heyy. can i ask if you'd give us a new snippet of getaway car pretty please? 🥺 it's been 3 months since our last snippet... 👉👈
Sure thing, chicken wing! A snippet in honor of Father's Day (I haven't gone to sleep so we can still technically celebrate 😉)
a getaway car context: Max hasn't seen Charles Leclerc in a decade, not since the omega disappeared from the public eye at the start of his F3 career... back when it seemed like something more might be blooming between the two of them, as crazy as it seemed.
Max never really got over it, if he's honest.
But now Charles is here, a guest at the Monaco GP, and Max finds his alpha instincts going haywire at being close to the omega once more, no matter how much Charles tries to avoid him.
Things get even more complicated when a distraction appears... a ten-year-old distraction... a distraction that looks startlingly similar to Max himself... a distraction that calls Charles maman.
Here's is a long, rather bittersweet snippet for you, darling 🩷
“This is from a tournament earlier this season,” Charles says quietly, sliding the first photo over the table to Max.
He looks down, his breath catching at what he sees.
Lucas is posed next to his kart, his helmet and a trophy placed beside him. He has victorious fists raised in the air with a bright smile on his face. His joy is palpable.
It’s like looking at one of Max's own childhood photos, the resemblance remarkable, undeniable, but this… this is his son.
Max bites his lip, a tormented rush sweeping through him, leaving him almost dizzy. Yet his eyes don’t stray for a second, seeking out every little detail of the photo, returning to Lucas’s grin again and again-
His son’s smile is the loveliest thing in the world.
“I think he was trying to pose like you,” Charles’ voice breaks through Max’s musings, “Like after you win, yes? As I said, you are his favorite. It is very annoying. Especially when he is begging me to pay for a new helmet with a lion design.”
Max’s hindbrain lights up.
“I will pay for it,” he blurts out, finally tearing his gaze away from the photo in order to look at Charles. “The lion helmet, I mean. I can get it for him.”
His alpha instincts have perked up, overeager and howling at him to provide for his pup, to please his omega, but Charles does not seem impressed by the offer, merely shooting Max a look out of the corner of his eye before passing over another picture.
In this one Lucas is wrapped up into Charles' side, his mother’s other arm raised above them to snap the photo. Charles is beautiful, his smile open and wide as if he’s caught in a laugh, Lucas looks exasperated but pleased, an ice cream cone held up to his face as if he’s trying to hide behind it.
“I sent this to maman to show we were celebrating,” Charles explains, a note of pride sneaking into his tone, “Lucas got the highest marks on a map challenge in his class. He does not always love being in school, but he is very smart.”
Max takes in the information greedily, trying to process it as his eyes flicker between the photo and Charles. His own pride blooms… though it’s streaked with something painful as well.
“He is good with maps?”
Charles nods, rifling through more pictures, “Very much. Flags as well. He is good in most subjects, but he does not like maths and he says he is not liking art, yet he is always drawing these helmet designs, so- ah, here another one.”
The next photo Charles pushes over must be from a few years ago. Lucas is smaller, noticeably younger, standing next to where Charles sits at a table, plates of what look to be tiramisu in front of them. In the background there are balloons, and a poster board with shaky, childish handwriting scrawled messy and bright- BRAVO MAMAN!
“This was when I finally received my state diploma of architect. My family came to surprise me. Lucas helped make the sign, he was so proud of it.”
Silently staring down at the photo between his hands, Max’s heart begins to ache something terrible.
Lucas is not looking at the camera, instead he’s concentrated completely on Charles, watching his mother with an absolutely beaming smile that makes Max certain it was not the poster that Lucas was proud of. And Charles is just as focused on his son, grinning just as wide, utter adoration shining bright in his eyes as one of his hands affectionately ruffles his boy’s hair.
So simple, but Max thinks it may be one of the most beautiful images he has ever seen.
Unthinkingly, Max brushes his thumb over both Lucas and Charles’ faces, as if he could somehow feel the love that was so obvious between the two of them- mother and son, omega and pup. He touches the photo… as if he could possibly make up for even a fraction of what he had missed, as if it could soothe the anguish that is scalding him inside-
“Max?”
He doesn’t look up at the question in Charles’ voice, can’t bring himself to let him to see what this doing to him…
Max just keeps looking at this photo, memorizing every detail of this moment that had been kept from him.
They stay quiet for a long while.
It is not an easy silence, tension and unease resting in the space between them. Charles fidgets in his seat, shuffling more pictures in his hands, clearly uncomfortable but giving Max time to gather himself.
Eventually, he manages.
Clearing his throat, Max delicately places the photo aside, already planning on how he will try to sneak it away with him.
