless parallels

[sesiondemadrugada]

Something in the Dirt (Justin Benson & Aaron Moorhead, 2022).

[ennaih]

Every Film I Watch In 2023:

48. Something In The Dirt (2022) - a rewatch

[splatteronmywalls]

[wimbledon2008]

what the hell even happened today i feel like i'm coming off a bender rn

[mickyschumacher]

hi! I love the way you write and I’d love to see some Daniel Ricciardo or Oscar Piastri content!! Older brother’s best friend and something including model!reader or figureskater!reader. I also cannot begin to describe how much I love your Taylor song based fics. I was hooked on Style and Dress, thank you, have a wonderful day :)

𝐈 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐒𝐄𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 .ೃ࿐

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: you don't have much in common with oscar piastri other than three things: you're both rare talents, you know each other through your older brother, and that, unknowingly, you both really like each other.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: older brother's best friend trope! (although not heavily enforced), suggestive but nothing crude, poor ice skating knowledge, mentions of the spa track, crashing and DNFing, reader likes to blame things on alcohol, lily (oscar's current gf) is his ex (oops), slight diss of tsitp, jealousy!!!, scene of harassment and a creepy man, a physical altercation in which oscar gets physically hurt, attending the wounded scene! (sobbing rn), a cute and horribly cheesy, fluffy ending!

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: oscar piastri x figureskater!fem!reader, arthur leclerc x reader

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 5k+ (um srry hehe)

𝐀/𝐍: i wanted to this was oscar but since he's kinda young, i did a one year age gap bc the territory of 'the older brother's best friend' for piastri is alarming to say the least. i also assumed it was a female reader due to my other works, hope that and this whole piece is okay!!

𝐏.𝐒: if you couldn't tell, it's loosely based off of taylor swift's 'i can see you' bc i ended up losing track lmao. sorry for taking FOREVER but coming back from holiday, going straight back into uni, and having writer's block is the worst combo 🤧 as usual, poorly proof read!

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

⋆  •°.  。  .°•  ⋆

In a world of billions, quite strangely yet only logically, there were many talented people across the globe. But very few were be a World Champion let alone the opportunity. You were part of this few. The Youngest World Champion in figure skating in history, a two-time World Champion and the 2022 Olympic winner.

You were a living legacy in your town.

Of course, you couldn't do it without the support of the people you loved. Your parents attended all your competitions. In fact, your father was the one who had brought you to the ice when you were three. And your brother, no matter how much of a menace he was, he was your number one fan. Despite all the things he had to do, he was always there for you.

Your brother was one of those Australian boys who had turned their passion for dirt biking into a career for motorcross racing.

Naturally, he had found a friend who was also very interested in racing. However, instead he loved driving a open wheel single-seater formula racing car at crazy speeds. That friend was Oscar Piastri. A childhood best friend of your brother's and a sort of acquaintance slash family friend of yours.

It worried you two see some of the most important people in your lives risk death almost every day but you enjoyed watching them do something they loved.

You could see it in their eyes when they raced. It was the same passion you had for the ice. The slivers of ice that occasionally touched your skin thrilled you was the same excitement that coursed through the two Aussies when they felt their engines rev.

It was odd. You could've sworn a few days ago, you were all kids playing in the backyard of your house; your brother riding his toy bike while Oscar raced him on foot and you commentated in Oscar's favour to piss your brother off. And now all three of you were leading your careers: you were a competitive figure skater, your brother was slamming the MXGP and Oscar was one of the best rookies introduced to F1 in a while.

Where time had gone... you could not even begin to wonder. Heck, once upon a time you were staring down Oscar in the school hallways because for some reason you could only talk to him outside of school. And now... well, it was complicated to say the least.

You had always liked Oscar. It was difficult not to. He was always around you. The boyish charm, the small smiles, the puppy brown eyes, his offers to help you with your homework, you visiting him when he raced... everything had built up inside you. It was festering.

But that's how you liked it. You didn't want to cross any lines. As heart-racing and flustering as your crush on him was, you could not bear the idea of telling someone who was brotherly to you that you liked him.

It was repulsing.

And as far as his dating history could went, Oscar didn't like you. Oscar wasn't a player but he definitely didn't like being single from what you could tell.

To be honest, considering you didn't see him that much due both of your schedules, nothing between the both of you would've ever happened if you're annual family holiday hadn't happened.

Your family and the Piastri's took time out at least once a year to relax together. And this year, your brother and Oscar's breaks overlapped, and you had persuaded your coach for two weeks off. That was all the both of your parents needed before booking a trip to Greece. Everyone wanted to go when they were younger and now they could finally go.

Two weeks... not much could happen. At least so you thought.

The moment you saw Oscar in Greece, your heart thumped against your chest like it had never before and you knew you were screwed. It was ridiculous. How after all the time did you still like this stupid driver? He was the root cause of your lonely love life. Which for most figure skaters was not a big deal... you had prospect lovers falling left and right. Especially the guys in pair skating. But no... you were head over heels for Oscar out of all people.

With the firm boundaries you had made, you ventured to not make a big deal about what you were feeling and pushed it to the side. But the thing about pushing things away, they have a funny way of coming back up.

━━━━━━━━━━━

On the first night of your much needed vacation, you had found one of the most popular restaurants in Santorini while endlessly browsing through social media and decided to get everyone out of the lovely AirBnB you had rented. Upon arriving, your parents and Oscar's were cooped up on one side of the dining table, leaving the 'kids', as your mother calls you three, on the other.

You released a sigh of content, feeling the crisp breeze dance past your skin in the warm summer evening air while your sip of assyrtiko (Greek white wine) slipped past your throat far too easily. Thank God you had chosen an outdoor restaurant tonight. Every time you were on holiday, you couldn't be more grateful to get away from all the stress. If you could live like this every day, with the warm breezy evenings and the amazing architecture, you would.

"So," your mother started, her voice hitting your direction. You flickered your gaze over to her, raising a brow. "How are my kids' love lives? Are you getting down?" She waggled her eyebrows behind her glasses.

A wave of heat pricked your skin at your mother's words. "Mom!" You hissed out in disbelief while your father and Oscar's parents chuckled.

"What? You guys never tell me anything anymore! I used to be the holder of all your secrets and now... now I am an old woman!" Your mother cried, wiping an invisible tear off of her cheek.

You and your brother blankly looked at her and then towards each other. To say your mother was a character was an understatement. She enjoyed her theatrics far too much for anyone's liking, more specifically you're liking.

Oscar grinned, reaching out his hand to hover over hers. "You could never be an old woman. Always young in my heart."

Your brother snorted at Oscar's cheesiness. After you and your brother, Oscar was your mother's son and Oscar was a suck-up. He liked being in the good books, especially that of your mother's.

"Of course," Your mother chuckled softly, patting Oscar's hand gently. She sucked in a sharp breath. "What happen to you and Lily? I heard you two broke up? I thought you liked her a lot?"

You could see Oscar tense at the mention of his ex, your own body rigid. It wasn't a surprise to you but you actually hated hearing about Oscar's love life. Unrequited feelings were already a bitch and you didn't need to make it any worse.

Oscar cleared his throat, a small smiling tugging at his lips. "I thought I did too..." He trailed off, falling into his own trance momentarily. Suddenly his eyes flickered around his surroundings before they landed on you. "I guess I just saw something I else I liked a lot more."

A slight shiver crept down your spine and your heart travelled towards your ears. You pressed your lips tightly together, furrowing your brows.

What the fuck?

You snapped your eyes away, firmly placing them on your empty plate that suddenly held your entire world. Oscar had never ever looked at you like that. Any time you looked into those puppy browns, they were usually some mix between happy, anger, annoyance, sadness, humour, and the God forbidden 'I-see-you-as-my-sister' type love.

But this... this was something else entirely. The softness of his gaze, his words, the timing of it all; a perfect execution of sorts... it was a first.

Maybe you had taken one too many sips of the wine. It was the only reasonable explanation behind your obvious hallucination.

Sooner or later, the sun would set, a main reason behind your picking of the restaurant. The parents and your brother were at the front of the house, arguing about who paid for tonight's dinner. You were more than happy to wait it out on the balcony and revel in the last few rays of light, eyes closed and the breeze dancing across your skin.

"Well don't you look happy," Oscar voice stated, nearing you.

You opened your eyes, slightly turning your head to the side only to look back a few second later. Oscar and sunsets... you enjoyed that combo far too much for your liking.

"That's because I am. Sometimes being off the ice is refreshing," You told him, taking in a breath of the fresh evening air.

Out of your peripheral vision you could see Oscar tilt his head, eyes raking over you with a small grin tugging at his lips. You ignored the pace of your heart as he nodded at your remark, settling in next you with his hands on the balcony bar, a mere inch away from your own.

"I hear that," Oscar sighed, looking out at the horizon.

You forced yourself to look over at him, trying to read his mind after hearing the burdened sigh he released. "Oscar... I hope you know you're doing well in F1 right now. You're doing pretty good compared to Lando's rookie year."

Oscar smiled gently. You knew him far too well. "I know. I just... I feel like everyone's expecting so much more of me. Podiums... race wins... like everything else I've done. And then Spa came along."

You winced at the mention of the track. Oscar had collided with Carlos on the very first lap. Carlos said Oscar was too optimistic about making that turn and Oscar said that he didn't even know what Carlos doing; that the Spaniard turned as if he wasn't even on the track. Nevertheless, the collision resulted in both of them DNFing.

You snorted. "Spa is a shit track," You dismissed Oscar's current pessimism with a wave of your hand.

Oscar chuckled at your crudeness. He couldn't disagree with you. Spa was one of those tracks which felt auspicious to any driver. The one where you hoped you at least passed the finishing line. It didn't matter what your position was... as long as you passed it, you were okay.

"Guys come on! We've finished paying," Your brother called out.

The both of you turned around. Oscar pushed himself off of the bar, heading towards your brother. "Who won this one?" He asked in amusement, hands gliding past his waist. Ever so gently, in his walk, he teetered towards you, letting his hand brush past your own, sending a tingle down both of you.

You gulped at the racing feeling, immediately pulling your hand closer to yourself. This hairs of your body stood straight and your fingers felt numb. Heck, you felt numb.

Damn, you thought, this is some crazy good wine.

━━━━━━━━━━━

The thing about your inclination to blame everything on the alcohol you consumed was that it only actually worked if you consumed alcohol. You were lucky if you could extend to the remaining bits by a day with the claims of a hangover.

But right now, you were sober as hell.

An unfortunate event, to say the least.

"Y/N, wake up," Oscar's voice pounded against your blanketed, muffled ears.

"Ugh, no" You groaned, cocooning yourself into your blanket and pressing your head further into your pillow, savouring the warmth.

You always had such early mornings when you trained, waking up at ungodly hours only to workout before heading to the rink. Being on the ice was the only thing you loved. Your fans were sweet but everything else after that, the press, the workouts, the food, sucked. So you cherished the late summer morning in Santorini. And no person, let alone a boy who announced his F1 team to you by saying "I'm driving for a papaya", was going to ruin this for you.

Oscar put his hands on his hips, eyeing you with a twitch in his eye. "But breakfast is ready. I cooked!"

You laughed into your sheets lightly. "Oh boy, that's even worse!"

Oscar looked at your peeking head and humoured eyes blankly. "That," he started to say as he began to literally pull you out of your bed by your arms, "is very very rude thing to say to the chef."

"Oscar, no! Let go!" You begged, hands flailing to attach themselves to anything. Falling on the hard cold floor was not the ideal morning for you.

At least not alone.

You jutted out your leg, nudging Oscar's to the side, making him stumble over his steps. As he quickly realised he was losing balance, he threw his body under yours, creating a soft landing for you as you both fell to the floor.

You were laughing too hard to realise Oscar's one hand had even moved to your waist and the other to your head, as if it was to protect you from getting hurt.

"Oh my God! You should've seen your face! It was like–" You turned to mimic his expression but you couldn't find the words. All the air around you had been seized, your throat was dry and you were breathless.

When had Oscar's face become so close to yours?

You couldn't remember the last time you were this close to him. Probably as a child. He was cute back then as well. But growing up changed the both of you. The most apparent reminder of how old you were was the tiny short hairs from his chin that he always tried to shave off. His eyes were still as brown as ever, less big because he grew into his face. And his lips... they were kissable.

His face was also littered with freckles here and there. You didn't even realise your finger had shot out to play connect the dots with them until you could feel his faint warm breath from how close you were.

Your eyes trailed up his face to find his gaze firmly planted on yours. Suddenly you could feel where his hands were and your skin burned at his touch. The current heatwave in Europe had left you in some thin pyjamas. You didn't regret it last night but you definitely regretted wearing them right now.

Hypnotised, you found yourself leaning in naturally. Oscar's head also nudged forward. Your lips were barely a centimetre away from each other. You could hear your name slip out of Oscar's lips as the faintest whisper. Like it was a struggle to say your name because he couldn't think.

His woody and amber scent engulfed you and for a second, you couldn't think.

Not until you could hear your brother scream both of your names from the kitchen, demanding you to come to breakfast.

You blinked, falling out of your trance as quickly as you fell in.

Oscar felt you jerk in his arms suddenly, pushing yourself out of his hold and attempting to stand up. "Y/N, I–"

No. God, no.

You weren't ruining a friendship over this.

You could pretend. Yes. Pretend. You can't see him.

"We're coming!" You yelled back, feeling your cheeks redden with embarrassment and annoyance; both vexing feeling for yourself.

God, what a day to be sober.

━━━━━━━━━━━

Honestly how this holiday had gone from zero to a hundred was beyond you.

Pretending like nothing had happened in your room was harder than you thought. Not when Oscar looked at you with these burdened eyes and like he had something to say to you, right on the tip of his tongue.

You considered avoiding him. But doing so on a family trip was easier said than done. Besides, it would've been pretty obvious to everyone else and knowing your family, they would've made a big deal out of nothing. Because that's what it was: nothing.

But alas, you have a brother. And normally, he's stupid and self-obsessed to the point it bordered on unhealthy. But as your brother, it seemed he had some sort of sixth sense for these sorts of things. Something about the older sibling being superior or whatever lies he convinced himself with.

"Why are you being weird with Oscar? Your brother asked you while you ate some ice cream and caught up with the new season of 'The Summer I Turned Pretty'. At first, you couldn't fathom watching a character called 'Belly' out of all things but somehow you got hooked.

You paused the scoop of ice cream you put in your mouth, letting it slowly melt away as you stared hard at your nuisance of a brother. "I have literally no idea what you're talking about."

"Ha, nice try. You're supposed to use 'literally' when you deny it the second time," Your brother smiled at you smugly.

You pressed your lips together, feeling your teeth slightly grind against your spoon. You couldn't decide whether you wanted to smack the shit of your brother with a spoon or bury him in a six-foot deep hole.

"Come on, lil sis, you can talk to me. Everyone's out of the house right now," He partially jested while being entirely serious.

Burying him in a hole it was.

"I have nothing to say to you," You stated, eyes reverting back to your show.

Your brother narrowed his eyes, grabbing the remote to pause the episode. Ignoring your exclaim of annoyance, he sat down next to you and took your ice cream and spoon away from you to dig into the pint for himself.

You shuddered in disgust. You were not having that flavour for a while.

He pointed your spoon at you. "I know you think I'm stupid, which I may be, but I'm not entirely an idiot. What happened with you and Oscar? You were all happy buddies a few days ago. Now he looks like a lost puppy and you look like you saw Pennywise in the hallway."

You bit down on your lip to prevent yourself from laughing. You couldn't actually let him know he was funny.

"Did he do something to you? Y/N, if he did something wrong to you I swear to God... just tell me and I will end him."

Your eyes widened at the sudden change of the conversation. Sitting up, you waved your hands in urgent dismissal. "No! Oh my God, nothing like that! Holy shit."

Your brother let a relieved exhale fall from his mouth before furrowing his brows. "Then what happened? Is it your stupid crush on him?"

"I–what?" You asked dumbfounded, looking at your brother incredulously.

"Your crush? Like the one you've had since you first laid eyes on him. You know everyone knows right? It's kinda obvious. Well, everyone but Oscar," your brother said nonchalantly.

You blinked blankly at him. "Before I throw myself off of a cliff, I can give you the generous choice of how you die? Personally I'm thinking asphyxiation, arson, or murder."

Your brother gulped, slowly putting away the ice cream. "Okay, first off stop watching Criminal Minds so much. Second of all, you don't need to feel embarrassed. All of us have been secretly rooting for you. Especially mom and Oscar's mom. You should've seen how happy they got when I told them Oscar and Lily broke up. It was seriously creepy."

You sighed, falling onto the couch. "It doesn't matter how creepy it was. We almost kissed! And then you called for us. Any later, I would've ruined our friendship. What's the point anyways? He doesn't like me. I'm gonna die in the friendzone," You dramatically sobbed out.

"Well you can start by not turning the other direction when you see him. Poor guy looks like you killed his dog. Do you think a guy who's dog was killed has any guts to speak to their murderer? And that's beside the fact that he may like his murderer."

Where was that shovel again?

"You know what you need to do? Do something that makes him talk to you. I got it! I could set you up with Arthur! He's in Santorini too! Oscar would hate it."

"Oh my God... do you want me to die?" You asked, slightly horrified at the look of pure joy on your brother's face .

Your brother grinned. "Of course, I do. Would I be your brother if I didn't?"

━━━━━━━━━━━

For as long as he could remember, Oscar was a peaceful guy. He didn't really get angry quickly. He was usually calm and usually could think before he acted.

But all those characteristics were thrown out the window, well into the air of the music festival everyone decided to attend, when he saw you walk into the event with Arthur Leclerc. His former teammate out of all people.

"Is that Arthur? Why is he here?" Oscar asked your brother.

"Hmm?" Your brother turned around, pretending to squint at the two of you briefly before catching your piercing gaze. "Oh yeah... that is him. He told me he was in Greece. Guess he found Y/N first. Makes sense I guess."

Oscar looked at your brother dubiously. "I... what does that even mean?"

"I don't know why but I always got the feeling he liked Y/N," your brother shrugged.

Oscar blinked. "You're taking the fucking piss..." He huffed in disbelief.

"What? Oh? Here they come."

Truth be told, Arthur was more than happy to oblige with your brother's game. He hadn't seen Oscar in a while because they were in different championships now. Getting the opportunity to play with him a bit was a hard offer to turn down.

"Ozzie!" Arthur cheered, bringing him into a hug.

Oscar raised a brow at you. That pet name originated from you when the three of you decided to become superheroes for a day and you decided to name eight-year-old Oscar, 'Ozzie the Mozzie' after he got bitten by one. No one else on Earth called him that but you.

"I was telling Arty here about that mozzie that bit you and he really liked Ozzie the Mozzie," You chuckled softly.

Arty...

God give him strength because Oscar wasn't sure how much longer he could bear this.

To be honest, you weren't much of a music festival type of person. It was always crowded, hot, and filled with some sort of drugs even if you couldn't see it.

But aside from that, you enjoyed the serenity it could bring; the indie music that was well on it's way to becoming pop; the calming breeze; the warming sun.