He finally looks back at Charles, “Are there more?”
They spend a long time going through picture after picture, Max soaking up every image, every fact that Charles willingly offers up about their son, greedy to know as much as he can-
There is one of Lucas bundled up in winter clothes, pulling a silly face, gathered with Charles and his uncles next to the snowman the four of them had spent an afternoon building.
(“We take a Christmas trip when we can. He likes skiing, but he gets tired of the cold.”)
Another photo showing Lucas at three, so small, sitting crisscrossed with a kitten napping in his lap, big blue eyes staring up pleadingly at someone behind the camera as his tiny hands gently cradle the little creature.
(“We went to see my friend’s new cat and he kept asking to take it home. Now we have a dog, Leo, but Lucas loves cats also. All animals really. I think we would have a hundred pets if he had his way.”)
There is one that makes Max do a double take, one of Charles and Lucas falling in mid-air, both of their mouths open in a joyful scream, the photo taken right after they had leapt off a small cliff and into the sea.
(“He is fearless. Always excited to do the crazy shit just like me. We are always looking for an adventure.”)
One of Lucas in a football kit, arms around his teammates, grinning at the camera and showing off his two missing front teeth.
(“Oh, he looked so cute, yes? Honestly, he was kind of terrible, but he loved it. Now he is only focused on karting, but he still plays with his friends when he can.”)
There are even more- school pictures, karting tournaments, birthdays, vacations. Photos cover the kitchen table, snapshots of Lucas’ life laid out in front of Max, moments that paint a picture of the funny, smart, ambitious little boy that Max had been so charmed by yesterday, every picture making him fall more and more in love with his son as Charles shares details that Max hangs onto desperately.
Each photo is precious, a priceless glimpse at his beautiful boy… and also another vicious stab into Max’s heart, still gored and bleeding from yesterday.
Fuck, he has missed so much.
The very core of him aches with all of the pain he is carrying, but he does his best to hide it, just as Charles is doing his best to open up and let him get to know their pup. There will be time to break down later, but for now he-
“Oh,” Charles breathes.
He’s holding another photo, angled away from Max’s curious eyes. Max watches as Charles’ face does something complicated, his brows furrowing, his mouth twisting to the side.
“Can I see?”
Charles looks up at his question, his hesitation obvious. But eventually he passes it over, the photo quivering in his hand.
Max takes it, looks down, and immediately feels as though he’s been shot through the chest.
“It is the only photo we have from… from that day,” Charles explains, so quiet he’s almost whispering, “Arthur took it… Or maybe maman… I do not remember.”
The picture shows Charles on a hospital bed, disheveled, flushed, exhausted, and so tragically young. He’s cradling a bundle of blankets in his arms, a sweet little baby face barely visible underneath a tiny, soft looking beanie- Lucas. Charles is staring down at their son, the expression on his young face so lost, so helpless… It’s heartbreaking.
Max should have been there. He should have been there to hold both of them. Charles never should have done this alone. This never should have been kept from him. This never ever should have happened.
The devastating image goes blurry and unfocused as a hot rush of tears well up in Max’s eyes. He’s almost grateful.
You know, it's rather interesting to me that Taylor Swift's parasocial relationship with her fans is honestly more akin to a YouTuber than a writer's. When I scroll through her tag on tumblr/Twitter, it's far more regarding the connection to her personal life/relationship developments than the actual metaphors/fictional story she might be telling. Everything comes back to how her songs reflect back on her relationships with Joe/Matty/Travis/Jake/insert ex-boyfriend here. And what fascinates me about it is that even though she complains about it, she leans into that very perception because it strengthens the parasocial bond.
The marketing for TTPD so clearly being about Joe Alwyn and the songs to Matty Healy. The marketing/video for Red TV so CLEARLY being about Jake Gyllenhaal, with so many of the new lines in All Too Well specifically being digs at him (I'll get older but your lovers stay my age, casting an actor that looks like him for the video, specific lines in I Bet You Think About Me). The fact that songs like Getaway Car and Bejeweled and Gorgeous and London Boy and Lavender Haze being picked apart at time of release and long after for signs of relationships crumbling. The way she uses surprise songs in relation to her relationship development with Joe/Matty/Travis. The damn TTPD "stages of grief" playlists where she deliberately undid/changed the meanings of old songs just to keep her audience speculating on her love life.
It's not sexist to point out that her wielding her love life is a marketing tool and that the strongest connection to her audience isn't the strength of her writing/the composition of her music- it's her deliberate crafting of a connection between her music and her personal life, leaving the audience invested in her music as an extension of Taylor the Person/Girlfriend rather than Taylor the Artist.