Well you would enjoy it more if a certain Aussie wasn't staring daggers to the side of your head–Arthur's head.

You felt a tap on your shoulder and you turned around to see a stranger. A somewhat attractively creepy stranger but a stranger nonetheless. You raised your brows and gave a small smile. "Yes?"

"I know you don't know me but I just saw you from over there and I wanted to say you're really pretty!"

You blinked, feeling the three boys around you stiffen at the compliment. You nodded slowly, putting on a grateful smile. "Oh, thank you so much," You responded, laughing awkwardly.

A moment of awkward silence settled in the air as the guy still remained in front of you.

"So... I was wondering if I get could get your number?" The guy asked with an odd glint in his eyes.

The alarms were ringing in your head and an uncomfortable shiver went down your spine. "Uh, I'm sorry. I... I don't really want to. But thanks for your offer," You politely declined.

"Oh come on. I called you pretty... that's gotta be worth your number. Come on."

Oh.

Honestly, you were speechless. Your number which for him was the leeway into your intimate life was worth a compliment.

"Yeah, I don't think so," You quipped sharply, gritting your teeth.

"Come on, baby girl. Let me show you a fun time." The guy stepped forward, his hand reaching towards your body.

You froze at his words. You wanted to move but you couldn't.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Oscar, Arthur, and your brother step in front of you.

"Mate, fuck off. She doesn't want you," Oscar pushed the guy away from you.

Your brother snorted. "I don't think anyone wants him."

The guy sneered, making you wince. He raised his hands in a feigned defence, beginning to turn away from you. Thank God. "Fine. I didn't want a girl like you anyways. All these guys around you... a whore."

Arthur and you, as the pacifists you were, watched in silent horror as your brother poked his tongue in his cheek and Oscar's head quickly whipped towards the guy.

"Oscar..." You warned meekly as Arthur tried to get your brother's attention.

The last thing any of you needed was famed athletes on the front page of ESPN, cited as the cause of a brawl.

"What did you say?" Oscar raised a brow, ignoring your pleas and walking towards the guy. His tone was dark and the total opposite of what he normally sounded like. He was raged.

"The truth," The guy chuckled. "I said she's a whore. Why? What are you gonna do about it, little boy?"

Yeah see, the guy most definitely had a couple of inches on Oscar and you brother. You weren't really keen on seeing them get pummelled to the ground.

Oscar said nothing in response but raised his fist, slamming it into the side of the guy's jaw.

Oh for fuck's sake.

As if the guy had lightening reflexes, the guy quickly pulled his head back up and got a hold of Oscar, getting into a cycle of punches.

Your heart dropped at the sight. Your brother, thank God, and Arthur quickly realised that Oscar wasn't winning anything here, stepping in to push the two men apart. A small crowd began to gather, some thankfully aiding in trying to stop whatever was going on.

Arthur pulled Oscar away and towards you. You held Oscar against you, clutching him tightly as your heart raced in your ears. Somewhere in the muffled sounds you could hear your brother.

"We're going home. Now."

━━━━━━━━━━━

Your brother and Arthur had decided to go explain the situation the both of your parents who were out having lunch because you couldn't blame all those bruises and dry blood on Oscar's face by saying he fell. This left you to clean up Oscar to reduce the risk of your parents having a heart attack.

You clenched your jaw, holding the first aid kid and a wet cloth to your side as you walked towards the seated racing driver who had found a lot of interest in the floor all of a sudden while icing his face.

"I can't believe you," You mumbled in annoyance, taking a seat next to him. You gently grabbed his chin, putting side the ice bag, trying to decide on where to start cleaning but you could only wince at his face. His bottom lip and his brow was slightly torn, the side of his jaw and the top of his cheek had started to bruise, and his nose was a blood fest.

All the pain Oscar felt began to disappear as he felt your hands gently graze past his skin, scouting all the damage that had occurred. He looked at your pained eyes and internally sighed. He hated seeing you in pain. "He was disrespecting you. I wasn't going to just let it go."

You rolled your eyes, slowly wiping away the dry blood. "He was like six foot two, Oscar. You're like five foot. He could've ki... he could've really hurt you," You jested before your voice fell into a bare whisper.

Oscar's heart clenched as you went back on your words, watching you grab some antiseptic with shaky hands. He grabbed your hands, holding them with his own and softly looked into your eyes. "But he didn't. I'm fine. See?" He smiled widely before wincing at the pain shooting through his face.

You snorted. "As if."

"Hey, you're talking to a guy who crashes at most craziest speeds. Bet that guy can't do that," Oscar shrugged nonchalantly.

You narrowed your eyes. "If you weren't already hurt, I would've smacked the shit out of you right now. Just so you know."

Oscar grinned at you. "Ah, there's the ever kind Y/N I love."

You rolled your eyes before processing what he had just said. As friends. Friendly love. Right. You shook your head out of your trance, removing your hands from his and returning back to the stupid first aid kit next to you.

Oscar mended his brows together. "Hey," he tapped your thigh, "you heard what I said right?"

"Hmm? Oh, yeah," You said idly, opening the tube of antiseptic cream.

"What? I..." Oscar sighed, taking the cream out of your hands before pulling you closer to him. His hands held your face, looking you dead in the eye. "I said I love you, Y/N. You know... the type where you look at someone and all you know is that you can't breathe without them? The one in your books?"

Your mouth felt dry. You blinked blankly. Your hands felt clammy. You chuckled nervously. "Pfft, what? You don't love me. You mean as a friend, right? I think you need some medicine. Maybe there's some in this kit." Your eyes darted down, frantically looking around the box as your heart thudded against your chest.

"Hey, hey," Oscar called, using his hand to turn your chin towards him. "I don't. I mean, I do love you as a friend, but no. I love love you."

"Well... what about about Lily?"

"As I said... I realised I loved someone else more," Oscar told you, letting his confession sink into your mind. "You know... if your idiot brother didn't call us that day, I definitely would've kissed you."

Oh.

Well.

That was something.

This was real. You weren't dreaming. You hadn't died. Oscar, your childhood best friend and your brother's best friend, was confessing to you.

"Huh... well, if it's any consolation, I probably would've kissed you too," You retorted, trying to keep your quirking lips at bay before you began smiling for too much for anyone's liking.

"Probably? That kinda sucks. Are you sure you wouldn't have definitely kissed me?" Oscar grinned, grabbing your waist and seating you down on his lap.

"Hmm... I mean maybe. This current environment is nowhere near as enticing as my bedroom. I mean what is sexier than me waking up, am I right?" You joked, trying to cover up the fact that you were dying at the proximity between you two.

Oscar pushed a lock of your hair behind your ear, letting his fingers trail down your cheek, holding your jaw while his thumb grazed your lips. "Well, I can think of a few other things."

You silently watched as Oscar leaned in and pressed his lips against yours. His lips were softer than you could ever imagine.

You blinked, taking a mere second to register what was going on. Oscar Piastri was kissing you. Holy shit, Oscar Piastri was kissing you!

You kissed him back, feeling his hand wrap around the back of your neck and the other holding you steady against him. Your skin burned at his touch, feeling his fingers snake past the hem of your shirt and rest on your hot skin.

Oddly enough, despite your heat, goosebumps sprawled across every inch of your skin as his tongue darted out, exploring your own, giving you access to his mouth.

You could've sworn you were walking on fire. One more step and you could've combusted. Your thighs clenched at the moan that slipped from Oscar's mouth as your teeth tugged on his bottom lip, your hands roaming around his chest and his arms.

Oscar's hand wrapped around your hair, enjoying the softness he had wanted touch ever since he realised he had feelings for you. His pants felt tight as he felt your hand brush against his bare torso. Fuck. You were going to do him in. He fell back further into the couch, holding you tighter against him.

The desire you had was blinding you. Your other hand fell to his cheek, forgetting about his injuries till Oscar murmured an "ouch".

You retracted your hands, pulling back from his lips, a move Oscar clearly didn't enjoy as his eyes followed your lips. "Shit!" You exclaimed, "the antiseptic! Sorry!"

Oscar paused in his trance, realising what you were talking about. He smiled softly, lips widening even further when he saw your swollen lips and flushed cheeks.

You carefully applied the cream to his brow before moving to his lips. "The diagnosis for you Mr Piastri is no more kissing for you," You grinned.

Oscar looked at you dumbfounded. "I–what? For how long?"

"Mmm... a week?"

"A week?" Oscar repeated in exasperation. "There is no way I can last that long. Not after this. Besides I'm pretty sure kissing actually helps you heal faster."

Your skin warmed further at his confession. You cleared your throat and held his hands. "I am confident that is not scientifically true."

Oscar narrowed his eyes, lips quirking in amusement. "You need to read better medical journals, doc."

You tilted your head to the side, leaning in further. "I think I have an alternative."

"Yeah?" Oscar's eyes danced across your face, smiling softly. "What is it?"

"It's less practical, more theoretical. Confessional, if you will," You shrugged, letting your forehead rest against his.

Oscar shut his eyes, enjoying the warmth of you. "Oh really? Don't let me stop you."

"I love you, Oscar. I've loved you since we were little heroes running around in the backyard."

Oscar opened his eyes, hands wrapping around your waist. He smiled widely at you. "Are you sure you said a week?"

You rolled your eyes, hitting his chest playfully. "I'm sure."

© 𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐘𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑

[croaker-conspiracies]

Muppet Piss Slaves, The Kermit Saga.

Hello, my name is Kermit. Yes the famous B star celebrity. Well, used to. Let me give you a quick backstory. After working on films and the shows, they decided to fucking replace me with some younger new star who just so happened to look like me, throwing me in the dirt. Thankfully my abusive ex Ms. Piggy broke up with me and went with my replacement, but I was dirt broke. I ended up like the young muppet I was many years ago, holding a cardboard sign asking for money as I played my banjo hoping for some kind souls to donate. Then all of a sudden on a normal day, I blacked out. Waking up in the hellish torture that is a Muppet Piss factory. For 6 years, I fucking woke up each morning forced to piss against my will, thankfully most muppets like me don't have noses but the fumes in there was fucking unbearable, squished against my fellow muppets, sweating like hell in the heat of the room, pissing just to appease the masses for our piss, it was just like how it was when I was famous. Each fucking day in there was HELL. You all can't actually fucking say shit about it until you've actually been there, pissing away. One thankful day, Joker and his posse just so happened to accidentally break the walls, leaving me and my friends to escape, as I was running out, I met eyes with Joker, those sweet green eyes, tough on the outside but so soft and kind in the inside, it felt like forever staring into those eyes, then all of a sudden he reached out his hand. "I like something about you, I can't put my finger on it but I believe that we'll make a good match. Would you like to join me?". After hearing his words I gasped and tried to find my words blushing all over the place and unconsciously nodded and took his hand. I feel like this is the start of something good.

-Kermit, 2022

Speechless.

[demisexualnathanvuornos]

Asexuality in Film Episode 10: Male Auteurs casting themselves in a lead, asexual, role

Something in the Dirt (2022)

[artyandink]

the art of heresy forged 1983

SUMMARY: Modern day, 2022, and you have no clue what’s going on. You knew what you went through. You knew it was real, but why were there people trying to convince you that everything that happened to you wasn’t real. Hell, you called bullshit. But you get your chance to fight back when you get a call at your door.

TW: psychological torture, trauma, angst, smut, slight fluff, drinking, consumption of drugs, smoking, mentions of sex, blood, gore, Ben (cause he’s an individual warning), derogatory remarks, gunfire, murder, killing, lots of it, it’s The Boys so be careful guys, really creepy shit, literal crack

A/N - divider by @chachachannah

NOW PLAYING: Dynasty by MIIA

COST A MILLION

The air in Nicaragua was thick with humidity and tension. You had gotten used to the way it clung to your skin, the oppressive heat wrapping around you like a suffocating blanket each time you stepped outside. But this mission felt different. The atmosphere was charged with something more than the stifling weather—an unspoken heaviness that pressed down on you as if the universe was holding its breath, waiting for the inevitable storm to break.

Payback had been sent in for a routine covert operation—one of many you’d done over the years. The plan was simple: go in, make a scene, and get out before anyone could blink. Routine. Yet from the moment your boots hit the dirt in this godforsaken jungle, a strange tension simmered beneath the surface. You could sense it in the way your teammates interacted, in the fleeting glances exchanged when they thought no one was looking.

Something was off, and the unease gnawed at your stomach like a bad premonition.

Ben—Soldier Boy—was leading the charge, as always. Commanding, arrogant, larger than life, with that cocky grin plastered on his face that made him look every bit the hero the public believed him to be. It was part of what had drawn you to him, despite everything you knew about him—despite how much of a mess he could be. He was reckless, a human hurricane, always looking for a fight, but you had gravitated toward that storm.

Maybe because, in your own way, you were a storm too.

But today, even Ben seemed off. His usual bravado felt... strained, forced. You couldn’t place it exactly, but the way he kept glancing over his shoulder, like he was expecting something to happen, unsettled you. His jaw was tight, his movements sharp, as though he was anticipating an attack that hadn’t come yet.

And the others—the rest of Payback—were acting strange as well. Their easy banter had been replaced with silence, their body language stiff. There were too many sidelong glances exchanged when they thought no one was watching, too many moments where they huddled together in low whispers.

“Hey,” Ben had said to you earlier, his voice breaking through the noise of the camp you had set up for the night. “Stay close tonight, alright? I don’t like how things are looking.”

You had given him a wry smirk, trying to mask the unease that had been crawling its way up your spine all day. “What’s the matter, hero? You worried someone’s finally gonna knock your ass off that pedestal you love standing on?”

He had laughed, the sound deep and rich, vibrating through your bones in a way that always made you feel grounded. “Not a chance, sweetheart,” he’d said, that cocky grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “Just stay close.”

You had nodded, but the brief moment of humor didn’t do much to shake the feeling that something was wrong. The unspoken worry lingered in the air between you like smoke from a smoldering fire, just waiting for the right gust of wind to fan it into flames.

As the night wore on, the feeling only grew worse. The jungle around you was alive with the usual cacophony of chirping insects and distant animal calls, but the camp felt unnaturally quiet. The others moved about like shadows, too stiff, too controlled. Even the way they carried their weapons seemed off, like they were holding them too tightly, waiting for something to snap.

You kept your distance, observing them, trying to piece together what was happening, but the answer eluded you. All you knew was that something was about to go very, very wrong.

You had been out scouting, trying to clear your head and focus on the mission, when everything fell apart.

When you returned to camp, the eerie silence hit you first, cutting through the thick air like a knife. The usual sounds of your team preparing for whatever came next were gone. No low murmurs of conversation, no clatter of weapons or boots on the jungle floor. Just... nothing.

Your heart rate picked up, a sharp spike of adrenaline surging through your veins. You moved cautiously, scanning the area as you stepped through the dense underbrush, your powers humming just beneath your skin, ready to be unleashed if necessary.

And then you saw him.

Ben.

Soldier Boy.

Your Ben.

He was lying on the ground, motionless.

“Ben?” you whispered, your voice catching in your throat as you rushed forward, your heart hammering in your chest. He was sprawled out in the dirt, his limbs twisted at unnatural angles, his face pale and still. His chest barely rose and fell with shallow breaths.

Your stomach dropped as you knelt beside him, your hands shaking as they hovered over his face. “Ben!” you called out, louder this time, but there was no response. His skin was cold, far too cold, and his eyes were closed, the usual spark of life that radiated from him completely gone.

Your hands moved frantically over his body, checking for injuries, for any sign of life, your mind racing as panic clawed its way up your throat.

“What the fuck happened?” you whispered, your voice thick with disbelief. This wasn’t possible. Soldier Boy didn’t just go down like this. He was invincible, indestructible. That was the whole point. That was why he led Payback. He wasn’t supposed to be vulnerable—not like this.

You felt a sudden chill creep up your spine, the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end. Something wasn’t right. The camp was too quiet, too still, like the calm before a storm.

You heard the soft rustling of leaves behind you, the crack of a twig snapping underfoot.

You spun around, your powers flaring instinctively as you rose to your feet, but it wasn’t fast enough.

Crimson Countess stood before you, her expression twisted with something you hadn’t seen before—cold, calculated hatred. Her red eyes glowed faintly in the dim light, her posture relaxed but predatory.

Your pulse quickened, the blood roaring in your ears as your mind raced to make sense of what was happening.

“Countess?” you said, taking a cautious step back, your muscles tensing as you prepared for a fight. “What the hell is going on?”

She didn’t respond. She moved faster than you could track, her hand glowing with a deep crimson light as she lunged at you, her fingers crackling with energy. You barely had time to register the attack before she struck, her hand slamming into your abdomen with a force that knocked the breath from your lungs.

Pain exploded through your body, white-hot and blinding. You doubled over, gasping for air as the energy from her hand surged into you, searing through your skin and muscle. Her hand dug into your stomach, aiming with brutal precision.

Your vision blurred, the world spinning as you collapsed to your knees, clutching your stomach in agony. Panic surged through you, your mind racing not just with fear for yourself, but for the life inside you.

The baby.

The realization hit you again, sharper than before. You were pregnant. And she knew.

“No...” you gasped, your voice barely more than a whisper as you fought to stay conscious, to hold on to the thread of control that was slipping through your fingers. “Why?”

Crimson Countess knelt beside you, her expression cold and unfeeling as she watched you writhe in pain. “Because he’s a threat,” she said, her voice low and filled with venom. “And so are you.”

She pressed her hand against your abdomen again, harder this time, and you screamed, the sound tearing from your throat as fresh waves of pain wracked your body.

You tried to summon your powers, tried to push her away, but the agony was too intense, your focus shattered. All you could do was lie there, gasping for breath as the pain consumed you, as the reality of what was happening set in.

The baby was slipping away.

You could feel it, the fragile life inside you fading, slipping through your fingers like sand. And there was nothing you could do to stop it.

Tears streamed down your face as you clutched your stomach, as the grief and fear overwhelmed you. This wasn’t supposed to happen. You weren’t supposed to lose everything like this.

Crimson Countess stood, wiping her hands on her pants as if you were nothing more than an inconvenience she had dealt with. You watched her through blurry eyes, rage and helplessness surging through you, but your body was too weak, too broken to fight back.

She didn’t spare you another glance as she turned and walked away, leaving you there in the dirt, curled up in pain, alone.

Time passed in a blur. You weren’t sure how long you lay there, the pain ebbing and flowing in waves, each one leaving you more exhausted than the last.

The sounds of the jungle around you were distant, muffled, as if you were underwater. You could barely hear the rustling of the trees, the chirping of insects, the distant calls of animals. The world felt... distant, as if you were no longer part of it.

But you weren’t dead. Not yet.

Slowly, painfully, you forced yourself to move. Your body screamed in protest, every muscle aching, every breath a struggle, but you had to get up.

You didn’t. You slipped away, your eyes closing just as your feet were grabbed.

The first thing you noticed when you woke up was the light—blinding, sterile white light, so bright it seared into your brain like a physical force. You winced, squeezing your eyes shut against it, but the pain followed, sharp and pulsing, lodging itself deep inside your skull. Your thoughts were sluggish, slipping through your fingers like sand, and each time you tried to catch hold of them, your head screamed in protest.

Where am I?

You forced your eyes open again, wincing against the brightness, and blinked until the room came into focus. The ceiling was plain white, featureless except for the overhead lights, which buzzed faintly in the otherwise silent room. It wasn’t just the ceiling—everything around you was white. Sterile. Empty.

A hospital? No. This was different, too cold, too controlled. A clinic? No… a cell.

You were lying on a bed—if it could be called that. The mattress was thin, barely a few inches thick, and wrapped in some kind of synthetic material. The walls around you were padded, stark white and seamless, stretching from the floor to the ceiling with no windows, no doors in sight. It wasn’t the comforting sterility of a hospital. It was the suffocating sterility of a prison.

You tried to sit up, but the moment you moved, a wave of nausea slammed into you, hard and fast. Your stomach churned violently, and you had to grip the edges of the bed to keep yourself from collapsing back into the thin mattress.

What the hell is happening?

Your thoughts were scattered, fragments of memories slipping in and out of your consciousness like shards of broken glass. You could almost grasp them—flashes of images, sounds, feelings—but they were distant, blurred. You struggled to hold onto them, but they kept slipping away, leaving only a pounding ache behind.

Then, like lightning, something cut through the haze.

Nicaragua.

You gasped, the memory of it sharp and vivid, forcing its way into your mind all at once. The jungle, the heat, the tension in the air that had clung to you like a second skin. The mission. Ben’s voice, low and warning, telling you to stay close.

You tried to focus on that—on him—but your mind was pulling you in too many directions at once. The camp. The silence. Ben lying on the ground, cold and unmoving.

No. No, no, no. That wasn’t right. It couldn’t be right.

Your breathing quickened, your pulse hammering in your chest as you struggled to piece together what had happened. You could see his face, pale and still, and the way your heart had stopped when you saw him. You’d tried to wake him up. Tried to shake him out of whatever trance he was in. Then…

Crimson Countess.

Her hand had felt like fire when it slammed into your abdomen. The pain had been so intense, so immediate, it had stolen the breath from your lungs. She had attacked you—attacked your baby.

Your baby.

You felt a surge of panic as your hands flew to your stomach, only to find that the familiar curve was gone. Flat. Empty. The sickening realization hit you like a sledgehammer, and a fresh wave of nausea rolled through you, but this time it wasn’t from whatever drugs they’d pumped into your system.

The baby. My baby.

The horror of it clawed at you, rising up from your chest and threatening to choke you. You could still feel the heat from her hand, the burning pain as she ripped your world apart.

A sharp prickling sensation crawled along the back of your neck, and you suddenly became aware of the tightness in your arms and legs. You looked down, blinking rapidly to clear your vision, and saw thick, padded restraints binding you to the bed. They were strapped across your wrists and ankles, holding you in place.

A burst of anger flared inside you, burning through the haze clouding your thoughts. You tugged at the restraints, pulling against them, but they didn’t budge. It was useless, and it only made the pounding in your head worse, but you kept trying anyway, refusing to give in to the panic threatening to drown you.

Footsteps.

You froze, your breath catching in your throat as the sound of approaching footsteps echoed in the sterile room. Two figures appeared, barely visible through the thick fog of your vision. Their white coats blended into the walls, making them seem like ghosts as they moved toward you. You blinked again, hard, trying to clear the haze from your eyes, but it only made your head throb harder.

They weren’t ghosts. They were doctors.

Or something close to that.

“Her vitals are spiking again,” one of them said, his voice low and clinical. “Heart rate’s all over the place.”

“She’s still fighting the sedatives,” the second one replied, his tone exasperated. “We’ve already upped her dose twice. What the hell is she running on?”

They stood at the foot of your bed, their faces obscured by surgical masks, their eyes cold and detached as they studied you like you were some kind of science experiment.

“She’s a supe. That’s what she’s running on,” the first doctor said, stepping closer to your side. He looked down at you, his eyes narrowing slightly as he leaned in to inspect something on the monitor beside your bed. “Her system’s rejecting the sedatives faster than we can administer them.”

“Then up the dosage,” the second doctor snapped. “We need her under control.”

You tried to focus on them, tried to make sense of their words, but it was like your brain was wrapped in cotton, everything muffled and distant. They were talking about you like you weren’t even there, as if you were some malfunctioning machine they had to fix. You struggled against the restraints again, pulling harder this time, but it only made the doctors glance at each other in silent disapproval.

“We’ll have to restrain her further if she keeps fighting it,” the first one said, his voice clinical and detached. “She’s not responding to the current protocol. We might need to explore alternatives.”

“Alternatives?” the second doctor echoed, his tone sharp. “You mean the psychotropics?”

The first doctor hesitated, glancing down at you before giving a curt nod. “It’s either that or we keep increasing the dosage and risk damaging her brain function.”

“Fine,” the second doctor said, waving his hand dismissively. “But we need to keep her compliant until then. Get the others on standby.”

The others.

A new surge of panic gripped you, your heart pounding painfully in your chest as you pulled harder at the restraints. You weren’t sure what they meant by “the others,” but you knew it couldn’t be good. You had to get out of here. You had to—

The first doctor’s hand moved toward your arm, and before you could process what was happening, you felt the sharp sting of a needle piercing your skin. You gasped, jerking instinctively away from the contact, but the restraints held you down, and there was nowhere to go.

“No,” you whispered, your voice weak and hoarse. You tried to summon your powers, tried to push them back with the force of your mind, but the drugs were already working their way into your bloodstream, dulling your senses, making it harder to focus.

“She’s still resisting,” the second doctor muttered, stepping back to observe you as you fought to keep your eyes open. “Let’s see how long that lasts.”

The room began to spin, the walls and ceiling blending together in a dizzying swirl of white. Your thoughts scattered again, slipping through your fingers, and the more you tried to grasp them, the harder it became. You could feel yourself being pulled under, dragged down into the blackness, but you fought against it with everything you had.

You couldn’t lose control. You couldn’t let them win.

But your body was betraying you. The drugs were too strong, your mind too clouded, and no matter how hard you fought, the darkness was closing in.

Your last thought before everything went black was of Ben.

You didn’t know how long you had been out when you woke up again. Minutes? Hours? Days? Time felt slippery, impossible to hold onto, and your brain was slow to catch up with your surroundings.

The light was still painfully bright when you opened your eyes, but this time it didn’t feel as sharp, as if your senses were dulled by a thick fog. The pounding in your head had lessened, but the ache was still there, a constant pressure behind your eyes.

You blinked, your vision slowly clearing, and realized you were still in the same room. Still strapped to the same bed. Still alone.

The doctors were gone, but their words lingered in your mind, echoing in the empty space like a distant memory.

“She’s still fighting the sedatives.”

“Get the others on standby.”

You tried to move, but the restraints held you firmly in place, the padded straps digging into your wrists and ankles. Your muscles felt weak, heavy, as if they had been drained of all their strength. The drugs were still in your system, slowing everything down, making it hard to think clearly.

But you had to think. You had to find a way out of this.

You closed your eyes, taking a slow, deep breath, and tried to focus. Tried to push through the fog clouding your mind. You had been trained for this—trained to keep control, to maintain focus even in the worst situations. But this was different. The drugs were messing with your powers, keeping them just out of reach, like they were buried beneath layers of cotton and static.

You couldn’t even feel them anymore.

You had been in this cell for what felt like an eternity. Time moved in strange ways here, dragging out into long, oppressive stretches of monotony. The walls were still white, still padded, and still held the same sterile stench of disinfectant and despair. You weren’t sure if you were truly awake anymore or trapped in a constant cycle of drugged sleep. The doctors came and went, administering their injections, monitoring your vitals, and talking about you like you were an object, an experiment they were struggling to understand. You couldn’t fight it like you used to. The drugs coursing through your veins made sure of that.

But today was different. You could feel it, the tension in the air, like something was about to snap.

They hadn’t come for your usual dose. No doctors, no needles. That was the first thing that tipped you off. You had counted the minutes after your last injection as best you could—always trying to keep some semblance of control in this place. It helped to have something to focus on, something to keep you tethered to reality. So when they didn’t show up, that creeping sense of dread started to gnaw at the back of your mind.

And then you heard it. The sound of footsteps outside your cell door. Not the soft, professional shoes of the doctors or the heavy boots of security personnel. No, these were heavier, clumsier. You knew that walk.

A door you hadn't noticed before creaked open, the sound grating against the silence like nails on a chalkboard. The room, already claustrophobic, seemed to constrict even more as you turned your head toward the source. And there he was.

Edward.

Your father.

He stood in the doorway, his face half-shadowed by the dim light spilling in from the hall behind him. His eyes, bloodshot and sunken, darted around the room before they finally settled on you. There was a flash of something in his expression—regret? Guilt? No. It was something more pathetic than that. A weak, watery fear. He looked smaller than you remembered. Older. And even now, standing there like some shameful ghost from the past, he reeked of whiskey and failure.

You stared at him, your heart pounding in your chest as memories flooded back unbidden, painful and relentless.

Edward, your father.

He had always been a drunk. Your earliest memories of him were of his staggering frame, his rough voice slurring insults and apologies in equal measure. The smell of alcohol clung to him like a second skin, as did the stench of wasted potential. He had once been a man of promise—at least that’s what people used to say—but that had been long before you were born. By the time you came into the world, he was already spiraling, his life unraveling thread by thread, dragging you down with him.

The debts he owed to Vought had crushed whatever was left of his dignity. And when they came calling, demanding payment, it wasn’t him they came for. It was you. He had offered you up like you were some kind of pawn, a sacrifice to save his own skin. You had been young, desperate, and stupid. So you went along with it. First as a call girl for their executives, working the seedier underbelly of Vought’s influence, and later… well, later as something else entirely. They had seen potential in you, something they could use, mold, and control. And so they did.

But that didn’t erase the truth.

You became a supe because of him. Because of his debts. Because he sold you to them like you were nothing more than a bargaining chip to save his own worthless life.

And now, he had the nerve to show up here.

“What… the fuck are you doing here?” you rasped, your voice hoarse and raw from disuse. Your throat felt tight, constricted, but the words still came out thick with fury.

Edward shuffled forward a step, his eyes still darting around the room as if he couldn’t bear to look at you directly. “I… I came to see you,” he mumbled, his voice slurred and weak. “They told me where you were… I thought—”

“You thought what?” You cut him off, your voice rising in volume and intensity as anger surged through you. It was the first real emotion you’d felt in what seemed like forever, burning hot and fierce, cutting through the haze that had dulled your mind for so long. “You thought you could just waltz in here like nothing happened? After everything you did?”

He flinched at the venom in your voice, but he didn’t back away. “I didn’t know… I didn’t mean for things to get this bad. I just—”

“You didn’t know?” You barked out a bitter laugh, the sound harsh and grating in the small, sterile room. “You didn’t know that selling me to Vought would ruin my fucking life? You didn’t mean for things to get this bad? You sold your own daughter, Edward. For what? So you could keep drinking? So you could gamble away whatever little money we had left?”

Edward’s face twisted in a mixture of shame and defiance, but he still couldn’t meet your eyes. “It wasn’t like that,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t have a choice…”

“You always had a choice!” you snapped, pulling against the restraints that held you to the bed. The fury building inside you was almost too much to contain, your vision blurring as the blood rushed to your head. The drugs were still in your system, but the anger was cutting through them, sharpening your senses in a way you hadn’t felt in months. “You always fucking had a choice, but you chose yourself. Every goddamn time.”

He looked at you then, his watery, bloodshot eyes finally meeting yours. There was something there—something that might have been remorse, but it was too little, too late. “I’m sorry,” he said, the words falling out of his mouth like they meant nothing.

“Sorry?” You spat the word back at him. “Sorry doesn’t even begin to cover it, you piece of shit.”

You could feel your powers stirring beneath the surface, sluggish and dulled by the drugs but still there, simmering just below your skin. It had been so long since you’d felt that familiar hum, the power thrumming through your veins like a second heartbeat. You wanted to lash out, to make him feel even a fraction of the pain he had caused you.

“I never wanted this,” he said, his voice barely audible. “I didn’t mean for it to happen like this…”

You cut him off with a scream, pulling against the restraints with all the strength you had left. The padded straps bit into your skin, but you didn’t care. You wanted to tear him apart, to make him bleed for what he had done.

“Shut the fuck up!” you screamed, your voice breaking as you thrashed against the bed. “You ruined my life! You did this to me! You!”

Edward took a step back, his face pale and frightened as he watched you struggle. “I—I’m sorry,” he repeated, his voice shaking.

The fury inside you exploded, and you lashed out with your mind, your powers surging forward in a wave of raw energy. The restraints on your wrists and ankles snapped open, and you shot up from the bed, your body trembling with rage as you advanced on him.

He stumbled backward, his eyes wide with fear. “Wait—”

But you didn’t wait. You lunged at him, grabbing him by the front of his shirt and slamming him against the wall with a force that rattled the room. His head cracked against the padding, and he let out a choked gasp, his hands fumbling at yours as he tried to push you away.

“Do you know what you’ve done?” you hissed, your voice low and dangerous. “Do you have any idea what you’ve fucking done to me?”

“I didn’t… I didn’t mean to…” he wheezed, his hands weakly trying to pry your fingers from his shirt.

“You’re pathetic,” you snarled, tightening your grip and lifting him off the ground. “You sold me to them like I was nothing. And now you come here, acting like you care? Like you’re sorry? You don’t get to be sorry.”

You slammed him against the wall again, harder this time, and he let out a strangled cry. “Please,” he gasped, his voice barely a whisper. “Please… I didn’t know they would… I didn’t know…”

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. “You didn’t know? You didn’t care. You never cared.”

He was sobbing now, his body shaking as he clung to your arms, his face twisted in a grotesque display of fear and regret. It was pathetic, watching him like this, begging for forgiveness that you would never give him.

And yet, even as you held him there, your powers flaring and your anger burning white-hot, there was a part of you—a small, quiet part—that hesitated.

He was your father.

No. He was never your father. Not in any way that mattered.

You released him suddenly, letting him fall to the floor in a heap, his sobs echoing in the small room. He curled into himself, clutching his head as if he could block out the pain, as if he could hide from the consequences of his actions.

You stood over him, your chest heaving with the effort of holding back the rage that still simmered inside you. You could kill him right now. It would be easy. A flick

of your wrist, a surge of power, and he would be gone. Out of your life forever.

But somehow, that felt like too easy of an end for him.

“Get out,” you said, your voice cold and flat. “Get the fuck out.”

Edward didn’t need to be told twice. He scrambled to his feet, his legs shaking as he stumbled toward the door. He didn’t look back as he fled, the door slamming shut behind him with a final, hollow thud.

You stood there for a long time after he left, your body trembling with the aftershocks of rage and adrenaline. The room was silent again, but the echoes of his voice, his pathetic apologies, still rang in your ears.

You sank to the floor, your back against the wall, and buried your face in your hands.

The room was silent. Not the kind of peaceful silence that could lull you into some semblance of comfort, but the oppressive, suffocating quiet that seemed to cling to everything, pressing down like a weight on your chest. The padded walls and the sterile, artificial light made it worse. It was as if the air itself had been drained of all life, leaving you alone in a vacuum with nothing but your thoughts.

And those thoughts were darker than anything else in this room.

You closed your eyes, leaning your head back against the cold wall. You could still feel the residual anger in your bones from your father’s visit—the way your hands had shook with the need to break something, anything, just to release the tension that had built up inside you. But it had passed now, leaving only the hollow echo of rage in its place. That empty feeling, the one that had become so familiar to you over the years, was all you had left.

And then, there was her.

Your mother.

Bethany.

The name felt like a lifeline and a wound at the same time. You hadn’t spoken it out loud in so long. It was too painful, too raw. But now, as you sat here in this sterile, lifeless room, it was the only thing that kept you grounded. She was the only thing that had ever made sense in your world, the one person who had never let you down. And now, she was the one you couldn’t reach. Not physically, not mentally, not in any way that mattered.

You had heard that she was sick. The whispers had reached you even in this place, carried by the few scraps of information you were able to glean from the doctors who passed through the halls. They didn’t tell you much, didn’t need to. You could feel it in your bones, that deep, gnawing fear that had been eating away at you for months.

She was dying, and you weren’t there.

She was slipping away from you, and you couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

You opened your eyes, staring at the ceiling as you tried to organize your thoughts, tried to find a way to say what you had been avoiding for so long. You couldn’t speak it, not out loud. Not here. But maybe… maybe you could think it. Maybe you could put it into words in your mind, like a letter she’d never read but somehow, in some way, maybe she would know.

So you started, your thoughts coalescing into something that resembled a letter, though the words were rough and jagged, just like the emotions behind them.

Mom,

Where do I even begin?

I’ve thought about writing this letter a thousand times. I’ve thought about how I’d start it, how I’d try to explain what’s happened to me, why I’m not there with you right now. And every time, I’ve stopped myself because the truth is… I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to explain what’s going on in my head, how to make sense of the mess that my life has become. But now, I can’t avoid it anymore. I can’t keep pretending that everything’s fine, that I’ll figure it out eventually.

Because I don’t have time. You don’t have time.

I know you’re sick, Mom. I know that the cancer is eating away at you, bit by bit, and that there’s nothing I can do to stop it. I know that you’re suffering, and that you’re probably lying in a hospital bed somewhere right now, wishing I was there, wondering why I haven’t called or visited. And I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry that I haven’t been there for you. You deserve so much more than what I’ve given you. You’ve always deserved more.

But I’m trapped here, in this place. This prison. Not just this cell, but in my mind. I don’t know how to escape it. I don’t know how to be the person you need me to be. I’ve made so many mistakes, and I’ve hurt so many people. I’ve hurt you, even though that was the last thing I ever wanted to do.

God, Mom, I don’t even know how to tell you what happened. I don’t know how to explain why I let myself get wrapped up in Vought, why I let them turn me into… into this. Into something that barely resembles the girl you raised. I was so desperate. So fucking desperate to prove that I wasn’t like Dad, that I could be better than him, that I could fix everything he broke.

But in the end, I just ended up breaking myself.

I didn’t want to tell you. I didn’t want you to know that your daughter was caught up in their world, that I was doing things you’d never approve of. I didn’t want you to see what I’d become. I wanted to protect you from it, to shield you from the truth, because I knew that if you found out… you’d be disappointed. And that’s the one thing I couldn’t stand.

I couldn’t bear the thought of you looking at me with that same look you gave Dad when he was too drunk to stand, when he was screaming at you and throwing things. That look of tired, quiet disappointment that broke my heart every time I saw it. I didn’t want to be him. I didn’t want you to look at me like that.

But now, it doesn’t matter, does it? Because I’ve already failed. I’m already like him. I’ve hurt people. I’ve let Vought use me, manipulate me, turn me into their puppet. I let them get inside my head, and now I don’t know how to get them out.

I know you always believed in me. You always told me I could be more, that I could be better. And I wanted to be. For you. But I don’t think I can anymore. I don’t know who I am, Mom. I don’t know if I ever did.

I’m scared. I’m scared that when I get out of here—if I get out of here—it’ll be too late. That you’ll be gone, and I won’t have had the chance to say goodbye. That I won’t get to tell you how much you mean to me, how much I love you. Because I do, Mom. I love you more than anything in this world, and the thought of losing you… it’s killing me. It’s tearing me apart.

But I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t know how to fix myself.

I wish I could talk to you. Really talk to you. I wish I could sit down with you and tell you everything—about Vought, about what they’ve done to me, about what I’ve done. But I can’t. I’m too scared. Too ashamed. I’m afraid that if I tell you the truth, you’ll hate me. And I can’t take that. Not from you.

You were the only one who ever believed in me, even when I didn’t believe in myself. You were the only one who saw something good in me, something worth saving. And now… I’m not sure that’s true anymore. I’m not sure there’s anything left in me worth saving.

I’m sorry, Mom. I’m sorry that I haven’t been there for you. I’m sorry that I’ve let you down. I’m sorry that I’m not the daughter you deserve.

But I love you. I love you so much, and I hope that, wherever you are, you know that. I hope that you can feel it, even if I can’t be there to tell you in person. Because I can’t lose you. Not yet.

Not before I’ve had the chance to make things right.

I’m going to try, Mom. I’m going to try to get out of here, to fix the mess I’ve made of my life. For you. Because you deserve better than this. You deserve better than me.

But I’ll try. I promise I’ll try.

I love you. I’ll always love you.

Your daughter.

You stopped, your thoughts trailing off into silence as you sat there, your heart pounding in your chest. The tears that had been building behind your eyes finally spilled over, hot and heavy as they slid down your cheeks. You hadn’t cried in so long. Not since you were a kid, hiding in your room while your father’s drunken rages echoed through the house. But now, you couldn’t stop the flood of emotions that came crashing down on you, wave after wave of grief, guilt, and helplessness.

You curled into yourself, wrapping your arms around your knees as you sobbed, the sound echoing off the padded walls. It felt like you were drowning, sinking deeper and deeper into the pit of despair that had been growing inside you for so long. And there was no one there to pull you out. No one there to save you.

You thought of your mother again, her warm smile, her gentle hands, the way she used to sing to you when you were little, soothing you to sleep with soft lullabies. She had always been your anchor, your safe harbor in the storm that was your life. And now she was slipping away, and you couldn’t do anything to stop it.

The thought of her lying in a hospital bed, weak and frail, fighting a battle she couldn’t win… it broke something inside you. The woman who had always been so strong, so resilient, was now vulnerable, fragile. And you weren’t there. You couldn’t hold her hand, couldn’t tell her that everything was going to be okay. Because it wasn’t. Nothing was okay.

And it was your fault.

You stayed like that for a long time, your body shaking with sobs, your heart

aching with the weight of everything you had lost. There was no one to hear you, no one to comfort you. You were alone in this place, just like you had always been.

But as the tears finally slowed, and the silence settled over you once again, you made a decision. You didn’t know how, and you didn’t know when, but you were going to get out of here. You were going to find a way to make things right. For her.

Because your mother deserved better. She had always deserved better.

And you were going to give her that, even if it was the last thing you ever did.

©️ 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐤 / 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲’𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐨

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[colie-nne]

first moments drive to survive | se4 r.2022

pairings: formula 1 grid x fem driver!oc

warnings: a bit of swearing | This is quite a long one

a/n: lines in bold and italics are the lines of journalists or the show’s narrator, and indents are radio moments or interview clips.

Ep1 : Clash of The Titans

Four rookies entering Formula 1 this year.

Valentina who was sitting in her team’s uniform waves to the camera. It was cut short when it shows Yuki with his clapper. “My name is Yuki Tsunoda.” Haas’ Mick, “Mick Schumacher” and Nikita, “Nikita Mazepin, Haas Formula 1 Team” It then cuts to Val just staring, “Is it rolling?” she inquires after the prolonged silence. The crew laughs before beckoning her to introduce herself, “Yeah, go on” She clears her throat, “Hi, I’m Valentina Corbyn and I drive for Alfa Romeo.” Closing the clapper board a little bit too hard as she visibly flinches, “Oh!” The people behind the cameras laugh before it cuts to a different set-up.

Pictorial on the track

7:21

“Eye contact with the cameras,” the photographer calls out to get every drivers’ attention. The video however zoom in on Valentina who was leaning on the car.

Spotting the camera she tries to send a disapproving look, pointing to the camera man as she shakes her head. The camera shakes in response.

7:34

There’s a lot of male pride and ego flying around… Val’s laugh is the first thing heard, “and I’m here to balance it!!” Exaggerating her actions as she points to herself. "Ooo, I just gave myself an ick, with what I've done there."

7:58

Showing a thumbs up, “You guys are good. Everyone’s all good,” the photographer ends their session as he walks away.

In the background, however, the well-known chaotic pair are at it again. This time Lando is seen fist-bumping her, walking side by side back to the garage. Val stopped in her tracks after he whispered something to her, and her expression showed faint shock at whatever that was. She completely faces him before playfully hitting his abdomen.

The action pushed Lando back and bumped into Carlos, who was behind them. Like a fed-up older brother, he just shakes his head and wraps an arm around Val’s shoulder, urging her to rush forward.

BAHRAIN Are you happy? Her look of confusion’s evident on her face, “Like the with the results of the race?” She makes sure with the person interviewing her. In which she gets an approving nod on her end. “From starting in 9th then to p5? Of course, very. It isn’t what we expected for my first race but it’s something that I’m happy this early on” Do you plan on placing higher? Quirking up a brow, “Yeah, I hope so. No driver is ever satisfied in their position unless they’re at the top. But I’ll take my time before I show the world more of what I got… at least, that’s what Kimi told me.” Val finishes with a refreshing smile directed at the camera.

Ep 2: Ace in the Hole aka a look into Lando and Val’s friendship 

5:25

Lando and Valentina’s friendship started way back before their karting days. This year despite being rivals on the track, you can say that they’re quite the opposite off-track, in some way or another.

Panning the view to Val, hiding in the shade, she scrunches her face as she looks at Lando, about to swing the golf club for the nth time that day. Max, a mutual friend of theirs, motions her to come closer.

Pushing herself off the cart, Lando takes his chance to swing. After taking a couple steps closer, a groan erupts from him, earning him a chuckle from his friends.

“That’s quite a bad hit right there, innit?” Val teases him as soon as she’s stood next to Max.

Moving to get his turn, Max agrees with her while getting in position, “Yeah, you’ve had a shocker there, mate.”

“Shut up, the both of you,” Lando grumbles before jokingly kicking some dirt towards Val’s direction, causing her to shriek in displeasure.

6:14

Walking back near the cart, Max brings up Lando’s new teammate, Daniel Ricciardo. “So how are you feeling about Danny Ric this season, mate?… Confident?” Val, who is seen sitting on the grass, turned to look at Lando's expression.

Shrugging, “He’s obviously a good driver. Seven-time… Seven-time winner?” He said before looking at Val who is nodding at him.

“I got faith in you, buddy,” Max finishes as he takes a swing for his turn. Seconds later, it was Valentina’s turn to swing. Clearing her throat, she points at Lando before imitating Max’s tone, “I’ve got faith in you too, mate.” Swings the club… and intentionally misses the ball.

Lando stood there looking at her in faint disbelief, “You didn’t even hit the ball”, gesturing to the still intact golf ball and tee.

“Yeah, 'cause I also need to have faith and win myself.” She told him, as a matter of fact, before making a proper swing.

What is it about your and the Alfa Romeo rookie's relationship? Chuckling at the question, “Val? We’ve known each other for quite a while, probably half my life, more so hers. She’s like an itch that you can’t get rid of… but in a good way. Vali’s been one of the constants since before karting, as am I to her, so I’ll say we have a good ass relationship.” He ends his statement with a fond smile. What does it feel like to see her joining formula one and being rivals on track? Sucking in a breath, he wears a cheeky smile as he answers, “Seeing her come up on here and race us, makes me feel accomplished. Just 'cause I’ve seen where she’s started… And we’ve experienced a lot of things together with the others, so to get a chance in Formula 1, it’s more of like a win for the both of us, really.” “To being rivals it- we’re both really competitive people, too competitive as I might say so. But a race is a race, a win is a win, at the end of the day- or a race really, we’re still friends, nothing's about to change.”  Raising his eyebrows teasingly, “We’ll just have to prove who’s going to one-up the other this time.”

Ep 3: Tipping Point

MONACO

In the last five races, you’ve started up in p5 and then p3 in Portugal. In this race however, not only did you manage to outsmart the Max Verstappen in that last corner, but you have also won your very first Grand Prix, this early on in your career. How do you feel about that? Val, who was sitting back on the chair, smiled widely when asked about her unexpected win. “Honestly, it still hasn’t sunk in. It’s been like 2 or 3 weeks. But I feel great as a whole, makes me feel good about myself, like an unexplainable tingling sensation that happens throughout my body.” She said, wiggling in her seat to show the feeling. You have also celebrated with McLaren’s Lando Norris, who we’ve just known is a very close friend of yours. Taken aback, “Really? You’ve just known… isn’t that like common knowledge for you guys at this point?” She questions with a light voice before continuing. “Jokes aside. It’s amazing, it feels amazing to actually stand on a podium with one of your closest friends. Cause after all that daydreaming as kids you never would’ve thought you would reach the top this early on in your career..” And since then you’ve never dropped out of the top 5. “Yeah, that’s what keeps me awake at night. It’s become a “wow” factor for me as the season progresses. Never really thought I’ll be with the people I looked up to growing up, but now that I’ve stood- is standing, rather, next to them I feel like I’ve reached the next step or like phase of my life and that, along with this Grand Prix win, would help me become a better driver and a person as time passes.”

Ep 4: A Mountain to Climb

You’ve entered this season with two rookies and reports are already saying that you’re offering Alfa Romeo’s Corbyn a seat in Haas this early on in the season. What has Haas' Guenther have to say about all this? “I- uh, she’s good despite being a rookie, even better than some…” he looks around, giving them "the look" that says everything about what he means, “but I have a reason to believe our... negotiations will be on hold. Like how she did with her team in the last two years.. she uhm-”

With McLaren’s shoot on hold, Guenther takes his chance to walk right behind the team to have a small chat with Val who was once again wandering around the paddock.

The rookie still chatting up her closest companion, Lando, looks off to the side when her name was called. Lando, taking his chance, shoots her arm. Receiving a groan from her.

Guenther who was now closer to them call back her attention, “Hey, you. Answer my call yeah?”

She laughs knowing the meaning behind his words, but being the cheeky person that she is, tilts her head before innocently saying, “My phone isn’t on me. I’m sorry, I guess?”

Back to the interview, Haas’ team principal can only drag a hand down his face while letting out a breath, “That would be true if she’s been in contact with us, but she isn’t, so no.”

Ep 5: Staying Alive

Zooming in on Val congratulating Lando and Danny on their 1-2 Monza Win

The camera zooms past all the McLaren employees to show Valentina rushing inside towards Lando who’s still in the team’s garage after the podium.

Her voice, barely audible is heard over that chatting in the room, “Norris!!” she reaches up to take him into a hug, which Lando reciprocated. Letting go, Val pats his shoulder a wide smile on her face, “Well done, mate! McLaren be getting that 1-2 win, yes?”

Giving the younger one a never-changing appreciative smile, he pats her hand on his shoulder in return, “Yeah…” Their conversation fades out as Lando walks her out of the garage to where the rest of the drivers are.

Finally seeing the other McLaren winner, Val quickens her steps offering her hand out for a fist bump with Daniel, “Well done to you too, Ricciardo!”

He pushes her sideways by his hip, “Aww, isn’t that sweet. But don’t push it, kid. You’re just saying that, so I’ll congratulate you on your next win.”

Releasing an exaggerated gasp, she looks at the other two drivers, Carlos and Lando, “I am not... but you did say next so...” Fading out the conversation, she tries to kick his shin, which he did evade.

Ep 6: A Point to Prove

A driver and their engineer's radio moments are one of the most awaited when it comes to Formula 1. And to say that Val and her engineer Alejandro's radio moments are entertaining is an understatement.

HUNGARY The whole Turn 1 drama but in Val’s POV

It’s lights out and away we go

Corbyn-Alfa Romeo oh... my... gosh... Alejandro... Keep position, multiple crashes in turn 1 Yep.. so early in the race, guys. Too early

Corbyn trying to take advantage of the chaos and- OH NO! Being pushed on the rear by the McLaren...

The Aston Martin into the Ferrari, the McLaren and the Alfa Romeo

Corbyn-Alfa Romeo Holy shit, that did not just fucking happen Language Sorry sorry  Copy, Val. Red flag then Lap 3. Box please, Box Okie

Ep 7: Growing Pains

So far, the fellow has been the only one to raise Alpha Tauri’s Yuki Tsunoda’s spirits after a temper tantrum. And to say that isn’t a shock actually, with both drivers having fits on track you can say that the other actually handles themselves better. 

Standing by the door, Val currently has a clear view of the paddock’s entrance. Seeing Yuki’s familiar stature walking towards the building, she races both her arms up, as he enters, to get his attention.

Clearing her throat, she lets out the phrase she’s been practicing all night just to race Yuki’s spirits. It sort of became a thing between the two young rookies.

“Hey, Yuki-san!! Kyō no rēsu no junbi wa dekite imasu ka?” She said laughing at her broken Japanese. In response, Yuki laughed at her attempt and gave her a high five before responding and walking further away from the camera. (Are you ready for today's race?)

Ep 8: Dances with Wolff

Belgian Grand Prix - Qualifying  

Corbyn-Alfa Romeo Val, red flag ahead, slow down. Vettel’s still half a second behind. What’s happened? …. Ale? …Norris has had a bit of shunt in Eau Rouge exhaling loudly Fucking hell should’ve called this off earlier.

Seeing the wreckage, the rookie is seen stopping a close few feet away, before getting up from her seat. Norris shook his head at her actions.

Corbyn-Alfa Romeo No, Val, the race is still a go. Continue on, he’s fine The hell he is... shitting, FUCK! Calm down, he’s fine safety’s on the way she waves her hand, asking if he’s ok You guys are fucking kidding me, should’ve prevented this earlier Copy, copy. Vettel had shared the same thought. who’s now directly behind you and Val, language, please. ok... ducking bum heads they are.

Ep 9:  Gloves are Off

QATAR

We’re in the desert. We’re in Qatar for this year’s brand-new circuits in the Middle East

The few-second clips has shown Mercedes’ Toto Wolff arriving, Checo and his team on the track, Carlos and- rather Carlos’ team can be seen scurrying around the place, trying to find their missing driver.

A few minutes in and the drivers and their are getting ready for today’s practice. Buxton's voice in the background is heard as the hunt for Carlos Sainz is starting,

Valentina has clearly been a fan and paddock favourite ever since her debut. The way she fits in with the other 19 drivers who clearly dominate the area is surprising. Throughout the season Val has shown how capable she is as a rookie driver deserving of her seat, her confidence and attitude on track are what keeps her in the positions she’s currently at. And with the outstanding results she’s been getting, there’s no doubt she’ll be getting some contracts on her desk. But what these people forget is that this astonishing driver is the youngest on the grid at only eighteen...

Zooming in, a very peculiar situation can be seen inside the Ferrari motor home. A driver who clearly isn’t supposed to be there is currently on the couch, sleeping with Ferrari’s missing driver. 

Valentina is seen still wrapped up in her team’s jacket, leaning toward her fellow Spaniard who lets her, despite being called by his team a couple times. Seeing the camera recording them, Carlos places a finger towards his mouth gesturing for them to keep quiet as he points it to Valentina. 

This is a sight that the whole Formula 1 community has come to cherish.

For the second time in the series, Will Buxton, a known F1 journalist talks about another possible driver change, now for Red Bull Racing. Other than the fight for the championship, Alfa Romeo has had a massive comeback, currently running for fourth place verse McLaren. Points have been increasing, the majority coming from the rookie, Valentina Corbyn, who has scored the most points than the other three… Adding to her tremendous starting career as an f1 driver, Valentina not only has had Haas coming after her, but Red Bull Racing’s Christian Horner has also been a frequent guest at Alfa Romeo’s motorhome. With Red Bull only having signed Sergio Perez as their driver this season, is he ready to lose his seat to the 18-year-old that fast? “Bonjour”  “Bonjour” Red Bull’s Christian Horner greets the journalist in front of him. “There seems to be a high level of tension between the drivers, the team principals, and now the newly signed and rookie drivers. Is it good for Formula 1 or is it a bit—“ Cutting him off Christian answers, “It’s a competition, you know? It’s not a kids club. And you know, we operate in different ways. Toto will shout and scream at the camera. Maybe I’m a little bit more, calm.” “Other than that, rumours have been circulating that you’re in the process of having Alfa Romeo’s Corbyn sign in with Red Bull for next year’s season. What does that mean for Perez?” With a neutral stare, the Red Bull team principal crosses his arms to his chest, “Contracts are what keep a driver’s career running aside from their skills. Valentina’s a very skilled driver so if she does end up with us, the media isn’t going to be announcing it to the world.”

Ep 10: Hard Racing

Interview cameos can be fun from time to time. But when two youngsters are in the same room, the fun comes first before you can even start something.

0:21

"Right!"

"Testing, three, four. Nutsack, five, six," Daniel started as soon as he sat down.

Lando, who has his foot in the air, can be seen trying to swat something, or rather someone, with his other slipper.

Pointing to Val, who was by the door, "Oi get her out. What the hell you’re doing here, anyway?"

Shrugging, she just raises her hands in surrender, "Don’t worry Lando, I've seen weirder stuff that you do."

Throwing his slipper at her response, the video pans as she's seen exiting the room.

Sighing at her antics, "Ok… Action!"

2:59

Who’s your money on? Smiling, Daniel shakes his head, "I’ve gone back and forth. At this rate, it’s a flip of a coin," he said, voice filled with hesitance. George, contrary to Daniel, went with a straight answer, "I think Lewis is gonna get it." Along with Lando, who was quite happy with his response, "I think it all points to one person… Max Verstappen" Pierre, with confidence, "Lewis and Max won’t see the second corner." Valentina, however, didn't give a clear answer when asked. She's caught off guard by the question as she stopped tying her hair up mid-way. "That is a dangerous question. If I want my dad to kill me, I’ll have to answer Max… But if I want Hor- a certain someone to get mad at me, I’ll say Lewis... You know what, let’s just wait and see." She concludes with that know loved smile of hers.

Welcome along to the final round of this 2021 season.

The clips show a range of drivers getting ready in their own garages, all went by smoothly before it ended with Alfa Romeo's final driver.

Val, having a hard time zipping her suit up, points to the camera mouthing, “See you soon on the podium!” Winking, after she's zipped up with the balaclava on her head before securing her helmet in place.

[batterknowsbetter]